The Mysterious Affair at Styles


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Well, sir, she slipped it into a long envelope, and put it inside a sort of  
purple box that was standing on the desk."  
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What time was it when she first called you?"  
About four, I should say, sir."  
Not earlier? Couldn't it have been about half-past three?"  
No, I shouldn't say so, sir. It would be more likely to be a bit after four--not  
before it."  
"Thank you, Manning, that will do," said Poirot pleasantly.  
The gardener glanced at his master, who nodded, whereupon Manning lifted  
a finger to his forehead with a low mumble, and backed cautiously out of the  
window.  
We all looked at each other.  
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Good heavens!" murmured John. "What an extraordinary coincidence."  
How--a coincidence?"  
That my mother should have made a will on the very day of her death!"  
Mr. Wells cleared his throat and remarked drily:  
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Are you so sure it is a coincidence, Cavendish?"  
What do you mean?"  
Your mother, you tell me, had a violent quarrel with--some one yesterday  
afternoon----"  
"What do you mean?" cried John again. There was a tremor in his voice, and  
he had gone very pale.  
"In consequence of that quarrel, your mother very suddenly and hurriedly  
makes a new will. The contents of that will we shall never know. She told no  
one of its provisions. This morning, no doubt, she would have consulted me  
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