AGATHA CHRISTIE POIROT A STYLES COURT (The Mysterious Affair At Styles, ) I Vado a Styles Il grande interesse suscit. Poirot a Styles Court - Agatha terney.info - nat russo. terney.info Views. 5 years ago. Poirot, · Inglethorp, · Signora, · Signor, · Essere, · Cavendish. Poirot a Styles Court (titolo originale The Mysterious Affair at Styles) Ã¨ il primo romanzo Download by Jonathan Swift; The Scarlet Letter PDF by Nathaniel.
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Their country-place, Styles Court, had been pur- chased by Mr Cavendish early .. 'It is indeed mon ami Hastings!' 'Poirot!' I exclaimed. I turned to the pony-trap. which attended it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family Their country-place, Styles Court, had been downloadd by Mr. Cavendish early in . Poirot a styles court titolo originale the mysterious affair at styles il primo romanzo giallo di agatha christie scritto durante la prima guerra mondiale quando.
People don't love Christie for her beautiful language or her great ideas And those transcend time. Who else can create such a puzzle that you are constantly trying to guess what's going on? True, tons of writers today, but not years ago.
And even with modern writers, it's often in a suspense and thriller type of novel, where it's all about the chase. Christie was all about the calm approach to solving a murder. She didn't try to end each chapter with a big WOW and heart-wrenching scare tactic.
It's simple evolution of a timeline, collections of clues, conversations with people But at the last minute, you get the unexpected twist. With this first book, you meet Hercule Poirot, one of her two popular detectives. Poirot is annoying. He's painful. He will make you angry while you are laughing. And that's the cool part. Columbo is the best comparison I can come up with. And I'm certain Columbo was based on large part by Christie's Poirot. So why this book???????
It's the first in the series. It's a prime example of why her stories work. The servants' rooms are reached through the door B. My evening was utterly and entirely spoilt by the presence of Dr. Alfred Inglethorp had ushered the doctor in. She seems to be having some kind of fit. Inglethorp called to Cynthia from the hall. He rose at last. Inglethorp insisted. In truth. It seemed to be the middle of the night when I was awakened by Lawrence Cavendish.
I append the following plan of the first floor of Styles. John was close by me. It seemed to me the man would never go. He had a candle in his hand. I will. Then he went across to his mother whilst I unbolted the door that gave on the corridor.
I suppose. What was to be done? Turning to Annie. Lawrence still holding his candle. The framework of the door was solid. Half a moment. The whole household was aroused by now. Inglethorp's room. Clearly something must be done. John opened the door of his room. We must break in the door. Lawrence turned to his brother. We stumbled in together. John rattled the handle of Mrs. As we entered. It was pitch dark. The most alarming sounds were audible from the interior of the room.
Inglethorp was lying on the bed. Inglethorp's door violently. Mary Cavendish was there. John strode across the room. Now then. It was obviously locked or bolted on the inside. It's never been undone. In a moment or two he was back. That's bolted too. Wilkins at once. It'll be a tough job. John Cavendish joined us. We went straight to the connecting door. I thought. I think this one is a shade less solid than the one in the passage.
I warned her. I instinctively followed the direction of his eyes. I could see by the expression on his face that he himself had little hope. It was as though he had seen something that turned him to stone. She was able to speak in short gasps. A fresh access of pain seized the unfortunate old lady. I saw Mary Cavendish standing near the door with her arm around Cynthia. With a stride.
For one instant he stopped dead. Bauerstein pushed his way authoritatively into the room. I saw that a faint streak of daylight was showing through the curtains of the windows. At that moment. We thronged round her. Inglethorp's attack seemed to be passing. A strangled cry from the bed startled me. Again the body arched itself in that peculiar fashion.
Inglethorp's own doctor. Finally he abandoned his task. The still feebly flickering ashes in the grate. She seemed to be supporting the girl.
She herself. Never have I seen such a ghastly look on any man's face. He issued a few short sharp orders to the servants. With a faint gesture of the hand. He was white as chalk. The convulsions were of a violence terrible to behold. Cavendish in a low clear voice. The violence of Mrs.
We watched him. The moments flew. Everything was confusion. Inglethorp cried out in a strangled voice. Always did far too much—far too much—against my advice. I noticed. Her face was heavily flushed. Then it must be later than I thought. In a few words Dr. Ve—ry sad. An imperious wave of his hand drove us all to the door.
Bauerstein explained how he had happened to be passing the lodge gates as the car came out. A final convulsion lifted her from the bed. In vain Mary and John tried to administer more brandy.
I'd rather be alone. Bauerstein seem so—peculiar? What lay beneath them? What more could she have told us. He still kept his eyes fixed on him as he spoke. Bauerstein suspects it. I am sorry you were not here in time to witness them. We went slowly down the stairs. Wilkins was looking important and excited.
John and Lawrence were in the dining-room. He turned to John. Wilkins wisely. I was violently excited. I lowered my voice to a whisper. Mary Cavendish laid her hand upon my arm. Let me just be quiet for a minute or two. I remembered Mrs. But no—her zeal for good works was too great. Where was Alfred Inglethorp? His absence was strange and inexplicable. Nature rebelled.
I found her leaning against the bannisters. Na—ture —re—belled. I'm certain Dr. She waved me away impatiently. We were all silent. I followed her. At last we heard the doctors descending the stairs. Go down to the others. Bauerstein's manner had started a flock of wild surmises in my mind. I have a certain talent for deduction. Why did Dr.
Inglethorp's dying words. I joined them. They were quite—tetanic in character. I felt I might count upon as an ally. It might be difficult to convince him of the soundness of my plan. I knew. A spasm of pain crossed his face. Bauerstein drew two keys from his pocket. He was so seldom vehement about anything. He addressed himself to John: Wilkins was the spokesman for the two. I am afraid an inquest can hardly be avoided —these formalities are necessary. There was no doubt that the moment had come for me to take the lead.
Yet I was a little chary of doing so. I had been turning over an idea in my head. Poisons are his hobby. John hesitated. I have no alternative but to agree. Before the post-mortem? Wilkins hadn't an idea of such a thing.
Wilkins nor myself could give a death certificate under the circumstances. The Belgian who is here? He has been a most famous detective. I should like your consent to a postmortem. Wilkins briskly. Bauerstein's got a bee in his bonnet. I have locked them and. In a few brief words.
It was one o'clock before we'd finished. I had nearly reached the lodge. I will let you in. I allowed myself. Five minutes' delay. A window above me was cautiously opened. I repeated my summons impatiently. Poirot is discretion itself. I spent it in ransacking the library until I discovered a medical book which gave a description of strychnine poisoning. My poor Emily! She was so self-sacrificing—such a noble character. We don't want any unnecessary scandal. This is terrible!
My poor wife! I have only just heard. He gave an exclamation of surprise at seeing me. God forgive me if I am wronging him! I didn't want to arouse the household. I determined to lose no time. It was Mr. Then I found that I'd forgotten the latch-key after all.
She over-taxed her strength. I explained the tragedy that had occurred. What a consummate hypocrite the man was! In a few minutes I was knocking at the door of Leastways Cottage. One could save time by taking a narrow path through the long grass. It was six o'clock.
Getting no answer. I leave it in your hands. Where had he been? How did he intend to explain his absence? He accosted me eagerly. Is it not so? Take time. Inglethorp ate well last night. You have a good memory. We will examine—and reject.
Poirot smiled kindly on me. I repeated myself several times. Surely the war had affected the little man's brain. But I make allowances—you are upset. I will forget it.
And that little curious fact. Those of importance we will put on one side. It will not agree. You always told me that. Inglethorp and Evelyn Howard. Everything matters. He was now arranging his moustache with exquisite care. You are agitated. This next little fact—no! One fact leads to another—so we continue. We examine. It is tremendous! He was carefully engaged in brushing his coat before putting it on.
We search. Of the order in which you present them. Peril to the detective who says: That's why I have gone into all the details of this thing whether they seemed to me relevant or not. To that I attribute the circumstance that you have omitted one fact of paramount importance. There he installed me in a chair. Does the next fit in with that? A merveille! We can proceed. I don't see——" "You do not see? But it is of the first importance. I told him of my awakening. I say nothing—truly. I was hardly as clear as I could wish.
That always seems the difficulty to me. There is something missing—a link in the chain that is not there. Inglethorp ate well last night? I have been turning it over in my mind. Inglethorp's case. But a heavy meal. That was only natural. Excuse me. She was obviously upset. Poirot stopped for a moment. Poirot seemed to follow my thoughts. Permit me. Inglethorp died of strychnine poisoning.
Her death was a shock and a distress. Blood tells—always remember that—blood tells. She has been kind and generous to these Cavendishes. The present contention is that Mrs. Its effects would be felt very soon. Now that is a curious circumstance. The dead woman had not the gift of commanding love. We will proceed to the chateau. He nodded his head gravely.
Inglethorp's death so great? I realized that there was an emotional lack in the atmosphere. Was the family prostrated by grief? Was the sorrow at Mrs. His face looked weary and haggard. For convenience I append a plan of the room and the principal articles of furniture in it.
He darted from one object to the other with the agility of a grasshopper. He handed the two keys which Dr. Bauerstein had given him to me. He retrieved it.
John looked puzzled. I remained by the door. We have nothing to go upon. But what an idea! There has already been practically an army in the room! What foot-marks are we likely to find?
John came out and met us. Bauerstein considered it advisable. In the meantime. I will put down my little case until I need it. I met him. Poirot locked the door on the inside. It is a matter of precaution only. That door was also bolted. It was an ordinary key of the Yale type. In a moment or two he roused himself. He took out the key from the lock.
He examined it carefully. A small quantity of a dark fluid remained in the saucepan. He made a grimace. Poirot delicately dipped his finger into liquid. He picked up the bunch of keys from the floor.
But see. On the chest of drawers there was a tray with a spirit lamp and a small saucepan on it. I was bewildered. A reading-lamp. Observe the lamp—the chimney is broken in two places. A small purple despatch-case.
Suddenly something in the bolt itself seemed to rivet his attention. Here was a clue worth having. Then he went to the door opposite leading into Cynthia's room. It fitted. I wondered how I could have been so unobservant as to overlook this.
I saw nothing peculiar. We were very agitated. On the other hand. It may turn out to be a piece of one of Mrs. He seemed to see something over here"—I indicated the mantelpiece—"that absolutely paralysed him. We shall see. But by chance—there might be—let us see! Lawrence Cavendish was carrying it.
Shall I enumerate them. Inglethorp's own dresses.
Inglethorp had no candlestick in the room. I think. Crossing the room to the left-hand window. One of my best hats once—but that is not to the point. His next proceeding was to take out a little notebook. Or perhaps Mrs. But he was very upset. He went down on his knees. Inglethorp herself dropped her candle. I believe they were at it yesterday afternoon. What was this complication of a will?
Who had destroyed it? The person who had left the candle grease on the floor? My brain was in a whirl. Suddenly an idea struck me. We went out through that door. Do not grudge me a moment's satisfaction of the eye. When I returned with her. I took him down to the boudoir which he had expressed a wish to see. But how had anyone gained admission? All the doors had been bolted on the inside. I should like to ask a few questions of the parlourmaid—Dorcas.
Inglethorp's room as before. This is an exact reproduction of it: It was unusually thick. It has been recently done. The spacing of the plants. But come in—Dorcas is here. What symmetry! Observe that crescent. I didn't exactly mean to listen. Poirot looked at her keenly. Cavendish's full approval. Nothing can bring her back to life. Your mistress had a quarrel? Do not think that you are betraying your mistress's secrets. She was the very model and picture of a good old-fashioned servant.
Your mistress lies dead. What is the first you heard of it? But I don't know that I ought——" Dorcas hesitated. Perhaps four o'clock—or it may have been a bit later. I stopped.
I put them to you with Mr. I happened to be going along the hall outside yesterday——" "What time was that? There was really no arguing with him if he chose to take that line.
I happened to be passing along. In her attitude towards Poirot. You were much attached to her. The door was shut. He drew forward a chair. And an ill day it was when first he darkened the threshold. But such things have been. You need not think that any fear of publicity. I don't know. She whispered to herself. Cavendish came in just then.
Is this the key that was lost? She was looking dreadful—so white and upset. She brought it down with her every morning. I expect she would lock it up in that purple case of hers. But where did you find it? I looked everywhere for it. Inglethorp's voice you heard? My mind is made up. At five o'clock. Inglethorp replied.
She was very much put out about it. Dorcas's eyes looked as though they would pop out of her head. Inglethorp rang the bell and told me to bring her a cup of tea—nothing to eat—to the boudoir. He spoke a good bit lower than she did—but she answered: I have kept you and clothed you and fed you!
You owe everything to me! And this is how you repay me! By bringing disgrace upon our name! What was all this about a lost key? Poirot smiled.
I see my duty clearly. I'd rather hush it up if I could.
I don't know if it was a letter. I came back to the hall. I was out in the evening. I should like to examine them. Hastings and Mr. I know she didn't. Never cleared the coffee-cups away last night. Lawrence came in yesterday evening. Have you any reason to believe that your mistress was likely to take a sleeping powder last night?
He merely remarked: I suppose you can give me no idea to whom these letters were addressed? And nobody else has anything green? She took the last one two days ago. Perhaps Annie could tell you. That's what happens when I'm not here to look after things. I pray you. By the way. But now there's only old Manning. So do not intrigue yourself. It was Number Six of my catalogue. Inglethorp's bedroom. At least. I knew by this.
How many gardeners are employed here. I can't say that I do. As to the sleeping powders. Annie was a fine. A fair sight it was. Poirot came to the point at once. Thank you. Inglethorp took sleeping powders? I wish you could have seen it then.
I see nothing unusual. I can't say that I have. Annie racked her brains in vain. One was to Miss Howard. Did she have that every night? Plain coco? Then I used to bring it up.
Inglethorp's room with some coco in it. Inglethorp wrote last night. There is a saucepan in Mrs. The other one. I should say.
How many were there? And can you tell me any of the names and addresses? I don't think I can have noticed it. Inglethorp's room? Inglethorp came up to bed before I'd finished. About eight o'clock. I don't remember. His self-control was astonishing. Unknown to herself. I awaited his next question with impatience. She usually did lock it at night. I never noticed it when I took the tray up. But I was in a hurry. I never took the salt near it. Inglethorp didn't have a candle.
How she would have gaped if she had realized that her "coarse kitchen salt" was strychnine. Coarse kitchen salt. Inglethorp bolt the door after you? So I dusted it off with my apron. Annie had provided us with an important piece of evidence. I marvelled at Poirot's calm. It had never been opened. Did you notice if that was bolted too? The door into the passage. My pent-up excitement burst forth.
To my surprise. The idea crossed my mind. That is all I want to know. I shrugged my shoulders. This is a great discovery. If he was going to take the matter that way. Thank you very much. That salt on the tray. Inglethorp's keys would open it. You have a right to your own opinion. It is not the key. I felt that my friend was not what he had been as he rambled on 34 ofCreate PDF files without this message by downloading novaPDF printer http: That explains everything! Of course it did not take effect until the early morning.
Annie took herself creakingly out of the room. Privately I thought it lucky that he had associated with him some one of a more receptive type of mind. But perhaps one of Mrs. Poirot was surveying me with quietly twinkling eyes. There might have been? Yes"—his eyes wandered round the room—"this boudoir has nothing more to tell us. But what does it mean? It did not yield much. Allow me to interest myself in my coffee-cups. Only this. IS IT? Is it a bargain?
Was it possible that Mrs. That miserable coco! You recognise the handwriting? Inglethorp's mind was deranged? Had she some fantastic idea of demoniacal possession?
I do not see what you expect to find. What on earth is the good of that. Inglethorp took her coffee upstairs with her. It was rather a curious document. I was about to expound these theories to Poirot. He laughed with apparent enjoyment. The following is a facsimile of it. A plain. Poirot had been a great man in his day. That is very interesting—very interesting. Already he was almost restored to his normal self.
Can you tell me the views of the other members of the family? Here are the three cups. His physiognomy underwent a curious change. Then she came across to the window where you sat with Mademoiselle Cynthia. I saw him put it down there. He says that everything points to its being a simple case of heart failure. John had been hard at work. Lawrence Cavendish's. And the one on the tray? An expression gathered there that I can only describe as half puzzled. I could have told him from the beginning that this obsession of his over the coffee was bound to end in a blind alley.
I observed John. One moment. The shock of the events of the last night had upset him temporarily. After all. Monsieur Poirot? Cavendish stood by the tray—and poured out. Ever since the early hours of the morning.