Read The Mysterious Affair at Styles for Free Online Page B

dreadful business, Monsieur Poirot,” he said. “Hastings has explained to
     you that we are anxious for no publicity?”
    “I comprehend perfectly.”
    “You see, it is only suspicion so far. We have nothing to go upon.”
    “Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only.”
    John turned to me, taking out his cigarette case, and lighting a cigarette as he did so.
    “You know that fellow Inglethorp is back?”
    “Yes. I met him.”
    John flung the match into an adjacent flowerbed, a proceeding which was too much for
     Poirot's feelings. He retrieved it, and buried it neatly.
    “It's jolly difficult to know how to treat him.”
    “That difficulty will not exist long,” pronounced Poirot quietly.
    John looked puzzled, not quite understanding the portent of this cryptic saying. He handed
     the two keys which Dr. Bauerstein had given him to me.
    “Show Monsieur Poirot everything he wants to see.”
    “The rooms are locked?” asked Poirot.
    “Dr. Bauerstein considered it advisable.”
    Poirot nodded thoughtfully. “Then he is very sure. Well, that simplifies matters for us.”
    We went up together to the room of the tragedy. For convenience I append a plan of the
     room and the principal articles of furniture in it.
    Poirot locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to a minute inspection of the room. He
     darted from one object to the other with the agility of a grasshopper. I remained by the
     door, fearing to obliterate any clues. Poirot, however, did not seem grateful to me for my
     forbearance.
    “What have you, my friend,” he cried, “that you remain there like - how do you say it? -
     ah, yes, the stuck pig?”
    I explained that I was afraid of obliterating any footmarks.
    “Footmarks? But what an idea! There has already been practically an army in the room! What
     footmarks are we likely to find? No, come here and aid me in my search. I will put down my
     little case until I need it.”
    He did so, on the round table by the window, but it was an ill-advised proceeding; for,
     the top of it being loose, it tilted up, and precipitated the despatch-case on the floor.
    “Eh viola une table!” cried Poirot. “Ah, my friend, one may live in a big house and yet
     have no comfort.”
    After which piece of moralizing, he resumed his search.
    A small purple despatch-case, with a key in the lock, on the writing table, engaged his
     attention for some time. He took out the key from the lock, and passed it to me to
     inspect. I saw nothing peculiar, however. It was an ordinary key of the Yale type, with a
     bit of twisted wire through the handle.
    Next, he examined the framework of the door we had broken in, assuring himself that the
     bolt had really been shot. Then he went to the door opposite leading into Cynthia's room.
     That door was also bolted, as I had stated. However, he went to the length of unbolting
     it, and opening and shutting it several times; this he did with the utmost precaution
     against making any noise. Suddenly something in the bolt itself seemed to rivet his
     attention. He examined it carefully, and then, nimbly whipping out a pair of small forceps
     from his case, he drew out some minute particle which he carefully sealed up in a tiny
     envelope.
    On the chest of drawers there was a tray with a spirit lamp and a small saucepan on it. A
     small quantity of a dark fluid remained in the saucepan, and an empty cup and saucer that
     had been drunk out of stood near it.
    I wondered how I could have been so unobservant as to overlook this. Here was a clue worth
     having. Poirot delicately dipped his finger into liquid, and tasted it gingerly. He made a
     grimace.
    “Coco - with - I think - rum in it.”
    He passed on to the debris on the floor, where the table by the bed had been overturned. A
     reading-lamp, some books, matches, a bunch of keys, and the crushed fragments of a coffee
     cup lay scattered about.
    “Ah, this is curious,” said Poirot.
    “I must