Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter I. I Go to Styles
Hecameacropper,andthegirlwasleftanorphanandpenniless.Mymothercametotherescue,andCynthiahasbeenwithusnearlytwoyearsnow.SheworksintheRedCrossHospitalatTadminster,sevenmilesaway.”
Ashespokethelastwords,wedrewupinfrontofthefineoldhouse.Aladyinastouttweedskirt,whowasbendingoveraflowerbed,straightenedherselfatourapproach.
“Hullo,Evie,here’sourwoundedhero!Mr.Hastings—MissHoward.”
MissHowardshookhandswithahearty,almostpainful,grip.Ihadanimpressionofveryblueeyesinasunburntface.Shewasapleasant-lookingwomanofaboutforty,withadeepvoice,almostmanlyinitsstentoriantones,andhadalargesensiblesquarebody,withfeettomatch—theselastencasedingoodthickboots.Herconversation,Isoonfound,wascouchedinthetelegraphicstyle.
“Weedsgrowlikehouseafire.Can’tkeepevenwith’em.Shallpressyouin.Betterbecareful.”
“I’msureIshallbeonlytoodelightedtomakemyselfuseful,”Iresponded.
“Don’tsayit.Neverdoes.Wishyouhadn’tlater.”
“You’reacynic,Evie,”saidJohn,laughing.“Where’steato-day—insideorout?”
“Out.Toofineadaytobecoopedupinthehouse.”
“Comeonthen,you’vedoneenoughgardeningforto-day.‘Thelabourerisworthyofhishire’,youknow.Comeandberefreshed.”
“Well,”saidMissHoward,drawingoffhergardeninggloves,“I’minclinedtoagreewithyou.”
Sheledthewayroundthehousetowhereteawasspreadundertheshadeofalargesycamore.
