The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Agatha Christie

neither Dr Wilkins nor myself could give a death certificate under the circumstances.’

      John bent his head.

      ‘In that case, I have no alternative but to agree.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Dr Wilkins briskly. ‘We propose that it should take place tomorrow night—or rather tonight.’ And he glanced at the daylight. ‘Under the circumstances, I am afraid an inquest can hardly be avoided—these formalities are necessary, but I beg that you won’t distress yourselves.’

      There was a pause, and then Dr Bauerstein drew two keys from his pocket, and handed them to John.

      ‘These are the keys of the two rooms. I have locked them and, in my opinion, they would be better kept locked for the present.’

      The doctors then departed.

      I had been turning over an idea in my head, and I felt that the moment had now come to broach it. Yet I was a little chary of doing so. John, I knew, had a horror of any kind of publicity, and was an easy-going optimist, who preferred never to meet trouble halfway. It might be difficult to convince him of the soundness of my plan. Lawrence, on the other hand, being less conventional, and having more imagination, I felt I might count upon as an ally. There was no doubt that the moment had come for me to take the lead.

      ‘John,’ I said, ‘I am going to ask you something.’

      ‘Well?’

      ‘You remember my speaking of my friend Poirot? The Belgian who is here? He has been a most famous detective.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I want you to let me call him in—to investigate this matter.’

      ‘What—now? Before the post-mortem?’

      ‘Yes, time is an advantage if—if—there has been foul play.’

      ‘Rubbish!’ cried Lawrence angrily. ‘In my opinion the whole thing is a mare’s nest of Bauerstein’s! Wilkins hadn’t an idea of such a thing, until Bauerstein put it into his head. But, like all specialists, Bauerstein’s got a bee in his bonnet. Poisons are his hobby, so of course, he sees them everywhere.’

      I confess that I was surprised by Lawrence’s attitude. He was so seldom vehement about anything.

      John hesitated.

      ‘I can’t feel as you do, Lawrence,’ he said at last. ‘I’m inclined to give Hastings a free hand, though I should prefer to wait a bit. We don’t want any unnecessary scandal.’

      ‘No, no,’ I cried eagerly, ‘you need have no fear of that. Poirot is discretion itself.’

      ‘Very well, then, have it your own way. I leave it in your hands. Though, if it is as we suspect, it seems a clear enough case. God forgive me if I am wronging him!’

      I looked at my watch. It was six o’clock. I determined to lose no time.

      Five minutes’ delay, however, I allowed myself. I spent it in ransacking the library until I discovered a medical book which gave a description of strychnine poisoning.