There was a pause. Then Miss Carnaby drew herself up with a certain pathetic dignity. She said:
"Yes. It is all quite true. I - I have nothing to say."
The invalid woman on the sofa began to cry softly.
Poirot said: "Nothing at all. Mademoiselle?"
Miss Carnaby said: "Nothing. I have been a thief - and now I am found out."
Poirot murmured: "You have nothing to say - in your own defence?"
A spot of red showed suddenly in Amy Carnaby's white cheeks. She said:
"I - I don't regret what I did. I think that you are a kind man, Mr Poirot, and that possibly you might understand. You see, I've been so terribly afraid"
"Afraid?"
"Yes, it's difficult for a gentleman to understand, I expect. But you see, I'm not a clever woman at all, and I've no training and I'm getting older - and I'm so terrified for the future. I've not been able to save anything how could I with Emily to be cared for? - and as I get older and more incompetent there won't be any one who wants me. They'll want somebody young and brisk. I've - I've known so many people like I am nobody wants you and you live in one room and you can't have a fire or any warmth and not very much to eat, and at last you can't even pay the rent of your room... There are Institutions, of course, but it's not very easy to get into them unless you have influential friends, and I haven't. There are a good many others situated like I am - poor companions - untrained useless women with nothing to look forward to but a deadly fear..."
Her voice shook. She said: "And so - some of us - got together and and I thought of this. It was really having Augustus that put it into my mind. You see, to most people, one Pekinese is very much like another. (Just as we think the Chinese are.) Really, of course, it's ridiculous. No one who knew could mistake Augustus for Nanki Poo or Shan Tung or any of the other Pekes. He's far more intelligent for one thing, and he's much handsomer, but, as I say, to most people a Peke is just a Peke.
Augustus put it into my head - that, combined with the fact that so many rich women have Pekinese dogs."
Poirot said with a faint smile: "It must have been a profitable - racket!
How many are there in the - the gang? Or perhaps I had better ask how often operations have been successfully carried out?"
Miss Carnaby said simply: "Shang Tung was the sixteenth."
Hercule Poirot raised his eyebrows.
"I congratulate you. Your organisation must have been indeed excellent."
Emily Carnaby said: "Amy was always good at organisation. Our father - he was the Vicar of Kellington in Essex - always said that Amy had quite a genius for planning. She always made all the arrangements for the Socials and the Bazaars and all that."
Poirot said with a little bow: "I agree. As a criminal. Mademoiselle, you are quite in the first rank."
Amy Carnaby cried: "A criminal. Oh dear, I suppose I am. But - but it never felt like that."
"How did it feel?"
"Of course, you are quite right. It was breaking the law. But you see how can I explain it? Nearly all these women who employ us are so very rude and unpleasant. Lady Hoggin, for instance, doesn't mind what she says to me. She said her tonic tasted unpleasant the other day and practically accused me of tampering with it. All that sort of thing." Miss Carnaby flushed. "It's really very unpleasant. And not being able to say anything or answer back makes it rankle more, if you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," said Hercule Poirot.
"And then seeing money frittered away so wastefully - that is upsetting. And Sir Joseph, occasionally he used to describe a coup he had made in the City - sometimes something that seemed to me (of course, I know I've only got a woman's brain and don't understand finance) downright dishonest. Well, you know, M. Poirot, it all - it all unsettled me, and I felt that to take a little money away from these people who really wouldn't miss it and hadn't been too scrupulous in acquiring it - well, really it hardly seemed wrong at all."
Poirot murmured: "A modern Robin Hood! Tell me, Miss Carnaby, did you ever have to carry out the threats you used in your letters?"
"Threats?"
"Were you ever compelled to mutilate the animals in the way you specified?"
Miss Carnaby regarded him in horror.
"Of course, I would never have dreamed of doing such a thing! That was just - just an artistic touch."
"Very artistic. It worked."
"Well, of course I knew it would. I know how I should have felt about Augustus, and of course I had to make sure these women never told their husbands until afterwards. The plan worked beautifully every time. In nine cases out of ten the companion was given the letter with the money to post. We usually steamed it open, took out the notes, and replaced them with paper. Once or twice the woman posted it herself.
Then, of course, the companion had to go to the hotel and take the letter out of the rack. But that was quite easy, too."
"And the nurse-maid touch? Was it always a nurse-maid?"
"Well, you see, M. Poirot, old maids are known to be foolishly sentimental about babies. So it seemed quite natural that they should be absorbed over a baby and not notice anything."
Hercule Poirot sighed. He said: "Your psychology is excellent, your organisation is first class, and you are also a very fine actress. Your performance the other day when I interviewed Lady Hoggin was irreproachable. Never think of yourself disparagingly, Miss Carnaby.
You may be what is termed an untrained woman but there is nothing wrong with your brains or with your courage."
Miss Carnaby said with a faint smile: "And yet I have been found out, M. Poirot."
"Only by me. That was inevitable! When I had interviewed Mrs Samuelson I realised that the kidnapping of Shan Tung was one of a series. I had already learned that you had once been left a Pekinese dog and had an invalid sister. I had only to ask my invaluable servant to look for a small flat within a certain radius occupied by an invalid lady who had a Pekinese dog and a sister who visited her once a week on her day out. It was simple."
Amy Carnaby drew herself up.
She said: "You have been very kind. It emboldens me to ask you a favour. I cannot, I know, escape the penalty for what I have done. I shall be sent to prison, I suppose. But if you could, M. Poirot, avert some of the publicity. So distressing for Emily - and for those few who knew us in the old days. I could not, I suppose, go to prison under a false name? Or is that a very wrong thing to ask?"
Hercule Poirot said: "I think I can do more than that. But first of all I must make one thing quite dear. This ramp has got to stop. There must be no more disappearing dogs. All that is finished!"
"Yes! Oh yes!"
"And the money you extracted from Lady Hoggin must be returned."
Amy Carnaby crossed the room, opened the drawer of a bureau and returned with a packet of notes which she handed to Poirot.
"I was going to pay it into the pool today."
Poirot took the notes and counted them. He got up.
"I think it possible, Miss Carnaby, that I may be able to persuade Sir Joseph not to prosecute."
"Oh, M. Poirot!"
Amy Carnaby clasped her hands. Emily gave a cry of joy. Augustus barked and wagged his tail.
"As for you, mon ami," said Poirot addressing him. "There is one thing that I wish you would give me. It is your mantle of invisibility that I need. In all these cases nobody for a moment suspected that there was a second dog involved. Augustus possessed the lion's skin of invisibility."
"Of course, M. Poirot, according to the legend, Pekinese were lions once. And they still have the hearts of lions!"
"Augustus is, I suppose, the dog that was left to you by Lady Hartingfield and who is reported to have died? Were you never afraid of him coming home alone through the traffic?"
"Oh no, M. Poirot, Augustus is very clever about traffic. I have trained him most carefully. He has even grasped the principle of One Way Streets."
"In that case," said Hercule Poirot, "he is superior to most human
beings!"
IX
Sir Joseph received Hercule Poirot in his study. He said:
"Well, Mr Poirot? Made your boast good?"
"Let me first ask you a question," said Poirot as he seated himself. "I know who the criminal is and I think it possible that I can produce sufficient evidence to convict this person. But in that case I doubt if you will ever recover your money."
"Not get back my money?" Sir Joseph turned purple.
Hercule Poirot went on: "But I am not a policeman. I am acting in this case solely in your interests. I could, I think, recover your money intact, if no proceedings were taken."
"Eh?" said Sir Joseph. "That needs a bit of thinking about."
"It is entirely for you to decide. Strictly speaking, I suppose you ought to prosecute in the public interest. Most people would say so."
"I dare say they would," said Sir Joseph sharply. "It wouldn't be their money that had gone west. If there's one thing I hate it's to be swindled. Nobody's ever swindled me and got away with it."
"Well then, what do you decide?"
Sir Joseph hit the table with his fist.
"I'll have the brass! Nobody's going to say they got away with two hundred pounds of my money."
Hercule Poirot rose, crossed to the writing-table, wrote out a cheque for two hundred pounds and handed it to the other man.
Sir Joseph said in a weak voice: "Well, I'm damned! Who the devil is this fellow?"
Poirot shook his head. "If you accept the money, there must be no questions asked."
Sir Joseph folded up the cheque and put it in his pocket.
"That's a pity. But the money's the thing. And what do I owe you, Mr Poirot?"
"My fees will not be high. This was, as I said, a very unimportant matter." He paused - and added, "Nowadays nearly all my cases are murder cases..."
Sir Joseph started slightly. "Must be interesting?" he said.
"Sometimes. Curiously enough, you recall to me one of my early cases in Belgium, many years ago - the chief protagonist was very like you in appearance. He was a wealthy soap manufacturer. He poisoned his wife in order to be free to marry his secretary... Yes - the resemblance is very remarkable..."
A faint sound came from Sir Joseph's lips - they had gone a queer blue colour. All the ruddy hue had faded from his cheeks. His eyes, starting out of his head, stared at Poirot. He slipped down a little in his chair.
Then, with a shaking hand, he fumbled in his pocket. He drew out the cheque and tore it into pieces.
"That's washed out - see? Consider it as your fee."
"Oh but, Sir Joseph, my fee would not have been as large as that."
"That's all right. You keep it."
"I shall send it to a deserving charity."
"Send it anywhere you damn well like."
Poirot leaned forward. He said: "I think I need hardly point out. Sir Joseph, that in your position, you would do well to be exceedingly careful."
Sir Joseph said, his voice almost inaudible: "You needn't worry. I shall be careful all right."
Hercule Poirot left the house. As he went down the steps he said to himself:
"So - I was right."
X
Lady Hoggin said to her husband: "Funny, this tonic tastes quite different. It hasn't got that bitter taste any more. I wonder why?"
Sir Joseph growled: "Chemist. Careless fellows. Make things up differently different times."
Lady Hoggin said doubtfully: "I suppose that must be it."
"Of course it is. What else could it be?"
"Has the man found out anything about Shan Tung?"
"Yes. He got me my money back all right."
"Who was it?"
"He didn't say. Very close fellow, Hercule Poirot. But you needn't worry."
"He's a funny little man, isn't he?"
Sir Joseph gave a slight shiver and threw a sideways glance upwards as though he felt the invisible presence of Hercule Poirot behind his right shoulder. He had an idea that he would always feel it there.
He said: "He's a damned clever little devil!"
And he thought to himself: "Greta can go hang! I'm not going to risk my neck for any damned platinum blonde!"
XI
"Oh!"
Amy Carnaby gazed down incredulously at the cheque for two hundred pounds. She cried: "Emily! Emily! Listen to this.
Dear Miss Carnaby, Allow me to enclose a contribution to your very deserving Fund before it is finally wound up.
Yours very truly, Hercule Poirot."
"Amy," said Emily Carnaby, "you've been incredibly lucky. Think where you might be now."
"Wormwood Scrubbs - or is it Holloway?" murmured Amy Carnaby.
"But that's all over now - isn't it, Augustus? No more walks to the Park with mother or mother's friends and a little pair of scissors."
A far away wistfulness came into her eyes. She sighed.
"Dear Augustus! It seems a pity. He's so clever... One can teach him anything."
Chapter 2
THE LERNEAN HYDRA
II
"We are going into the country, Georges," said Hercule Poirot to his valet.
"Indeed, sir?" said the imperturbable George.
"And the purpose of our journey is to destroy a monster with nine heads."
"Really, sir? Something after the style of the Loch Ness Monster?"
"Less tangible than that. I did not refer to a flesh and blood animal, Georges."
"I misunderstood you, sir."
"It would be easier if it were one. There is nothing so intangible, so difficult to pin down, as the source of a rumour."
"Oh yes, indeed, sir. It's difficult to know how a thing starts sometimes."
"Exactly."
Hercule Poirot did not put up at Dr Oldfield's house. He went instead to the local inn. The morning after his arrival, he had his first interview with Jean Moncrieffe.
She was a tall girl with copper-coloured hair and steady blue eyes. She had about her a watchful look, as of one who is upon her guard.
She said: "So Doctor Oldfield did go to you. I knew he was thinking about it."
There was a lack of enthusiasm in her tone.
Poirot said: "And you did not approve?"
Her eyes met his. She said coldly: "What can you do?"
Poirot said quietly: "There might be a way of tackling the situation."
"What way?" She threw the words at him scornfully. "Do you mean to go round to all the whispering old women and say 'Really, please, you must stop talking like this. It's so bad for poor Doctor Oldfield.' And they'd answer you and say: 'Of course, I have never believed the story!" That's the worst of the whole thing - they don't say: 'My dear, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Mrs Oldfield's death wasn't quite what it seemed?' No, they say: 'My dear, of course I don't believe that story about Doctor Oldfield and his wife. I'm sure he wouldn't do such a thing, though it's true that he did neglect her just a little perhaps and I don't think, really it's quite wise to have quite a young girl as his dispenser - of course, I'm not saying for a minute that there was anything wrong between them. Oh no, I'm sure it was quite all right...'" She stopped. Her face was flushed and her breath came rather fast.
Hercule Poirot said: "You seem to know very well just what is being said."
Her mouth closed sharply. She said bitterly: "I know all right!"
"And what is your own solution?"
Jean Moncrieffe said: "The best thing for him to do is to sell his practice and start again somewhere else."
"Don't you think the story might follow him?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"He must risk that."
Poirot was silent for a minute or two. Then he said: "Are you going to marry Doctor Oldfield, Miss Moncrieffe?" She displayed no surprise at the question.
She said shortly: "He hasn't asked me to marry him."
"Why not?"
Her blue eyes met his and flickered for a second. Then she said:
&nbs
p; "Because I've choked him off."
"Ah, what a blessing to find someone who can be frank!"
"I will be as frank as you please. When I realised that people were saying that Charles had got rid of his wife in order to marry me, it seemed to me that if we did marry it would just put the lid on things. I hoped that if there appeared to be no question of marriage between us, the silly scandal might die down."
"But it hasn't?"
"No, it hasn't."
"Surely," said Hercule Poirot, "that is a little odd?"
Jean said bitterly: "They haven't got much to amuse them down here."
Poirot asked: "Do you want to marry Charles Oldfield?"
The girl answered coolly enough.
"Yes, I do. I wanted to almost as soon as I met him."
"Then his wife's death was very convenient for you?"
Jean Moncrieffe said: "Mrs Oldfield was a singularly unpleasant woman. Frankly, I was delighted when she died."
"Yes," said Poirot. "You are certainly frank!"
She gave the same scornful smile.
Poirot said: "I have a suggestion to make."
"Yes?"
"Drastic means are required here. I suggest that somebody - possibly yourself - might write to the Home Office."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean that the best way of disposing of this story once and for all is to get the body exhumed and an autopsy performed."
She took a step back from him. Her lips opened, then shut again.
Poirot watched her.
"Well, Mademoiselle?" he said at last.
Jean Moncrieffe said quietly: "I don't agree with you."
"But why not? Surely a verdict of death from natural causes would silence all tongues?"
"If you got that verdict, yes."
"Do you know what you are suggesting, Mademoiselle?"
Jean Moncrieffe said impatiently: "I know what I'm talking about.
You're thinking of arsenic poisoning - you could prove that she was not poisoned by arsenic. But there are other poisons - the vegetable alkaloids. After a year, I doubt if you'd find any traces of them even if they had been used. And I know what these official analyst people are like. They might return a non-committal verdict saying that there was nothing to show what caused death - and then the tongues would wag faster than ever!"
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