Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе : книга для чтения на английском языке

УДК  372.8 
ББК  81.2 Англ-93 
 
К82

ISBN 978-5-9925-1564-0

 

AGATHA CHRISTIE

THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES

В оформлении обложки использован орнамент  

«Клубничный воришка» Уильяма Морриса.

Кристи, Агата.

К82    Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе : книга для  

чтения на английском языке. — Санкт-Петербург : 
КАРО, 2022. — 320 с. — (Detective Story).

ISBN 978-5-9925-1564-0.

Перед вами самая первая книга Агаты Кристи. Гениаль
ный сыщик Эркюль Пуаро сталкивается с будто бы простой 
задачей. Богатая леди стала жертвой злой воли одного из наследников. Ответ на вопрос «кто убийца?» очевиден, но дело 
значительно запутанней, чем кажется на первый взгляд, и 
только блестящий ум Пуаро способен разгадать эту головоломку.

Неадаптированный текст романа на языке оригинала 

снабжен комментариями и словарем.

УДК 372.8

ББК 81.2 Англ-93

The Mysterious Affair at Styles Copyright © 1920
Agatha Christie Limited. All rights reserved.
THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES,  
AGATHA CHRISTIE, POIROT аnd the Agatha Christie  
Signature аre registered trade marks of Agatha Christie  
Limited in the UK and elsewhere. All rights reserved.

© КАРО, 2022
Все права защищены

 
 

To my mother

CHAPTER 1

I Go to Styles

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 Front1; and, after 

spending some months in a rather depressing Convalescent 
Home, was given a month’s sick leave2. 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 

1 invalided home from the Front — демобилизован с фронта по случаю ранения

2 given a month’s sick leave — получил месяц отпуска для 
восстановления

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 Bountiful1. She was a 
most generous woman, and possessed a considerable 
fortune of her own. 

Their country-place2, Styles Court, had been purchased 

by Mr Cavendish early in their married life. He had been 

1 Lady Bountiful — леди Баунтифул, т. е. щедрая благодетельница (по имени персонажа пьесы Дж. Фаркера «Уловка 
кавалеров»).

2 country-place — загородная усадьба

completely under his wife’s ascendancy1, 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 stepmother, 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 practised 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 strings2. 

John noticed my surprise at the news of his mother’s 

remarriage and smiled rather ruefully. 

1 He had been completely under his wife’s ascendancy. — Он 
находился  полностью под влиянием своей жены.

2 she certainly had the whip hand, namely: the purse 
strings — учитывая ее достаток, она могла рассчитывать 
на уважение

‘Rotten little bounder1 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 ma
ter’s factotum, companion, Jack of all trades2! 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.’ 

1 rotten little bounder — гнусный маленький пройдоха

2 Jack of all trades — мастерица на все руки

‘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 protégée1 of my mother’s, the daugh
ter of an old schoolfellow of hers, who married a rascally 
solicitor. He came a cropper2, 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 pain
ful, 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 style3. 

‘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.’ 

1 protégée — (фр.) протеже, подопечная

2 He came a cropper. — Он прогорел (потерпел крах).

3 Her conversation <...> was couched in the telegraphic 
style. — Ее манера изъясняться напоминала телеграфный 
стиль.