The intense interest aroused in the public by what was known at the time as "The Styles Case" has now somewhat subsided. Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attended it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family themselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, we trust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours which still persist.

I will therefore briefly set down the circumstances which led to my being connected with the affair.

I had been invalided home from the Front; and, after spending some months in a rather depressing Convalescent Home, was given a month's sick leave. Having no near relations or friends, I was trying to make up my mind what to do, when I ran across John Cavendish. I had seen very little of him for some years. Indeed, I had never known him particularly well. He was a good fifteen years my senior, for one thing, though he hardly looked his forty-five years. As a boy, though, I had often stayed at Styles, his mother's place in Essex.

We had a good yarn about old times, and it ended in his inviting me down to Styles to spend my leave there.

"The mater will be delighted to see you again--after all those years," he added.

"Your mother keeps well?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. I suppose you know that she has married again?"

I am afraid I showed my surprise rather plainly. Mrs. Cavendish, who had married John's father when he was a widower with two sons, had been a handsome woman of middle-age as I remembered her. She certainly could not be a day less than seventy now. I recalled her as an energetic, autocratic personality, somewhat inclined to charitable and social notoriety, with a fondness for opening bazaars and playing the Lady Bountiful. She was a most generous woman, and possessed a considerable fortune of her own.

Their country-place, Styles Court, had been purchased by Mr. Cavendish early in their married life. He had been completely under his wife's ascendancy, so much so that, on dying, he left the place to her for her lifetime, as well as the larger part of his income; an arrangement that was distinctly unfair to his two sons. Their step-mother, however, had always been most generous to them; indeed, they were so young at the time of their father's remarriage that they always thought of her as their own mother.

Lawrence, the younger, had been a delicate youth. He had qualified as a doctor but early relinquished the profession of medicine, and lived at home while pursuing literary ambitions; though his verses never had any marked success.

John practiced for some time as a barrister, but had finally settled down to the more congenial life of a country squire. He had married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live at Styles, though I entertained a shrewd suspicion that he would have preferred his mother to increase his allowance, which would have enabled him to have a home of his own. Mrs. Cavendish, however, was a lady who liked to make her own plans, and expected other people to fall in with them, and in this case she certainly had the whip hand, namely: the purse strings.

John noticed my surprise at the news of his mother's remarriage and smiled rather ruefully.

"Rotten little bounder too!" he said savagely. "I can tell you, Hastings, it's making life jolly difficult for us. As for Evie--you remember Evie?"

"No."

"Oh, I suppose she was after your time. She's the mater's factotum, companion, Jack of all trades! A great sport--old Evie! Not precisely young and beautiful, but as game as they make them."

"You were going to say----?"

"Oh, this fellow! He turned up from nowhere, on the pretext of being a second cousin or something of Evie's, though she didn't seem particularly keen to acknowledge the relationship. The fellow is an absolute outsider, anyone can see that. He's got a great black beard, and wears patent leather boots in all weathers! But the mater cottoned to him at once, took him on as secretary--you know how she's always running a hundred societies?"

I nodded.

"Well, of course the war has turned the hundreds into thousands. No doubt the fellow was very useful to her. But you could have knocked us all down with a feather when, three months ago, she suddenly announced that she and Alfred were engaged! The fellow must be at least twenty years younger than she is! It's simply bare-faced fortune hunting; but there you are--she is her own mistress, and she's married him."

"It must be a difficult situation for you all."

"Difficult! It's damnable!"

Thus it came about that, three days later, I descended from the train at Styles St. Mary, an absurd little station, with no apparent reason for existence, perched up in the midst of green fields and country lanes. John Cavendish was waiting on the platform, and piloted me out to the car.

"Got a drop or two of petrol still, you see," he remarked. "Mainly owing to the mater's activities."

The village of Styles St. Mary was situated about two miles from the little station, and Styles Court lay a mile the other side of it. It was a still, warm day in early July. As one looked out over the flat Essex country, lying so green and peaceful under the afternoon sun, it seemed almost impossible to believe that, not so very far away, a great war was running its appointed course. I felt I had suddenly strayed into another world. As we turned in at the lodge gates, John said:

"I'm afraid you'll find it very quiet down here, Hastings."

"My dear fellow, that's just what I want."

"Oh, it's pleasant enough if you want to lead the idle life. I drill with the volunteers twice a week, and lend a hand at the farms. My wife works regularly 'on the land'. She is up at five every morning to milk, and keeps at it steadily until lunchtime. It's a jolly good life taking it all round--if it weren't for that fellow Alfred Inglethorp!" He checked the car suddenly, and glanced at his watch. "I wonder if we've time to pick up Cynthia. No, she'll have started from the hospital by now."

"Cynthia! That's not your wife?"

"No, Cynthia is a protegee of my mother's, the daughter of an old schoolfellow of hers, who married a rascally solicitor. He came a cropper, and the girl was left an orphan and penniless. My mother came to the rescue, and Cynthia has been with us nearly two years now. She works in the Red Cross Hospital at Tadminster, seven miles away."

As he spoke the last words, we drew up in front of the fine old house. A lady in a stout tweed skirt, who was bending over a flower bed, straightened herself at our approach.

"Hullo, Evie, here's our wounded hero! Mr. Hastings--Miss Howard."

Miss Howard shook hands with a hearty, almost painful, grip. I had an impression of very blue eyes in a sunburnt face. She was a pleasant-looking woman of about forty, with a deep voice, almost manly in its stentorian tones, and had a large sensible square body, with feet to match--these last encased in good thick boots. Her conversation, I soon found, was couched in the telegraphic style.

"Weeds grow like house afire. Can't keep even with 'em. Shall press you in. Better be careful."

"I'm sure I shall be only too delighted to make myself useful," I responded.

"Don't say it. Never does. Wish you hadn't later."

"You're a cynic, Evie," said John, laughing. "Where's tea to-day--inside or out?"

"Out. Too fine a day to be cooped up in the house."

"Come on then, you've done enough gardening for to-day. 'The labourer is worthy of his hire', you know. Come and be refreshed."

"Well," said Miss Howard, drawing off her gardening gloves, "I'm inclined to agree with you."

She led the way round the house to where tea was spread under the shade of a large sycamore.

A figure rose from one of the basket chairs, and came a few steps to meet us.

"My wife, Hastings," said John.

I shall never forget my first sight of Mary Cavendish. Her tall, slender form, outlined against the bright light; the vivid sense of slumbering fire that seemed to find expression only in those wonderful tawny eyes of hers, remarkable eyes, different from any other woman's that I have ever known; the intense power of stillness she possessed, which nevertheless conveyed the impression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilised body--all these things are burnt into my memory. I shall never forget them.

She greeted me with a few words of pleasant welcome in a low clear voice, and I sank into a basket chair feeling distinctly glad that I had accepted John's invitation. Mrs. Cavendish gave me some tea, and her few quiet remarks heightened my first impression of her as a thoroughly fascinating woman. An appreciative listener is always stimulating, and I described, in a humorous manner, certain incidents of my Convalescent Home, in a way which, I flatter myself, greatly amused my hostess. John, of course, good fellow though he is, could hardly be called a brilliant conversationalist.

At that moment a well remembered voice floated through the open French window near at hand:

"Then you'll write to the Princess after tea, Alfred? I'll write to Lady Tadminster for the second day, myself. Or shall we wait until we hear from the Princess? In case of a refusal, Lady Tadminster might open it the first day, and Mrs. Crosbie the second. Then there's the Duchess--about the school fete."

There was the murmur of a man's voice, and then Mrs. Inglethorp's rose in reply:

"Yes, certainly. After tea will do quite well. You are so thoughtful, Alfred dear."

The French window swung open a little wider, and a handsome white-haired old lady, with a somewhat masterful cast of features, stepped out of it on to the lawn. A man followed her, a suggestion of deference in his manner.

Mrs. Inglethorp greeted me with effusion.

"Why, if it isn't too delightful to see you again, Mr. Hastings, after all these years. Alfred, darling, Mr. Hastings--my husband."

I looked with some curiosity at "Alfred darling". He certainly struck a rather alien note. I did not wonder at John objecting to his beard. It was one of the longest and blackest I have ever seen. He wore gold-rimmed pince-nez, and had a curious impassivity of feature. It struck me that he might look natural on a stage, but was strangely out of place in real life. His voice was rather deep and unctuous. He placed a wooden hand in mine and said:

"This is a pleasure, Mr. Hastings." Then, turning to his wife: "Emily dearest, I think that cushion is a little damp."

She beamed fondly on him, as he substituted another with every demonstration of the tenderest care. Strange infatuation of an otherwise sensible woman!

With the presence of Mr. Inglethorp, a sense of constraint and veiled hostility seemed to settle down upon the company. Miss Howard, in particular, took no pains to conceal her feelings. Mrs. Inglethorp, however, seemed to notice nothing unusual. Her volubility, which I remembered of old, had lost nothing in the intervening years, and she poured out a steady flood of conversation, mainly on the subject of the forthcoming bazaar which she was organizing and which was to take place shortly. Occasionally she referred to her husband over a question of days or dates. His watchful and attentive manner never varied. From the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and I flatter myself that my first judgments are usually fairly shrewd.

Presently Mrs. Inglethorp turned to give some instructions about letters to Evelyn Howard, and her husband addressed me in his painstaking voice:

"Is soldiering your regular profession, Mr. Hastings?"

"No, before the war I was in Lloyd's."

"And you will return there after it is over?"

"Perhaps. Either that or a fresh start altogether."

Mary Cavendish leant forward.

"What would you really choose as a profession, if you could just consult your inclination?"

"Well, that depends."

"No secret hobby?" she asked. "Tell me--you're drawn to something? Every one is--usually something absurd."

"You'll laugh at me."

She smiled.

"Perhaps."

"Well, I've always had a secret hankering to be a detective!"

"The real thing--Scotland Yard? Or Sherlock Holmes?"

"Oh, Sherlock Holmes by all means. But really, seriously, I am awfully drawn to it. I came across a man in Belgium once, a very famous detective, and he quite inflamed me. He was a marvellous little fellow. He used to say that all good detective work was a mere matter of method. My system is based on his--though of course I have progressed rather further. He was a funny little man, a great dandy, but wonderfully clever."

"Like a good detective story myself," remarked Miss Howard. "Lots of nonsense written, though. Criminal discovered in last chapter. Every one dumbfounded. Real crime--you'd know at once."

"There have been a great number of undiscovered crimes," I argued.

"Don't mean the police, but the people that are right in it. The family. You couldn't really hoodwink them. They'd know."

"Then," I said, much amused, "you think that if you were mixed up in a crime, say a murder, you'd be able to spot the murderer right off?"

"Of course I should. Mightn't be able to prove it to a pack of lawyers. But I'm certain I'd know. I'd feel it in my fingertips if he came near me."

"It might be a 'she,' " I suggested.

"Might. But murder's a violent crime. Associate it more with a man."

"Not in a case of poisoning." Mrs. Cavendish's clear voice startled me. "Dr. Bauerstein was saying yesterday that, owing to the general ignorance of the more uncommon poisons among the medical profession, there were probably countless cases of poisoning quite unsuspected."

"Why, Mary, what a gruesome conversation!" cried Mrs. Inglethorp. "It makes me feel as if a goose were walking over my grave. Oh, there's Cynthia!"

A young girl in V. A. D. uniform ran lightly across the lawn.

"Why, Cynthia, you are late to-day. This is Mr. Hastings--Miss Murdoch."

Cynthia Murdoch was a fresh-looking young creature, full of life and vigour. She tossed off her little V. A. D. cap, and I admired the great loose waves of her auburn hair, and the smallness and whiteness of the hand she held out to claim her tea. With dark eyes and eyelashes she would have been a beauty.

She flung herself down on the ground beside John, and as I handed her a plate of sandwiches she smiled up at me.

"Sit down here on the grass, do. It's ever so much nicer."

I dropped down obediently.

"You work at Tadminster, don't you, Miss Murdoch?"

She nodded.

"For my sins."

"Do they bully you, then?" I asked, smiling.

"I should like to see them!" cried Cynthia with dignity.

"I have got a cousin who is nursing," I remarked. "And she is terrified of 'Sisters'."

"I don't wonder. Sisters _are_, you know, Mr. Hastings. They simp--ly _are_! You've no idea! But I'm not a nurse, thank heaven, I work in the dispensary."

"How many people do you poison?" I asked, smiling.

Cynthia smiled too.

"Oh, hundreds!" she said.

"Cynthia," called Mrs. Inglethorp, "do you think you could write a few notes for me?"

"Certainly, Aunt Emily."

She jumped up promptly, and something in her manner reminded me that her position was a dependent one, and that Mrs. Inglethorp, kind as she might be in the main, did not allow her to forget it.

My hostess turned to me.

"John will show you your room. Supper is at half-past seven. We have given up late dinner for some time now. Lady Tadminster, our Member's wife--she was the late Lord Abbotsbury's daughter--does the same. She agrees with me that one must set an example of economy. We are quite a war household; nothing is wasted here--every scrap of waste paper, even, is saved and sent away in sacks."

I expressed my appreciation, and John took me into the house and up the broad staircase, which forked right and left half-way to different wings of the building. My room was in the left wing, and looked out over the park.

John left me, and a few minutes later I saw him from my window walking slowly across the grass arm in arm with Cynthia Murdoch. I heard Mrs. Inglethorp call "Cynthia" impatiently, and the girl started and ran back to the house. At the same moment, a man stepped out from the shadow of a tree and walked slowly in the same direction. He looked about forty, very dark with a melancholy clean-shaven face. Some violent emotion seemed to be mastering him. He looked up at my window as he passed, and I recognized him, though he had changed much in the fifteen years that had elapsed since we last met. It was John's younger brother, Lawrence Cavendish. I wondered what it was that had brought that singular expression to his face.

Then I dismissed him from my mind, and returned to the contemplation of my own affairs.

The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night of that enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of the anticipation of a delightful visit.

I did not see Mrs. Cavendish until lunch-time, when she volunteered to take me for a walk, and we spent a charming afternoon roaming in the woods, returning to the house about five.

As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into the smoking-room. I saw at once by his face that something disturbing had occurred. We followed him in, and he shut the door after us.

"Look here, Mary, there's the deuce of a mess. Evie's had a row with Alfred Inglethorp, and she's off."

"Evie? Off?"

John nodded gloomily.

"Yes; you see she went to the mater, and--Oh, here's Evie herself."

Miss Howard entered. Her lips were set grimly together, and she carried a small suit-case. She looked excited and determined, and slightly on the defensive.

"At any rate," she burst out, "I've spoken my mind!"

"My dear Evelyn," cried Mrs. Cavendish, "this can't be true!"

Miss Howard nodded grimly.

"True enough! Afraid I said some things to Emily she won't forget or forgive in a hurry. Don't mind if they've only sunk in a bit. Probably water off a duck's back, though. I said right out: 'You're an old woman, Emily, and there's no fool like an old fool. The man's twenty years younger than you, and don't you fool yourself as to what he married you for. Money! Well, don't let him have too much of it. Farmer Raikes has got a very pretty young wife. Just ask your Alfred how much time he spends over there.' She was very angry. Natural! I went on, 'I'm going to warn you, whether you like it or not. That man would as soon murder you in your bed as look at you. He's a bad lot. You can say what you like to me, but remember what I've told you. He's a bad lot!' "

"What did she say?"

Miss Howard made an extremely expressive grimace.

" 'Darling Alfred'--'dearest Alfred'--'wicked calumnies' --'wicked lies'--'wicked woman'--to accuse her 'dear husband'! The sooner I left her house the better. So I'm off."

"But not now?"

"This minute!"

For a moment we sat and stared at her. Finally John Cavendish, finding his persuasions of no avail, went off to look up the trains. His wife followed him, murmuring something about persuading Mrs. Inglethorp to think better of it.

As she left the room, Miss Howard's face changed. She leant towards me eagerly.

"Mr. Hastings, you're honest. I can trust you?"

I was a little startled. She laid her hand on my arm, and sank her voice to a whisper.

"Look after her, Mr. Hastings. My poor Emily. They're a lot of sharks--all of them. Oh, I know what I'm talking about. There isn't one of them that's not hard up and trying to get money out of her. I've protected her as much as I could. Now I'm out of the way, they'll impose upon her."

"Of course, Miss Howard," I said, "I'll do everything I can, but I'm sure you're excited and overwrought."

She interrupted me by slowly shaking her forefinger.

"Young man, trust me. I've lived in the world rather longer than you have. All I ask you is to keep your eyes open. You'll see what I mean."

The throb of the motor came through the open window, and Miss Howard rose and moved to the door. John's voice sounded outside. With her hand on the handle, she turned her head over her shoulder, and beckoned to me.

"Above all, Mr. Hastings, watch that devil--her husband!"

There was no time for more. Miss Howard was swallowed up in an eager chorus of protests and good-byes. The Inglethorps did not appear.

As the motor drove away, Mrs. Cavendish suddenly detached herself from the group, and moved across the drive to the lawn to meet a tall bearded man who had been evidently making for the house. The colour rose in her cheeks as she held out her hand to him.

"Who is that?" I asked sharply, for instinctively I distrusted the man.

"That's Dr. Bauerstein," said John shortly.

"And who is Dr. Bauerstein?"

"He's staying in the village doing a rest cure, after a bad nervous breakdown. He's a London specialist; a very clever man--one of the greatest living experts on poisons, I believe."

"And he's a great friend of Mary's," put in Cynthia, the irrepressible.

John Cavendish frowned and changed the subject.

"Come for a stroll, Hastings. This has been a most rotten business. She always had a rough tongue, but there is no stauncher friend in England than Evelyn Howard."

He took the path through the plantation, and we walked down to the village through the woods which bordered one side of the estate.

As we passed through one of the gates on our way home again, a pretty young woman of gipsy type coming in the opposite direction bowed and smiled.

"That's a pretty girl," I remarked appreciatively.

John's face hardened.

"That is Mrs. Raikes."

"The one that Miss Howard----"

"Exactly," said John, with rather unnecessary abruptness.

I thought of the white-haired old lady in the big house, and that vivid wicked little face that had just smiled into ours, and a vague chill of foreboding crept over me. I brushed it aside.

"Styles is really a glorious old place," I said to John.

He nodded rather gloomily.

"Yes, it's a fine property. It'll be mine some day--should be mine now by rights, if my father had only made a decent will. And then I shouldn't be so damned hard up as I am now."

"Hard up, are you?"

"My dear Hastings, I don't mind telling you that I'm at my wit's end for money."

"Couldn't your brother help you?"

"Lawrence? He's gone through every penny he ever had, publishing rotten verses in fancy bindings. No, we're an impecunious lot. My mother's always been awfully good to us, I must say. That is, up to now. Since her marriage, of course----" he broke off, frowning.

For the first time I felt that, with Evelyn Howard, something indefinable had gone from the atmosphere. Her presence had spelt security. Now that security was removed--and the air seemed rife with suspicion. The sinister face of Dr. Bauerstein recurred to me unpleasantly. A vague suspicion of every one and everything filled my mind. Just for a moment I had a premonition of approaching evil.

曾经轰动一时，在公众中引起强烈兴趣的“斯泰尔斯庄园案”，现在已经有点冷落下来了。然而，由于随之产生的种种流言蜚语广为流传，我的朋友波洛和那一家的人。都要求我把整个故事写出来。我们相信，这将有效地驳倒那些迄今为止仍在流传的耸人听闻的谣言。

因此，我决定把我和这一事件有关的一些情况简略地记下来。

我是作为伤病员从前线给遣送回家的；在一所令人相当沮丧的疗养院里挨过了几个月之后，总算给了我一个月的病假。我既无近亲也没有密友，当我正在考虑怎么来度过这一假期的时候，偶然遇见了约翰·卡文迪什，这些年来我很少见到他。说实在的，我并不十分了解他。首先，他比我足足大十五岁，虽然他根本着不出有四十五岁。虽说在做孩子的时候，我常在斯泰尔斯庄园逗留，那是他母亲在埃塞克期①的乡间邸宅。

我们经过了一番叙旧之后，接着他就邀我上斯泰尔斯去度过我的假期。

“隔了这么多年又见到你，母亲一定会很高兴的。”他补充说。

“你母亲好吗？”我问道。

“嗯，很好。她又结婚了，你大概知道了吧？”

我担心我已有点儿明显地流露出惊讶的神情。在我的记忆中，他的母亲是位端庄的中年妇女（她嫁给约翰父亲的时候，他是个鳏夫，已有两个儿子），现在，无疑至少有七十岁了。我记得她是个精力充沛、办事专断的人，有点喜欢慈善事业和社交活动，爱好搞搞义卖之类，扮演“帮得忙”大太②的角色。她是个非常慷慨的女人，她自己有相当可观的财产。

他们这幢乡问邸宅斯泰尔斯庄园，是早在他们结婚那年月，卡文迪什先生购置的。他本来已完全在他太太的控制之下，他一去世，这幢宅第也就留给她终生享用了，她的绝大部分收入也归了她；这样的安排，对他的两个儿子来无疑是不公正的。然而，他们的后母对他们倒是非常慷慨；实在是，他们的父亲再娶时。他们都还年幼，所以他们一向把她看成是自己的亲生母亲。

弟弟劳伦斯是个文雅的青年。他原已取得了当医生的资格，但他早就放弃了这个行医的职业，待在家里一心想实现文学上的抱负；虽然他的诗作从来没有任何显著的成就。

约翰当过一段时间开业律师，可是，他最终还是过起这种更为惬意的乡绅生活来了。他在两年前结了婚，带着妻子住在斯泰尔斯，不过，我总觉得，他是宁愿他的母亲多给他一点津贴，好让他能够有一个自己的家的。然而，那位老太太是个喜欢独断独行的人，希望别人听从她的安排，而在现在这样的情况下，她当然处于支配地应，就是说：财权在她手中。

约翰觉察到我听说他母亲再嫁的消息后所表现出来的惊讶，苦笑了一下。

“还是个卑鄙龌龊的粗俗汉子！”他粗鲁地说。“我可以告诉你，哈斯丁，这搞得我们的日子相当难过。至于哪个伊维③——你还记得伊维吗？”

“不记得了。”

“呵，我想她是在你那一次去过之后来的。她是母亲的管家，女伴，是个样样皆通的人物！那个老伊维，是个大玩物！既不年轻又不漂亮，大家都拿他们作为嘲弄的对象。

“你是打算说——？”

“哼，这家伙！谁知道他是打哪几钻出来的，借口是伊维的远房表兄弟什么的，虽说她似乎并不特别想承认这种关系。谁都能看出，这家伙完全是个粗俗汉子。一大把黑胡子，不管什么天气都穿双漆皮的长统靴！可母亲却立刻对他产生了好感，录用他当了秘书——你知道吗？她一直经营着上百个社会团体呢。”

我点点头。

“当然罗，战争已经把几百个这样的社团变成几千个了。这家伙对她来说无疑是很有用的。可是，三个月前，当她突然宣布她已和阿弗雷德订婚时，这可把我们都给惊呆了！这家伙至少比她要小二十岁呀！这简直是露骨的，追求有钱的女人；可是你知道，她是个独断独行的女主人，她就嫁给他啦。”

“这一定使你们大家处境都困难了吧。”

“困难！糟透了！”

就在这次谈话之后的第三天，我在斯泰尔斯站下了火车。这简直是个荒谬可笑的小站，四周全是碧绿的田野和乡间小道，看来毫无明显的存在理由。约翰·卡文迪什在站台上等着我，他把我领到汽车跟前。

“你瞧，总算还搞到了一、两滴汽油，”他说：“主要是由于我母亲的活动。”

斯泰尔斯村在离这个小站大约有两英里的地方，斯泰尔斯庄园则坐落在小站的另一方向，离它有一英里第。这是七月初一个宁静、暖和的日子。当你望着窗外掠过的这片埃塞克斯的平野时，它沐浴在午后的阳光中，显得如此青葱，如此宁静，简直使人不能相信，就在离这不很远的地方，一场大战正在按预定的过程进行。我感到自己已突然置身于另一个世界。当我们拐入庄园的大门时，约翰说道：

“我怕你在这儿会感到太冷清呢，哈斯丁。”

“老朋友，这正是我所需要的啊。”

“呵，你要是愿意过悠闲的生活，那这里可真舒适极了。我每星期去和志愿兵一起操练两次，在农庄上帮点忙。我的妻子按时去干点农活。她每天早上五点起身去挤牛奶，一直到吃中饭。要是没有阿弗雷德·英格里桑那家伙的话，这儿确实是一种快活似神仙的生活！”他突然煞住了车，看了着手表。“不知道我们是不是还来得及去接一下辛西娅。啊，不行啦，她可能已经从医院出来了。”

“辛西娅！就是你妻子吗？”

“不，辛西娅是我母亲的养女，她的一个老同学的女儿，这个老同学嫁给了一个律师，那人是个流氓，后来栽了大跟斗，弄得这姑娘身无分文，孤苦无依，结果是我母亲救了她。卒西碰往在我们家已经快两年了，她在塔明斯特的红十字医院工作，离这儿有七英里地。”

他说最后几句话时，我们已到了一幢高大的老式房子跟前。一个穿着宽大的花呢裙子的女人，正俯身在花床上，一见我们到来，连忙直起了身子。

“你好，伊维，这位就是我说的负伤的英雄！哈斯丁先生——这位是霍华德小姐。”

霍华德小姐握手很有劲，几乎都把我给握痛了，在她那被阳光晒黑的脸上有一对蓝莹莹的眼睛。她是个一眼看去挺讨人欢喜的女人，四十岁上下，嗓子深沉，洪亮的声音，几乎象个男人，生就一副显然很宽阔结实的身材，再配上一双合适的脚——它们被套在结实粗大的靴子里。我很快发现，她的谈吐语句十分简洁。

“杂草长起来就象房子着火，连赶都赶不上它们，我要抓你的夫的。最好当心一点。”

“我相信，能使自己成为一个有用的人，那我才高兴呐。”我回答说。

“别说这一套。决不要说，希望你以后也别说。”

“你真会挖苦人，伊维，”约翰笑了起来，说。“今天在哪儿喝茶呀——里面还是外面？”

“外面。这么好的天气还打算关在屋子里。”

“那就去吧，今天的园艺活你已经做够了。你要知道，‘雇工之劳动应与其雇金相符’。去吧，歇一歇，”

“好，”霍华德小姐答应说，脱掉自己的工作手套，“就听你的吧。”

她在前面带路，绕过房子，来到一棵大枫树的树荫下摆着茶点的地方。

有一个人从一张柳条椅上站起来。朝我们迎上来几步。

“我的妻子。这位是哈斯丁，”约翰介绍说。

我决不会忘掉第一次见到玛丽·卡文迪什的情景。她，高高的苗条的身材，在明朗的阳光下线条优美；那种欲露还藏的活泼表情。似乎只在那对神奇的褐色媚眼中才能找到。那双惊人的眼睛，和我所见过的所有女人的都不同；她拥有一种无声的非凡的魅力；然而，她那文静高雅的体态中仍然流露出一种狂热奔放的野性激情——所有这一切，都在我的记忆中熊熊燃烧。这是我永远不会忘记的。

她用一种轻柔、清晰的声音，说了几句热情的话，对我表示欢迎，随后我就在一张柳条椅上坐了下来，心中为自己接受约翰的邀请感到格外的高兴。卡文迪什太太给我斟了茶，她那寥寥数句文雅的话，更加深了我对她的最初印象，觉得她是个会使人完全神魂颠倒的女人。一个有欣赏力的听众总是提高人的兴致的，因而我用一种幽默的口吻叙述了一些疗养院中的趣闻轶事，我用这样的方式，引起了我的女主人很大的兴趣，我自己也感到很得意。当然，约翰虽是个大好人，但他不能被称作一个高明的对话者。

正在这时候，一个难以忘却的声音，从近处的一个开着的落地长窗中飘了出来：

“那末你喝了茶以后给公主写信吗，阿弗雷德？给第二天来的塔明斯特夫人的信我自己来写。或者我们还是等公主那边有了回答再说？要是她不答应，塔明斯特夫人就可以在第一天来，克罗斯贝太太第二天，再是公爵夫人——主持学校的开学典礼。”

传出一个男人的喃喃不清的声音，接着又响起英格里桑太大的答话声：

“对，当然可以。喝了茶以后就好好搞一搞，你考虑得真周到，亲爱的阿弗雷德。”

落地长窗又开大了一点，一位端庄的白发老太太，有着一副专横的面容，从里面走出来，来到草坪上，她的后面跟着一个男人，显得一副顺从的样儿。

英格里桑太太热情洋溢地对我表示欢迎。

“啊，隔了这么多年，现在又能见到你，真是太高兴了。

阿弗雷德，亲爱的，这是哈斯丁先生——这是我的丈夫。”

我有点好奇地打量着“亲爱的阿弗雷德”。此人确实有点几不含时宜。难怪约翰对他那脸络腮胡子那么反感。

这是我所见过的最长最黑的胡子之一。他戴一副金边的夹鼻眼镜，一脸难以理解的冷淡表情。这使我产生一个印象，他在舞台上也许倒是挺合适的，在现实生活中却怪不自然。他的声音颇为油滑，有点假殷勤的味道。他把一只木头般的手放到我的手中，说道：

“十分荣幸，哈斯丁先生，”接着他转身对他的妻子说：“亲爱的埃米莉，我觉得这椅垫儿有点潮湿呢。”

当他小心翼翼地调换了一个坐垫时，老太大多情地朝他微笑着。一个在各方面都很聪明的女人的奇怪的述恋！

由于英格里桑太大的在场，可以觉察出，在这家人的头上，似乎都蒙上了一层紧张的关系和隐藏着的敌意。霍毕德小姐尤其尽力掩饰住自己的感情。然而，英格里桑太太仿佛什么异常的情况都没有发现。我所记得的她昔日的那种多才善辩，经过这么些年来，依然不减当年，她滔滔不绝地说个不停，谈的话题主要是由她组织的、不久就要举行的义卖。她偶尔向她丈夫查问一下日子或日期方面的问题。他那殷勤小心的态度举上从不改变。打从一开始，我就厌恶他，这一想法在我脑子里一直根深蒂固，而且我自以为我的第一个印象通常都是相当准确的。

过了一会，英格里桑太太转向了伊夫琳·霍华德，对一些有关信件方面的事情吩咐了几句，于是她的文夫用他那煞费苦心的声音和我聊开了：

“你的固定职业就是军人吗，哈斯丁先生？”

“不，战前我在劳埃德商船协会。”

“战争结束后你还决定回去吗？”

“也许是。不外乎回那儿或者是找个新工作。”

玛丽·卡文迪什向前探过身来。

“要是你只是从你的爱好考虑的话，你愿意真正选择一个怎样的职业呢？”

“这个，那要看情况了。”

“没有秘密的癖好吧？”她问道。“告诉我——你被什么东西吸引来着？每个人通常都被某种可笑的东西吸引着的。”

“你会笑话我的。”

她笑了。

“也许是这样。”

“好吧，我一直暗地里渴望成为一个侦探！”

“真不赖——英格兰场④？还是谢洛克·福尔摩斯⑤呢？”

“噢，争取成为谢洛克·福尔摩斯。不过，事实上，认真说，我对此非常向往。我有一次在比利时遇到过一个人，是一位非常著名的侦探，是他激起了我对这一事业的热情。他是一个不可思议的小个子。他常说，一切优秀的侦探工作仅仅是一个方法问题。我的体系就是以他的这一说法为基础的——当然，虽然我已经有了更进一步的发展。他是个非常风趣的小个子，一个衣着时髦的花花公子，但是惊人地机敏。”

“我也喜欢优秀的侦探小说，”霍华德小姐议论说，“不过，总是写了那么多胡说八道的东西。到最后一章揭露了罪犯，弄得每个人都目瞪口呆。可是真正的犯罪行为——是很快就能发现的。”

“还有大量的犯罪行为没有被发现哩，”我表示不赞同。

“不是指警方，而是那些当事人。家里人。你没法真正能瞒过他们。他们一定会知道。”

“那么，”我十分感兴趣他说，“你认为假如你和一桩罪行，譬如说谋杀，牵连上的话，你一定能立刻认出罪犯的罗？”

“当然能认出。也许我不会去向一大群司法人员证实这一点，可是我确信我一定知道，如果他走近我，我凭手指尖就能感觉到。”

“也许是‘她’呢，”我提醒说。

“也许是。可是谋杀是一种暴力犯罪。干这的多半是男人。”

“放毒案就不是这样，”卡文迪什太太那清晰的嗓音使我大吃一惊。“鲍斯但医生昨天说过，由于医学界对多数罕有的毒药普遍无知，这就有可能使无数的放毒案完全不受怀疑。”，。

“唷，玛丽，你说得多可怕呀！”英格里桑太大喊了起来。“害得我都觉得毛骨悚然了。噢，辛西娅来了！”

一个穿着爱国护士会制服的年轻姑娘飘然地穿过草坪跑了过来。

“哦，辛西娅，你今天来晚了。这位是哈斯丁先生——这是穆多契小姐。”

辛西娅·穆多契小姐是个体格健美的年轻姑娘，充满生气和活力。她敏捷地摘下小小的护士帽，那一头疏松的栗色卷发真使我惊叹不已。她伸出一只又白又嫩的小手，接过了茶怀，要是再有乌黑的眼睛和睫毛，那就真是一个美人儿了。

她一下在约翰旁边的草地上坐了下来，当我把一盘三明冶朝她递过去时，她朝我笑了笑。

“来，坐到草地上来吧，这要舒服多了。”

我顺从地坐了下去。

“你是在塔明斯特工作吗，穆多契小姐？”

她点点头。

“活受罪。”

“怎么，他们欺负你了？”我笑着问道。

“我倒喜欢看到他们那样！”辛西娅神气十足地喊了起来。

“我有一个堂妹就是做护士的，”我说，“她也对那些‘修女们’⑥吓得要命。”

“这不奇怪。你知道，哈斯丁先生，护上长就是那样。她们的确是那样！你不知道！谢天谢地，我可不是护士，我在药房工作。”

“你毒死过多少人呀？”我笑着问道。

辛西姬也笑了起来。

“啊，好几百了！”她说。

“辛西娅，”英格里桑太太叫道，“你能给我写几封短信吗？”

“当然可以，埃来莉阿姨。”

她敏捷地一跃而起，她的一举一动中的某些东西，使我想到，她完全处于一个从属的地位；英格里桑太太总的来说可算是仁慈的，但她也不让她忘掉这一点。

我的女主人转向我。

“约翰会带你去你的房间。七点半吃晚饭。我们现在有时候已经不吃晚正餐了。塔明斯特夫人，就是我们的议员的太太——她是已故的阿博茨布雷勋爵的女儿——也是这样。她赞同我的意见，一个人必须成为节约的榜样。我们完全称得上是个战时家庭了；我们这儿一点东西都不浪费——即便是一小片废纸都要积起来，用麻袋装走。”

我表达了我的敬赏之意，接着约翰就带我进屋，上了楼梯，楼梯在半路上左右分开，通向这幢房子的两厢。我的房间在左侧，朝着庭园。

约翰走了，几分钟后，我从窗口看到他和辛西娅手挽手慢慢地从草坪上走了过去。接着，我听到了英格里桑大太急切地叫着“辛西娅”的声音，姑娘吃了一惊，立刻朝房子跑回去了。就在这时候，有个男人从树荫中踱了出来，慢慢地朝同一个方向走去。他看上去四十岁上下，皮肤黝黑，脸刮得光光的，表情忧郁，似乎正被一种强烈的感情所控制。当他经过我的窗下时，朝上看了看。啊，我认出了他，虽然从我们最后一次见面以来，在已经逝去的十五个年头中，他有了很大的变化。这是约翰的弟弟劳伦斯·卡文迪什。我感到纳闷，他脸上为什么会带上那样异常的表情。

后来，我就没有再会想他，回头考虑我自己的事情了。

这天傍晚过得十分愉快，晚上，我梦见了那个不可思议的女人——玛丽·卡文迪什。

第二天早晨，阳光灿烂，我满心期待着一次令人高兴的出游。

一直到吃中饭的时候，我才见到卡文迪什太太。她主动提出陪我去散步，于是我们在林子里漫游，度过了一个令人陶醉的下午，回家时已是五点左右。

我们一进门厅，约翰就招呼我们俩到吸烟室丢。从他脸上，我立刻看出一定出了什么乱子了。我们跟着他走进房间，等我们进去后，他关上了门。

“喂！玛丽，闹得一塌糊涂。伊维和阿弗雷德大吵了一场，她要走了。”

“伊维？要走？”

约翰阴郁地点点头。

“是的。现在她上母亲那儿丢了——哦，伊维来了。”

霍华德小姐走了进来。她冷冷地抿着嘴，手里拎着一只小提箱，看上去既激动又坚决，有点儿处于守势。

“不管怎么样，”她大声嚷道，“我已说出了我的想法！”

“亲爱的伊维，”卡文迪什太太说，“是真的？”

霍华德小姐冷冷地点点头。

千真万确！我对埃米莉说了一些事，恐怕她是不会忘记或者马上原谅我了。不管这些话是否只听进去了一点点，即使说了也可能是白说，我还是照直对她说了：“你是个上了年岁的老太太了，埃米莉，再没有一个人会象个老傻瓜一般傻的了。那男人比你年轻二十岁哩。别欺骗自己了，她娶你是为了什么？钱！行了，别给他那么多钱。那个农场主雷克斯可有个非常年轻美貌的老婆。你只要问问你的阿弗雷德看，他在那儿消磨掉多少时间。’她气坏了。傻瓜！可我还是说下去：‘我这是给你提出忠告，不管你爱听还是不爱听。那个男人看到你恨不得把你谋杀在你床上哩。他是一个坏蛋。你爱跟我怎么说就怎么说吧，但是请你记住我对你说过的话。他是一个坏蛋！’”

“她怎么说？”

霍华德小姐作了一个意味深长的怪相。

“什么‘亲爱的阿弗雷德’——还有‘最亲爱的阿弗雷德’——说什么这是‘恶意的诽谤’啦——‘无耻的谎言’啦——是‘刻毒的女人’——诬告她的‘亲爱的丈夫’！我还是早点离开她的家好。所以我这就走。”

“不是现在吧？”

“现在就走！”

我们坐在那儿盯着她看了一会。后来，约翰·卡文迪什发现他的劝说全然无济干事，就去查看火车时刻。跟着，他的妻子也走了，她嘴里咕哝着什么，大意是得劝英格里桑太太最好对此多想想。

她一离开房间，霍华德小姐的脸色就变了。她急切地朝我凑了过来。

“哈斯丁先生，你是一位正直的人。我可以信托你么？”

我微微一惊。她把一只手放到我的胳臂上，放低声音轻轻说：

“哈斯丁先生，请你对她多加照顾吧，我那可怜的埃米莉。他们是一伙骗子——所有人全是。哦，我知道我在说些什么。他们当中没有一个人不手头拮据，只想千方百计地从她那儿搞走钱。我已尽我所能地保护了她。现在，我让开了路，他们可以乘机欺弄她了。”

“当然，霍华德小姐，”我说道，“我将尽力而为，不过我认为你太激动了，也太过虑了。”

她缓缓接着一个食指打断了我的话。

“年轻人，相信我，我在这世界上好歹总算比你多活几年。我只要求你睁大眼睛时刻提防就是了。你会懂得我说这话的意思的。”

从打开的窗户外传来了汽车的震颠声，霍华德小姐站起身来，朝门口定去。外面响起约翰的声音，她一只字握着门把，扭过头来对我打了个招呼。

“主要的，哈斯丁先生，是要注意那个恶棍——她的文夫！”

没有时间再多说什么了。霍华德小姐已被淹没在一片热切的劝她别走的说话声和道别声中。英格里桑夫妇没有露面。

汽车刚一开走，卡文迪什太太就突然离开大家，穿过车道，往草坪那边向一个正朝这幢房子走来的蓄着胡子的高个子男人走了过去。当她对他伸出手去的时候，她的双颊泛起了两朵红晕。

“那是谁？”我锐声问道，因为我对此人有一种出于本能的怀疑。

“那是鲍斯坦医生。”约翰简单地回答说。

“鲍斯坦医生是谁？”

“他患过严重的神经衰弱症，现在正待在这个村子里进行安静疗法。他是伦敦的一位专家。我认为，是个很有才干的人——当今最出色的毒物学专家之一。”

“他是玛丽的要好朋友，”辛西娅忍不住插嘴说。

约翰·卡文迪什皱起了眉头，改变了话题。

“去散个步吧，哈斯丁。这是件糟糕透顶的事。她说话老是那么祖鲁，可是在英国没有比伊夫琳·霍华德这样更忠实可靠的朋友了。”

他带我走上种植园中间的小径，穿过在庄园一侧的林子，朝村子踱去。

当我们在回家的路上，再次穿过一座大门时，一个从对面过来的吉普赛型的漂亮年轻女人，微笑着向我们点头问好。

“是个漂亮姑娘，”我以鉴赏的口吻说。

约翰的脸色沉了下来。

“这是雷克斯太太。”

“就是霍华德小姐说的那个——”

“一点不差。”约翰说，带着一种毫无必要的粗鲁口吻。

我想起了大房子里的那位白发苍苍的老太太，以及方才对我们微笑来着的那张活泼淘气的小脸蛋，一种模模糊糊的预感象一阵寒风使得我全身毛骨悚然。我把它撇到了一边。

“斯泰尔斯真是一座光荣的古老邸宅。”我对约翰说。

约翰优郁地点点头。

“是呀，是一宗好资财啊。它将来总有一天会是我的——要是我父亲立下的是一份象样的遗嘱的话，按理现在就应该是我的了。而且。那样我手头也不会象现在这样拮据得要命了。”

“手头拮据，你？”，

“亲爱的哈斯丁，我不想告诉你，我为了搞钱真是智穷计尽了啊。”

“你弟弟不能助你一臂之力么？”

“劳伦斯？他用新奇花样的装帧印刷那些乱七八糟的诗，把他有的每一分钱都花光了。不，我们都是穷光蛋。

我必须说，我母亲一直来对我们还是很好的。这是说，到现在为止。当然，打她结婚以后——”他突然停住了，皱起了眉头。

我第一次感到，随着伊夫琳·霍华德的离去，某种难以确切表达的东西也从这环境中消失了。她的存在使安全有了保证。而现在，安全已经失去——空气中似乎都充满了猜疑。鲍斯坦医生那张阴险的脸又在我的眼前出现了，使我感到不快。我的脑子里充满了对每个人每件事的模模糊糊的怀疑。一时之间，我有了一种快要出事的预感。

注释：

①英格兰东海岸一郡。

②语处英国剧作家夸尔的喜剧（TheBeaux'Stratagem）中人物名。

③即伊夫琳的呢称。

④指伦敦警察厅，此处意为公家侦探。

⑤福尔摩斯为私家侦探。

⑥护士长。

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