帷幕2

II

And does it not intrigue you, my friend, to see the address from which I write?

It recalls old memories, does it not? Yes, I am here, at Styles. Figure to your-self, it is now what they call a guest house. Run by one of your so British oldColonels – very ‘old school tie’ and ‘Poona’. It is his wife, bien entendu, whomakes it pay. She is a good manager, that one, but the tongue like vinegar,and the poor Colonel, he suffers much from it. If it were me I would take ahatchet to her!

I saw their advertisement in the paper, and the fancy took me to go onceagain to the place which first was my home in this country. At my age one en-joys reliving the past.

Then figure to yourself, I find here a gentleman, a baronet who is a friend ofthe employer of your daughter. (That phrase it sounds a little like the Frenchexercise, does it not?)

Immediately I conceive a plan. He wishes to induce the Franklins to comehere for the summer. I in my turn will persuade you and we shall be all to-gether, en famille. It will be most agreeable. Therefore, mon cher Hastings,dépêchez-vous, arrive with the utmost celerity. I have commanded for you aroom with bath (it is modernized now, you comprehend, the dear old Styles)and disputed the price with Mrs Colonel Luttrell until I have made an ar-rangement très bon marché.

The Franklins and your charming Judith have been here for some days. It isall arranged, so make no histories.

A bient?t, Yours always, Hercule Poirot

The prospect was alluring, and I fell in with my old friend’s wisheswithout demur. I had no ties and no settled home. Of my children, one boywas in the Navy, the other married and running the ranch in the Argen-tine. My daughter Grace was married to a soldier and was at present in In-dia. My remaining child, Judith, was the one whom secretly I had alwaysloved best, although I had never for one moment understood her. A queer,dark, secretive child, with a passion for keeping her own counsel, whichhad sometimes affronted and distressed me. My wife had been more un-derstanding. It was, she assured me, no lack of trust or confidence on Ju-dith’s part, but a kind of fierce compulsion. But she, like myself, was some-times worried about the child. Judith’s feelings, she said, were too intense,too concentrated, and her instinctive reserve deprived her of any safetyvalve. She had queer fits of brooding silence and a fierce, almost bitterpower of partisanship. Her brains were the best of the family and wegladly fell in with her wish for a university education. She had taken herB.Sc. about a year ago, and had then taken the post of secretary to a doctorwho was engaged in research work connected with tropical disease. Hiswife was somewhat of an invalid.

I had occasionally had qualms as to whether Judith’s absorption in herwork, and devotion to her employer, were not signs that she might be los-ing her heart, but the business-like footing of their relationship assuredme.

Judith was, I believed, fond of me, but she was very undemonstrative bynature, and she was often scornful and impatient of what she called mysentimental and outworn ideas. I was, frankly, a little nervous of mydaughter!

At this point my meditations were interrupted by the train drawing upat the station of Styles St Mary. That at least had not changed. Time hadpassed it by. It was still perched up in the midst of fields, with apparentlyno reason for existence.

As my taxi passed through the village, though, I realized the passage ofyears. Styles St Mary was altered out of all recognition. Petrol stations, acinema, two more inns and rows of council houses.

Presently we turned in at the gate of Styles. Here we seemed to recedeagain from modern times. The park was much as I remembered it, but thedrive was badly kept and much overgrown with weeds growing up overthe gravel. We turned a corner and came in view of the house. It was un-altered from the outside and badly needed a coat of paint.

As on my arrival all those years ago, there was a woman’s figure stoop-ing over one of the garden beds. My heart missed a beat. Then the figurestraightened up and came towards me, and I laughed at myself. No greatercontrast to the robust Evelyn Howard could have been imagined.

This was a frail elderly lady, with an abundance of curly white hair,pink cheeks, and a pair of cold pale blue eyes that were widely at variancewith the easy geniality of her manner, which was frankly a shade toogushing for my taste.

‘It’ll be Captain Hastings now, won’t it?’ she demanded. ‘And me withmy hands all over dirt and not able to shake hands. We’re delighted to seeyou here – the amount we’ve heard about you! I must introduce myself.

I’m Mrs Luttrell. My husband and I bought this place in a fit of madnessand have been trying to make a paying concern of it. I never thought theday would come when I’d be a hotel keeper! But I’ll warn you, CaptainHastings, I’m a very business-like woman. I pile up the extras all I knowhow.’

We both laughed as though at an excellent joke, but it occurred to methat what Mrs Luttrell had just said was in all probability the literal truth.

Behind the veneer of her charming old lady manner, I caught a glimpse offlint-like hardness.

Although Mrs Luttrell occasionally affected a faint brogue, she had noIrish blood. It was a mere affectation.

I enquired after my friend.

‘Ah, poor little M. Poirot. The way he’s been looking forward to yourcoming. It would melt a heart of stone. Terribly sorry I am for him, suffer-ing the way he does.’

We were walking towards the house and she was peeling off hergardening gloves.

‘And your pretty daughter, too,’ she went on. ‘What a lovely girl she is.

We all admire her tremendously. But I’m old-fashioned, you know, and itseems to me a shame and a sin that a girl like that, that ought to be goingto parties and dancing with young men, should spend her time cutting uprabbits and bending over a microscope all day. Leave that sort of thing tothe frumps, I say.’

‘Where is Judith?’ I asked. ‘Is she somewhere about?’

Mrs Luttrell made what children call ‘a face’.

‘Ah, the poor girl. She’s cooped up in that studio place down at the bot-tom of the garden. Dr Franklin rents it from me and he’s had it all fittedup. Hutches of guinea pigs he’s got there, the poor creatures, and mice andrabbits. I’m not sure that I like all this science, Captain Hastings. Ah, here’smy husband.’

Colonel Luttrell had just come round the corner of the house. He was avery tall, attenuated old man, with a cadaverous face, mild blue eyes and ahabit of irresolutely tugging at his little white moustache.

He had a vague, rather nervous manner.

‘Ah, George, here’s Captain Hastings arrived.’

Colonel Luttrell shook hands. ‘You came by the five – er – forty, eh?’

‘What else should he have come by?’ said Mrs Luttrell sharply. ‘Andwhat does it matter anyway? Take him up and show him his room,George. And then maybe he’d like to go straight to M. Poirot – or wouldyou rather have tea first?’

I assured her that I did not want tea and would prefer to go and greetmy friend.

Colonel Luttrell said, ‘Right. Come along. I expect – er – they’ll havetaken your things up already – eh, Daisy?’

Mrs Luttrell said tartly, ‘That’s your business, George. I’ve been garden-ing. I can’t see to everything.’

‘No, no, of course not. I – I’ll see to it, my dear.’

I followed him up the front steps. In the doorway we encountered agrey-haired man, slightly built, who was hurrying out with a pair of field-glasses. He limped, and had a boyish eager face. He said, stammeringslightly: ‘There’s a pair of n-nesting blackcaps down by the sycamore.’

As we went into the hall, Luttrell said, ‘That’s Norton. Nice fellow. Crazyabout birds.’

In the hall itself, a very big man was standing by the table. He had obvi-ously just finished telephoning. Looking up he said, ‘I’d like to hang, drawand quarter all contractors and builders. Never get anything done right,curse ’em.’

His wrath was so comical and so rueful, that we both laughed. I felt veryattracted at once towards the man. He was very good-looking, though aman well over fifty, with a deeply tanned face. He looked as though he hadled an out-of-doors life, and he looked, too, the type of man that is becom-ing more and more rare, an Englishman of the old school, straightforward,fond of out-of-doors life, and the kind of man who can command.

I was hardly surprised when Colonel Luttrell introduced him as Sir Wil-liam Boyd Carrington. He had been, I knew, Governor of a province in In-dia, where he had been a signal success. He was also renowned as a first-class shot and big game hunter. The sort of man, I reflected sadly, that weno longer seemed to breed in these degenerate days.

‘Aha,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to meet in the flesh that famous personage monami Hastings.’ He laughed. ‘The dear old Belgian fellow talks about you alot, you know. And then, of course, we’ve got your daughter here. She’s afine girl.’

‘I don’t suppose Judith talks about me much,’ I said, smiling.

‘No, no, far too modern. These girls nowadays always seem embar-rassed at having to admit to a father or mother at all.’

‘Parents,’ I said, ‘are practically a disgrace.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, well – I don’t suffer that way. I’ve no children, worseluck. Your Judith is a very good-looking wench, but terribly high-brow. Ifind it rather alarming.’ He picked up the telephone receiver again. ‘Hopeyou don’t mind, Luttrell, if I start damning your exchange to hell. I’m not apatient man.’

‘Do ’em good,’ said Luttrell.

He led the way upstairs and I followed him. He took me along the leftwing of the house to a door at the end, and I realized that Poirot hadchosen for me the room I had occupied before.

There were changes here. As I walked along the corridor some of thedoors were open and I saw that the old-fashioned large bedrooms hadbeen partitioned off so as to make several smaller ones.

My own room, which had not been large, was unaltered save for the in-stallation of hot and cold water, and part of it had been partitioned off tomake a small bathroom. It was furnished in a cheap modern style whichrather disappointed me. I should have preferred a style more nearly ap-proximating to the architecture of the house itself.

My luggage was in my room and the Colonel explained that Poirot’sroom was exactly opposite. He was about to take me there when a sharpcry of ‘George’ echoed up from the hall below.

Colonel Luttrell started like a nervous horse. His hand went to his lips.

‘I – I – sure you’re all right? Ring for what you want –’

‘George.’

‘Coming, my dear, coming.’

He hurried off down the corridor. I stood for a moment looking afterhim. Then, with my heart beating slightly faster, I crossed the corridor andrapped on the door of Poirot’s room.

 

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