tuxuku.cc 
He told it me then and there - and I was able to verify it in every detail later. It was a revolting tale. The story of a girl, sure of herself, modern, independent. Allerton had brought all his "technique" to bear upon her. Later had come the other side of the picture - the story ended with a desperate girl taking her own life with an overdose of Veronal.
And the horrible part uch the same type as Judith - the independent highbrow kind. The kind of girl who when she does lose her heart, loses it with a desperation and an abandonment that the silly little fluffy type can never know.
I went in to lunch with a horrible sense of foreboding.
Chapter 12
"Is anything worrying you, mon ami?" asked Poirot that afternoon.
I did not answer, merely shook my head. I felt that I had no right to burden Poirot with this, my purely personal problem. It was not as though he could help in any way.
Judith would have treated any remonstrances on his part with the smiling detachment of the young towards the boring counsels of the old.
Judith, my Judith...
It is hard now to describe just what I went through that day. Afterwards, thinking it over, I am inclined to put something down to the atmosphere of Styles itself. Evil imaginings came easily to the mind there. There was, too, not only the past, but a sinister present. The shadow of murder and a murderer haunted the house.
And to the best of my belief the murderer was Allerton, and Judith was losing her heart to him! It was all unbelievable - monstrous - and I didn't know what to do.
It was after lunch that Boyd Carrington drew me aside. He hemmed and hawed a bit before coming to the point. At last he said rather jerkily:
"Don't think I'm interfering, but I think you ought to speak to that girl of yours. Give her a word of warning - eh? You know this fellow Allerton - reputation's pretty bad, and she - well, it looks rather like a case."
So easy for these men without children to speak like that! Give her a word of warning?
Would it be any use? Would it make things worse?
If only Cinders were here. She would know what to do - what to say.
I was tempted, I admit, to hold my peace and say nothing. But I reflected after a while that this was really only cowardice. I shrank from the unpleasantness of having things out with Judith. I was, you see, afraid of my tall, beautiful daughter.
I paced up and down the gardens in increasing agitation of mind. My footsteps led me at last to the rose garden, and there, as it were, the decision was taken out of my hands, for Judith was sitting on a seat alone, and in all my life I have never seen an expression of greater unhappiness on any woman's face.
The mask was off. Indecision and deep unhappiness showed only too plainly.
I took my courage in my hands. I went to her. She did not hear me until I was beside her.
"Judith," I said. "For God's sake, Judith, don't mind so much."
She turned on me, startled.
"Father? I didn't hear you."
I went on, knowing that it would be fatal if she managed to turn me back to normal everyday conversation.
"Oh, my dearest child, don't think I don't know, that I can't see. He isn't worth it - oh, do believe me, he isn't worth it."
Her face, troubled, alarmed, was turned towards me. She said quietly:
"Do you think you really know what you are talking about?"
"I do know. You care about this man, But, my dear, it's no good."
She smiled sombrely. A heartbreaking smile.
"Perhaps I know that as well as you do."
"You don't. You can't. Oh, Judith, what can come of it all? He's a married man. There can be no future there for you - only sorrow and shame - and all ending in bitter self-loathing."
Her smile grew wider - even more sorrowful.
"How fluently you talk, don't you?"
"Give it up, Judith - give it all up."
"No!"
"He's not worth it, my dear."
She said very quietly and slowly:
"He's worth everything in the world to me."
"No, no. Judith, I beg of you -"
The smile vanished. She turned on me like an avenging fury.
"How dare you? How dare you interfere? I won't stand it. You are never to speak to me of this again. I hate you - I hate you. It's no business of yours. It's my life - my own secret inside life!"
She got up. With one firm hand she pushed me aside and went past me. Like an avenging fury. I stared after her - dismayed.
II
I was still there, dazed and helpless, unable to think out my next course of action, some quarter of an hour later.
I was there when Elizabeth Cole and Norton found me.
They were, I realized later, very kind to me. They saw, they must have seen, that I was in a state of great mental perturbation. But tactfully enough they made no slightest allusion to my state of mind. Instead they took me with them on a rambling walk. They were both nature lovers. Elizabeth Cole pointed out wild flowers to me, Norton showed me birds through his field glasses.
Their talk was gentle, soothing, concerned only with feathered beings and with woodland flora. Little by little I came back to normal although underneath I was still in a state of the utmost perturbation.
Moreover I was, as people are, convinced that any happening that occurred was connected with my own particular perplexity.
So, therefore, when Norton, his glasses to his eyes, exclaimed: "Hullo, if that isn't a speckled woodpecker. I never -" and then broke off suddenly, I immediately leapt to suspicion. I held out my hand for the glasses.
"Let me see."
My voice was peremptory.
