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?"
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