by John Curran
‘The Stymphalean Birds’
A good deed has horrifying consequences for an innocent abroad.
The first attempt at this story, with its domestic setting, does not figure at all in the published version although it is possible to discern the germ of the subsequent idea—two women, an abusive husband, a young man emotionally blackmailed into helping:
Mrs Garland and Mrs Richardson—latter married—terrified of husband—latter gets a gun out—young woman parks herself in Gary’s apartment—he is young, married, a solicitor. Husband comes and browbeats him—threatens divorce—a womanish creature—Or—mother pleads also—an aging creature
A second outline, however, is followed almost exactly with Poirot making a very belated appearance in just the last four pages. The change of setting to a fictional foreign country, Herzoslovakia (scene of The Secret of Chimneys), is in keeping with many of the other Labours:
Harold—his friendship with Nora Raymond—two women—Poles—look like birds. Her husband is studying architecture—her mother—worried—anxious. She comes into his room—for help—husband rushes in—swings something at her—she dodges—rushes out—man rushes after her—into her room—she fires—he falls—she gets him out of room—someone might come. Mother comes—says he’s dead. Advices [sic] HP—he speaks to him—or—hotel manager—kept quiet—he goes out and wires for money—gives it to them—police come—everything hushed up—then mother in agony again—the women in room next door have heard
Even here, though, there are differences. In the published version there is no mention of Nora Raymond and a paperweight achieves the ‘death’, not the gun suggested by the notes (‘she fires—he falls’). This change makes sense; the story is set in a hotel, and a gunshot in such a location would have attracted attention and made the plot unworkable.
‘The Cretan Bull’
Is Poirot’s seventh Labour merely a case of bad heredity or is it something more sinister?
There are relatively few notes about the seventh Labour, ‘The Cretan Bull’. The main problem seems to have been the choice of poison—Christie finally settled on atropine (also the poison of choice in ‘The Thumb Mark of St Peter’ from The Thirteen Problems). The story shares an untypical emphasis on blood—the ‘mad killer’ idea—with ‘The Erymanthian Boar’. But as in other Christie titles—Hercule Poirot’s Christmas and ‘The Importance of a Leg of Mutton’ from The Big Four, for example—this is an important part of the plot:
P asked down—country squire and old friend fear that squire’s boy is mad—madness in family—boy has been in Navy—(got out of that)—squire never got over wife’s death—boating accident or car accident—
(Does HP enquire about that as though he thinks car had been tampered with by crony? Wife only with him by afterthought says husband—asked, friend blusters—said first he had heard of that—make him sound suspicious. Boy marvellously handsome—girl there in love with him—he himself believes he is mad. Drug—eyes? Scopolamine—hyoscyamine—atropine—or aconite—ointment smeared on—hallucinations. Final attempt to kill girl
This story shares a plot device with A Caribbean Mystery and is in fact referenced during the plotting of the later novel. The most interesting few words in the above extract are undoubtedly ‘make him sound suspicious’. This was the strategy on which Christie built her career—the presentation of a story in such a way as to make the innocent seem guilty and vice versa. Few people reading this story will not single out George Frobisher as the villain of the piece, which is exactly what Christie intended.
‘The Horses of Diomedes’
Poirot tackles the scourge of drug-pushers.
There are two distinct sets of notes for this eighth Labour. Despite the fact that Notebook 44 contains the ‘correct’ notes for most of the other Labours, the relevant notes for this story are those from Notebook 62:
P on trail of drug racket—County place—(not county)—rich manufacturers etc—
Old General Boynton—Gout—choleric—swollen leg. Daughters—wild girls—one gets herself into a mess—not daughter at all?
Gang—Old Boy the head of the racket—Girls turn on him
Stillingfleet—calls on Poirot—the drug racket—turns decent people into wild beasts—you asked me to keep my eyes open—girl in a fire—mews—hashish—he got girl out of it. The other sister—used to be decent kids—father an Old General. P sees them—sullen girl—hard boiled—says Stillingfleet is a good sort. P says will look her father up—look of alarm in her eyes—P says will be discreet. S[tillingfleet] and P—says very young—18—damned shame they aren’t better looked after—P goes down to Norfolk—the General—Gout—temper—worried about his girls. P says: Who are their friends?
Dalloway—man like a horse—slow etc.—Mrs Larkin—at her house P sees the others—dartboard etc.—
Hylda—vague girl—Cummings—young doctor—assistant to older man—sandwich box (belonging to Dalloway) in hall—P gets note (look in S. Box)—he does
There are a few minor changes—Dr Stillingfleet (possibly of ‘The Dream’ and Third Girl) changes to Dr Stoddart, the sandwich box becomes a hunting flask and there is no mention of a dartboard.
There are notes in Notebook 44 relating to this story, but they present different, and in one case, rather outlandish speculations:
The Mares of Diomedes
Old racing man—his ‘gals’ very wild—what can P do?—Bloomsbury—one of them shoots someone—(Mrs Barney?)—unlike twin idea—woman servant one of them—NO!!
OR
P pays a young man to be ‘killed’ by one of them—Or—Secret service—Jacinta?
The idea of ‘the old General and his wild girls’, from the first extract, is retained (note the change from ‘boys’, in the preliminary notes, to ‘girls’ here) but the rather bizarre idea of Poirot paying someone to allow himself to be killed, presumably as a ruse, was abandoned. The reference to Mrs Barney is to an infamous London murder case when the glamorous Elvira Barney was tried, and subsequently acquitted, for the shooting of her lover Michael Scott Stephen in May 1932.
The potent symbolism of the mythical horses that feed on human flesh transmuting into dope peddlers who carry out a similar loathsome trade is undeniable. But there is an element of sermonising in the story that tends to detract from its plot. Once again Christie trades on our misperception, this time of the seemingly typical retired army stereotype, a not infrequent character in her fiction—Colonel Protheroe in The Murder at the Vicarage, Major Porter in Taken at the Flood, Major Palgrave in A Caribbean Mystery, General Macarthur in Ten Little Niggers and Major Burnaby in The Sittaford Mystery. And there are many more examples. But they are not always to be trusted…
The allusion to the unlike twin is to an idea that crops up again and again throughout the Notebooks (see ‘The House of Dreams’, page 303). As shown by its constant reappearance, Christie never successfully tackled this idea and here was no exception. A certain amount of exasperation is detectable in the exhortation, ‘NO!!’, to herself.
‘The Girdle of Hyppolita’
Two seemingly disparate cases, an art robbery and a missing schoolgirl, are brought together in the ninth Labour.
This is another story that is considerably changed from Christie’s early conception of it, although traces of the ‘head mistress’ idea are still visible. As can be seen, with this story Christie gave free rein to her considerable inventiveness. There are quite a number of sketches both for the development of the story and for the interpretation of the original myth—a manuscript, an archaeological find and a picture were all considered. And even after the picture was adopted, she still considered some other scenarios:
P at Oganis or Lestranges—very super girl’s finishing school—the frightening Miss Beddingfeld
Is girl there really a crook? Or is she missing millionaire’s daughter who is being hunted for everywhere?
A precious manuscript? A picture? An archaeological find?
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A stolen picture? Painted over by one of the girls (crook) and presented to Head Mistress—latter therefore taken it into the right country—custom’s Pass—etc.
Kidnapped schoolgirl—she is new—delivered over to Miss
Nortress—dull with plate [plaits?]—wire on teeth—miserable skinny looking object—they go to Paris—girl disappears on train—(really emerges from lavatory and joins man—all made up—very actressy—in mink coat. On way back from lunch—slips into lavatory—man comes out—hat found on line. Girl found a day later at Amiens—unhurt—dazed.
Theft of famous picture (G of H). It is to be smuggled into France—to dealer there?—crook? Acc[tress] takes employment with ‘elder sister’—meets child—and takes her to Victoria—knock out drops—false actress becomes kid—once in France changes in lavatory—arrives with man—very smart.
Pictures in exhibition with other girls work—P as conjuror—wipes it off with turpentine—exposes the Girdle of Hyppolita
This is another Labour that is rich in plot with two seemingly disparate ideas, the disappearance of a schoolgirl and a stolen painting, neatly tied together. There is a certain similarity to the book that she was to write 20 years later—Cat among the Pigeons—in the smuggling of a valuable item in a schoolgirl’s luggage. The masquerade of an adult as a young girl is also a plot feature of that book, as well as of the short story ‘The Regatta Mystery’.
‘The Flock of Geryon’
A protagonist from ‘The Nemean Lion’ returns to help Poirot investigate a series of odd deaths.
‘The Flock of Geryon’ is the weakest story in the series, and this is reflected in the paucity of notes; those that exist are vague enough to have been developed in almost any way. The following is from Notebook 44, and the sect suggested in the preliminary notes is one of the starting-off points:
P is visited by Miss? (Amelia)—little annuity—exercises people’s dogs—has been reading German book—criminal impulses—sublimation. Could she work for P? A case—her friend—strange sect—down in Devon. Young millionaire’s son—there? Or middle-aged daughter of very rich man? Or rich man’s widow?
There is no particular ingenuity in either the story or the symbolism. It is rescued only by the presence of the enterprising and entertaining Amy Carnaby from ‘The Nemean Lion’. Oddly, there is no mention in the notes of Carnaby’s name. ‘Miss? (Amelia)’ may be Christie’s own shorthand (although it is not very short!) or it may simply be that she had no copy of The Strand to hand to check the earlier name. There is a brief reference to Hitler in this story (see also ‘The Capture of Cerberus’ in the Appendix).
‘The Apples of the Hesperides’
A remote setting provides Poirot with the final clue in a case that really began centuries earlier.
There are fewer notes for ‘The Apples of the Hesperides’ than for any other Labour. The plot is not involved and required little in the way of planning once the main clue of the nun was planted. The basic outline reflects the final version:
Millionaire—gold chalice stolen from him—no clue. P talks to American detective—Pat Ryan—a wild fellow—a decent wife—but wouldn’t get him to run straight—she went back to Ireland—or daughter—a nun. Ireland—the convent—P arrives there—tramp with bottle of brandy—world in my hands
Little tipster in bar in Ireland—‘Atlas’ is his pseudonym—HP says doesn’t look it (horse to back—‘The World’ by Greek Hero out of Geography). You have not to hold up the World—only Hercule Poirot
Some minor details are different—the horse to back is Hercules rather than the more elaborate one of the notes; and there is no tramp.
Like the earlier ‘The Erymanthian Boar’, this case takes Poirot to a remote and beautiful location, this time on the west coast of Ireland. Apart from mentioning a coach tour holiday of Irish gardens in Chapter 11 of Hallowe’en Party, this is his only visit to Ireland and is memorable to him for all the wrong reasons.
Like Sir Joseph Hoggin in ‘The Nemean Lion’, Emery Power loses financially as a result of Poirot’s investigation although in his case there is a spiritual benefit. (There is a minor error of fact when Poirot promises him that ‘the nuns will say Masses for your soul’. Nuns can’t say mass and mass for the soul is celebrated only after a person’s death.) The final scene, in the isolated convent on the edge of the Atlantic, is a particularly poignant one with a wise and telling exchange.
‘The Capture of Cerberus’
Is the Countess Vera’s nightclub the scene of more than just harmless revelry?
The following extracts refer to the version of the story collected in The Labours of Hercules in 1948 (for the newly discovered version see the Appendix). It is further proof of Christie’s fecundity with plot that she was able to imagine a second allegorical interpretation of the last Labour of Hercules. In the original Greek myth Hercules has to pass into Hell, overcoming the ferocious hound that guards the gates; in the Poirot Labour Hell is a nightclub with a large dog in the entrance foyer. The steps down into the club are labelled ‘I meant well’ and ‘I can give up any time I like’, an amusing take on the old saying ‘The path to Hell is paved with good intentions’. And the hound, originally intended as a nightclub ‘gimmick’, plays a vital part in the plot.
As often happens, names were changed, but the following outline is otherwise accurately reflected in the published version:
Cerberus
Raid—blackout for 2 minutes—has it happened? And J tells P?
Combed the place inside out—jewels—no, drugs—no jewels but 5 or 6 people noticed weren’t there—
Secret exit—whole grill moves out—house next door—Cabinet Minister etc.
We were in the clear—Jimmy Mullins—wanted—Battersea Murderer—has given the place a write up—
But this time we’ve got to succeed—
P talks to dog man—
The fatal evening—Is P there?—Or does he hear?
He comes over wall—black out etc.—how many people come out
Mr Vitamian Crusoe—
Miss Sylvia Elkins
Giuseppe Martacendi—cook’s boy
Paul Varesco
Two packets—the emeralds—the other—cocaine
This is a more light-hearted interpretation of the myth than the original unpublished version, with the naming of both the nightclub itself and the amusing use of the steps into it. And we also get a glimpse of Miss Lemon’s hitherto unsuspected feminine instincts in the closing lines. On ‘the fatal evening’ Poirot is at the club but leaves early and Christie adopts the idea of Japp recounting the details to him (‘or does he hear?’). None of the early part of this story, Poirot’s meeting with the Countess in the London Underground and his subsequent visit to her nightclub, features in the Notebooks.
Exhibit G: Murder Is Easy: Seeds of Inspiration
‘I’m never at a loss for a plot’
Cards on the Table, Chapter 4
SOLUTIONS REVEALED
‘The Case of the Perfect Maid’ • The Sittaford Mystery
These short jottings are perfect examples of Christie’s imaginative cultivation of even the smallest seed of an idea into a fully formed bloom—and often, with her customary good sense, she used that idea more than once. These ideas often appear in a list of similar ideas but sometimes on a page in the middle of notes for another title, as inspiration struck. And all of them appear separately from the plotting of the story in which they ultimately appeared.
Poor little rich girl—house on hill—luxury gadgets etc.—original owner
This appears on a list of a dozen ideas for possible Miss Marple stories. It probably dates from the early days of the Second World War as it is surrounded by notes for N or M? and Curtain. This idea is incorporated into ‘The Case of the Caretaker’, which first appeared in January 1942. And 25 years later much of that story was reworked for the 1967 novel Endless Night.
Hargreaves case—young man and girl—she suspected�
�swears to him she is innocent—he warns her—her innocence is proven—she then admits she is guilty
This idea, which has strong echoes of one of her greatest short story (and subsequent stage) successes—‘Witness for the Prosecution’, appears two pages after a page dated June 1944. It is included while she is sketching ideas for a ‘play on moral issue involving husband and wife’.
Witness in murder case—quite unimportant—offered post abroad—hears indirectly it is a fake offer—or servant—cook?
Appearing in a list of ‘Ideas A-U’ and dating from the early 1940s, this device had already been used in the early Mr Quin story ‘The Sign in the Sky’, first published in July 1924, and briefly in Chapter 6 of Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?. And in the early stages of The Big Four this ploy is used on Poirot himself.
Invisible ink—written (will?) Or print a different document
‘Motive Vs. Opportunity’ from The Thirteen Problems and ‘The Case of the Missing Will’ from Poirot Investigates both feature this idea. But as those two stories had originally appeared in the 1920s this jotting, from the late 1930s, cannot be their starting point. It appears on a long list a few pages before the notes for the stories that were to become The Labours of Hercules.
Not identical twins—one sister pretends to be 2—totally different looking woman—(invalid) pretends to be maid—really 2 of them
The idea of non-identical twins appears again and again in the Notebooks—featuring in both used and unused ideas—and this variation on it appears four times, twice in one Notebook. As outlined above, this device is the main one in ‘The Case of the Perfect Maid’.