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"
Enchanted, madame."
All the way to Styles, Mary talked fast and feverishly. It struck me that in
some way she was nervous of Poirot's eyes.
The weather had broken, and the sharp wind was almost autumnal in its
shrewishness. Mary shivered a little, and buttoned her black sports coat
closer. The wind through the trees made a mournful noise, like some great
giant sighing.
We walked up to the great door of Styles, and at once the knowledge came to
us that something was wrong.
Dorcas came running out to meet us. She was crying and wringing her
hands. I was aware of other servants huddled together in the background,
all eyes and ears.
"
"
"
Oh, m'am! Oh, m'am! I don't know how to tell you--"
What is it, Dorcas?" I asked impatiently. "Tell us at once."
It's those wicked detectives. They've arrested him--they've arrested Mr.
Cavendish!"
Arrested Lawrence?" I gasped.
I saw a strange look come into Dorcas's eyes.
No, sir. Not Mr. Lawrence--Mr. John."
"
"
Behind me, with a wild cry, Mary Cavendish fell heavily against me, and as I
turned to catch her I met the quiet triumph in Poirot's eyes.
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