The Mysterious Affair at Styles

Imagination is a good servant, and a bad master.

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.

We had a good yarn about old times, and it ended in his inviting me down to Styles to spend my leave there.

“Well, that de­pends.”

“The real thing—Scot­land Yard? Or Sh­er­lock Holmes?”

“I’m afraid you’ll find it very quiet down here, Hast­ings.”

“Don’t say it. Never does. Wish you hadn’t later.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find it very quiet down here, Hast­ings.”

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.

The simplest ex­plan­a­tion is al­ways the most likely.”