スタイルズの怪事件｜第二章　七月十六日と十七日

“What a lot of bottles!”I exclaimed, as my eye travelled round the small room.
“Do you really know what’s in them all?”

“Say something original,” groaned Cynthia.
“Every single person who comes up here says that.
We are really thinking of bestowing a prize on the first individual who does not say:
‘What a lot of bottles!’
And I know the next thing you’re going to say is:
‘How many people have you poisoned?’”

I pleaded guilty with a laugh.

“If you people only knew how fatally easy it is to poison someone by mistake, you wouldn’t joke about it.Come on, let’s have tea.We’ve got all sorts of secret stores in that cupboard.
No, Lawrence—that’s the poison cupboard. The big cupboard—that’s right.”

“Come in,” said Cynthia, in a sharp professional tone.

“I’m not really here to-day.”

“So now it can’t be done until tomorrow,” finished Cynthia.

“Don’t you think you could possibly let us have it tonight?”

“Well,” said Cynthia graciously,“we are very busy, but if we have time it shall be done.”

The little nurse withdrew, and Cynthia promptly took a jar from the shelf, refilled the bottle, and placed it on the table outside the door.

I laughed.
“Discipline must be maintained?”

“Exactly. Come out on our little balcony. You can see all the outside wards there.”

“Poirot!” I exclaimed.
I turned to the pony-trap.
“This is a very pleasant meeting for me, Miss Cynthia. This is my old friend, Monsieur Poirot, whom I have not seen for years.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Poirot seriously.
“I know Mademoiselle Cynthia.It is by the charity of that good Mrs. Inglethorp that I am here.“

“Yes, my friend,she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from their native land.
We Belgians will always remember her with gratitude.”

“He’s a dear little man,” said Cynthia.
“I’d no idea you knew him.”

“You’ve been entertaining a celebrity unawares,” I replied.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said.

“Is there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?” asked Cynthia.

“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Inglethorp sharply.
“What should there be?”
Then catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going into the dining-room, she called to her to bring some stamps into the boudoir.

“Yes, m’m.”
The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently:
“Don’t you think, m’m, you’d better get to bed? You’re looking very tired.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Dorcas—yes—no—not now. I’ve some letters I must finish by post-time. Have you lighted the fire in my room as I told you?”

“Yes, m’m.”

“Then I’ll go to bed directly after supper.”
She went into the boudoir again, and Cynthia stared after her.

“Goodness gracious! I wonder what’s up?”
she said to Lawrence.

“In the boudoir.”

“Then you won’t show it to me?”

To which Mrs. Inglethorp replied:
“My dear Mary, it has nothing to do with that matter.”

“Then show it to me.”

To which Mary Cavendish replied, with a rising bitterness:
“Of course, I might have known you would shield him.”

Cynthia was waiting for me, and greeted me eagerly with:
“I say! There’s been the most awful row! I’ve got it all out of Dorcas.”

“What kind of a row?”

“Between Aunt Emily and him. I do hope she’s found him out at last!”

“Was Dorcas there, then?”

“Of course not. She ‘happened to be near the door’. It was a real old bust-up. I do wish I knew what it was all about.”

“Do not trouble, Mary,” said Inglethorp.
“I will take it to Emily.”

“What have you been doing, doctor?” cried Mrs. Cavendish.

“I must make my apologies,” said the doctor.
“I did not really mean to come in, but Mr. Inglethorp insisted.”

“Well, Bauerstein, you are in a plight,” said John, strolling in from the hall.
“Have some coffee, and tell us what you have been up to.”

”Thank you, I will.”

“The sun soon dried me off,” he added, “but I’m afraid my appearance is very disreputable.”