Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе / The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Книга для чтения на английском языке.

He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his fellow Belgians, and I promised to go and see him at an early date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we drove away.

‘He’s a dear little man,’ said Cynthia. ‘I’d no idea you knew him.’

‘You’ve been entertaining a celebrity unawares[33 - You’ve been entertaining a celebrity unawares. – Вы, не сознавая того, приняли у себя знаменитость.],’ I replied.

And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various exploits and triumphs of Hercule Poirot.

We arrived back in a very cheerful mood. As we entered the hall, Mrs Inglethorp came out of her boudoir[34 - boudoir – (фр.) будуар (комната, принадлежащая женщине, обычно спальня и/или гардеробная).]. She looked flushed and upset.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said.

‘Is there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?’ asked Cynthia.

‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Inglethorp sharply. ‘What should there be?’ Then catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going into the dining room, she called to her to bring some stamps into the boudoir.

‘Yes, m’m[35 - m’m = madam].’ The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently: ‘Don’t you think, m’m, you’d better get to bed? You’re looking very tired.’

‘Perhaps you’re right, Dorcas—yes—no—not now. I’ve some letters I must finish by post-time. Have you lighted the fire in my room as I told you?’

‘Yes, m’m.’

‘Then I’ll go to bed directly after supper.’

She went into her boudoir again, and Cynthia stared after her.

‘Goodness gracious! I wonder what’s up?’ she said to Lawrence.

He did not seem to have heard her, for without a word he turned on his heel and went out of the house.

I suggested a quick game of tennis before supper and, Cynthia agreeing, I ran upstairs to fetch my racquet.

Mrs Cavendish was coming down the stairs. It may have been my fancy, but she, too, was looking odd and disturbed.

‘Had a good walk with Dr Bauerstein?’ I asked, trying to appear as indifferent as I could.

‘I didn’t go,’ she replied abruptly. ‘Where is Mrs Inglethorp?’

‘In the boudoir.’

Her hand clenched itself on the banisters, then she seemed to nerve herself for some encounter, and went rapidly past me down the stairs across the hall to the boudoir, the door of which she shut behind her.

As I ran out to the tennis court a few moments later, I had to pass the open boudoir window, and was unable to help overhearing the following scrap of dialogue.