Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  "No special medicine? Cachets? Pills?"

  "Good Lord, no. Do you really think patent pills would cure my trouble?" He quoted derisively: "'Canst though then minister to a mind diseased?'"

  Hercule Poirot said dryly: "I am trying to. Does anyone in this house suffer with eye trouble?"

  Hugh Chandler stared at him. He said: "Father's eyes give him a good deal of trouble. He has to go to an oculist fairly often."

  "Ah!" Poirot meditated for a moment or two. Then he said: "Colonel Frobisher, I suppose, has spent much of his life in India?"

  "Yes, he was in the Indian Army. He's very keen on India - talks about it a lot - native traditions - and all that."

  Poirot murmured "Ah!" again.

  Then he remarked: "I see that you have cut your chin."

  Hugh put his hand up.

  "Yes, quite a nasty gash. Father startled me one day when I was shaving. I'm a bit nervy these days, you know. And I've had a bit of a rash over my chin and neck. Makes shaving difficult."

  Poirot said: "You should use a soothing cream."

  "Oh, I do. Uncle George gave me one."

  He gave a sudden laugh.

  "We're talking like a woman's beauty parlour. Lotions, soothing creams, patent pills, eye trouble. What does it all amount to? What are you getting at, M. Poirot?"

  Poirot said quietly: "I am trying to do the best I can for Diana Maberly."

  Hugh's mood changed. His face sobered. He laid a hand on Poirot's arm.

  "Yes, do what you can for her. Tell her she's got to forget. Tell her that it's no good hoping... Tell her some of the things I've told you... Tell her - oh, tell her for God's sake to keep away from me! That's the only thing she can do for me now. Keep away - and try to forget!"

  V

  "Have you courage. Mademoiselle? Great courage? You will need it."

  Diana cried sharply: "Then it's true. It's true? He is mad?"

  Hercule Poirot said: "I am not an alienist. Mademoiselle. It is not I who can say, 'This man is mad. This man is sane.'"

  She came closer to him.

  "Admiral Chandler thinks Hugh is mad. George Frobisher thinks he is mad. Hugh himself thinks he is mad -"

  Poirot was watching her.

  "And you, Mademoiselle?"

  "I? I say he isn't mad! That's why -" She stopped.

  "That is why you came to me?"

  "Yes. I couldn't have had any other reason for coming to you, could I?"

  "That," said Hercule Poirot, "is exactly what I have been asking myself, Mademoiselle!"

  "I don't understand you."

  "Who is Stephen Graham?"

  She stared. "Stephen Graham? Oh, he's - he's just someone."

  She caught him by the arm.

  "What's in your mind? What are you thinking about? You just stand there - behind that great moustache of yours - blinking your eyes in the sunlight, and you don't tell me anything. You're making me afraid horribly afraid. Why are you making me afraid?"

  "Perhaps," said Poirot, "because I am afraid myself."

  The deep grey eyes opened wide, stared up at him. She said in a whisper:

  "What are you afraid of?"

  Hercule Poirot sighed - a deep sigh.

  He said: "It is much easier to catch a murderer than it is to prevent a murder."

  She cried out: "Murder? Don't use that word."

  "Nevertheless," said Hercule Poirot, "I do use it."

  He altered his tone, speaking quickly and authoritatively.

  "Mademoiselle, it is necessary that both you and I should pass the night at Lyde Manor. I look to you to arrange the matter. You can do that?"

  "I - yes - I suppose so. But why -?"

  "Because there is no time to lose. You have told me that you have courage. Prove that courage now. Do what I ask and make no questions about it."

  She nodded without a word and turned away.

  Poirot followed her into the house after the lapse of a moment or two.

  He heard her voice in the library and the voices of three men. He passed up the broad staircase. There was no one on the upper floor.

  He found Hugh Chandler's room easily enough. In the corner of the room was a fitted washbasin with hot and cold water. Over it, on a glass shelf, were various tubes and pots and bottles.

  Hercule Poirot went quickly and dexterously to work...

  What he had to do did not take him long. He was downstairs again in the hall when Diana came out of the library, looking flushed and rebellious.

  "It's all right," she said.

  Admiral Chandler drew Poirot into the library and closed the door. He said: "Look here, M. Poirot, I don't like this."

  "What don't you like, Admiral Chandler?"

  "Diana has been insisting that you and she should both spend the night here. I don't want to be inhospitable -"

  "It is not a question of hospitality."

  "As I say, I don't like being inhospitable - but frankly, I don't like it, M.

  Poirot. I - I don't want it. And I don't understand the reason for it. What good can it possibly do?"

  "Shall we say that it is an experiment I am trying?"

  "What kind of an experiment?"

  "That, you will pardon me, is my business..."

  "Now look here, M. Poirot, I didn't ask you to come here in the first place -"

  Poirot interrupted.

  "Believe me, Admiral Chandler, I quite understand and appreciate your point of view. I am here simply and solely because of the obstinacy of a girl in love. You have told me certain things. Colonel Frobisher has told me certain things. Hugh himself has told me certain things. Now - I want to see for myself."

  "Yes, but see what? I tell you, there's nothing to see! I lock Hugh into his room every night and that's that."

  "And yet - sometimes - he tells me that the door is not locked in the morning?"

  "What's that?"

  "Have you not found the door unlocked yourself?"

  Chandler was frowning.

  "I always imagined George had unlocked - what do you mean?"

  "Where do you leave the key - in the lock?"

  "No, I lay it on the chest outside. I, or George, or Withers, the valet, take it from there in the morning. We've told Withers it's because Hugh walks in his sleep... I daresay he knows more - but he's a faithful fellow, been with me for years."

  "Is there another key?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "One could have been made."

  "But who -"

  "Your son thinks that he himself has one hidden somewhere, although he is unaware of it in his waking state."

  Colonel Frobisher, speaking from the far end of the room, said: "I don't like it, Charles... The girl -"

  Admiral Chandler said quickly: "Just what I was thinking. The girl mustn't come back with you. Come back yourself, if you like."

  Poirot said: "Why don't you want Miss Maberly here tonight?"

  Frobisher said in a low voice: "It's too risky. In these cases -"

  He stopped.

  Poirot said: "Hugh is devoted to her..."

  Chandler cried: "That's just why! Damn it all, man, everything's topsyturvy where a madman's concerned. Hugh knows that himself. Diana mustn't come here."

  "As to that," said Poirot, "Diana must decide for herself."

  He went out of the library. Diana was waiting outside in the car. She called out, "We'll get what we want for the night and be back in time for dinner."

  As they drove down the long drive, Poirot repeated to her the conversation he had just held with the Admiral and Colonel Frobisher.

  She laughed scornfully.

  "Do they think Hugh would hurt me?"

  By way of reply, Poirot asked her if she would mind stopping at the chemist's in the village. He had forgotten, he said, to pack a toothbrush.

  The chemist's shop was in the middle of the peaceful village street.

  Diana waited outside in the car. It struck her that Hercule Poirot was a long time
choosing a toothbrush...

  VI

  In the big bedroom with the heavy Elizabethan oak furniture, Hercule

  Poirot sat and waited. There was nothing to do but wait. All his arrangements were made.

  It was towards early morning that the summons came.

  At the sound of footsteps outside, Poirot drew back the bolt and opened the door. There were two men in the passage outside - two middle-aged men who looked older than their years. The Admiral was stern-faced and grim. Colonel Frobisher twitched and trembled.

  Chandler said simply: "Will you come with us, M. Poirot?"

  There was a huddled figure lying outside Diana Maberly's bedroom door. The light fell on a rumpled, tawny head. Hugh Chandler lay there breathing stertorously. He was in his dressing-gown and slippers. In his right hand was a sharply-curved, shining knife. Not all of it was shining - here and there it was obscured by red glistening patches.

  Hercule Poirot exclaimed softly: "Mon Dieu!"

  Frobisher said sharply: "She's all right. He hasn't touched her."

  He raised his voice and called: "Diana! It's us! Let us in!"

  Poirot heard the Admiral groan and mutter under his breath: "My boy.

  My poor boy."

  There was a sound of bolts being drawn. The door opened and Diana stood there. Her face was dead white.

  She faltered out: "What's happened? There was someone - trying to get in - I heard them - feeling the door - the handle - scratching on the panels - Oh! it was awful... like an animal..."

  Frobisher said sharply: "Thank God your door was locked!"

  "M. Poirot told me to lock it."

  Poirot said: "Lift him up and bring him inside."

  The two men stooped and raised the unconscious man. Diana caught her breath with a little gasp as they passed her.

  "Hugh? Is it Hugh? What's that - on his hands?"

  Hugh Chandler's hands were sticky and wet with a brownish, red stain.

  Diana breathed: "Is that blood?"

  Poirot looked inquiringly at the two men.

  The Admiral nodded. He said: "Not human, thank God! A cat! I found it downstairs in the hall. Throat cut. Afterwards he must have come up here -"

  "Here?" Diana's voice was low with horror. "To me?"

  The man on the chair stirred - muttered. They watched him, fascinated. Hugh Chandler sat up. He blinked.

  "Hullo," his voice was dazed - hoarse. "What's happened? Why am I -?"

  He stopped. He was staring at the knife which he held still clasped in his hand.

  He said in a slow, thick voice: "What have I done?"

  His eyes went from one to the other. They rested at last on Diana shrinking back against the wall.

  He said quietly: "Did I attack Diana?"

  His father shook his head.

  Hugh said: "Tell me what has happened? I've got to know!"

  They told him - told him unwillingly - haltingly. His quiet perseverance drew it out of them.

  Outside the window the sun was coming up. Hercule Poirot drew a curtain aside. The radiance of the dawn came into the room.

  Hugh Chandler's face was composed, his voice was steady.

  He said: "I see."

  Then he got up. He smiled and stretched himself. His voice was quite natural as he said:

  "Beautiful morning, what? Think I'll go out in the woods and try to get a rabbit."

  He went out of the room and left them staring after him.

  Then the Admiral started forward. Frobisher caught him by the arm.

  "No, Charles, no. It's the best way - for him, poor devil, if for nobody else."

  Diana had thrown herself sobbing on the bed.

  Admiral Chandler said, his voice coming unevenly: "You're right, George - you're right, I know. The boy's got guts..."

  Frobisher said, and his voice, too, was broken: "He's a man..."

  There was a moment's silence and then Chandler said:

  "Damn it, where's that cursed foreigner?"

  VII

  In the gun-room, Hugh Chandler had lifted his gun from the rack and was in the act of loading it when Hercule Poirot's hand fell on his shoulder.

  Hercule Poirot's voice said one word and said it with a strange authority.

  He said: "No !"

  Hugh Chandler stared at him.

  He said in a thick, angry voice: "Take your hands off me. Don't interfere. There's going to be an accident, I tell you. It's the only way out."

  Again Hercule Poirot repeated that one word: "No."

  "Don't you realise that if it hadn't been for the accident of her door being locked, I would have cut Diana's throat - Diana's! - with that knife?"

  "I realise nothing of the kind. You would not have killed Miss Maberly."

  "I killed the cat, didn't I?"

  "No, you did not kill the cat. You did not kill the parrot. You did not kill the sheep."

  Hugh stared at him. He demanded: "Are you mad, or am I?"

  Hercule Poirot replied: "Neither of us is mad."

  It was at that moment that Admiral Chandler and Colonel Frobisher came in. Behind them came Diana.

  Hugh Chandler said in a weak, dazed voice: "This chap says I'm not mad..."

  Hercule Poirot said: "I am happy to tell you that you are entirely and completely sane."

  Hugh laughed. It was a laugh such as a lunatic might popularly be supposed to give.

  "That's damned funny! It's sane, is it, to cut the throats of sheep and other animals? I was sane, was I, when I killed that parrot? And the cat tonight?"

  "I tell you you did not kill the sheep - or the parrot - or the cat."

  "Then who did?"

  "Someone who has had at heart the sole object of proving you insane.

  On each occasion you were given a heavy soporific and a bloodstained knife or razor was planted by you. It was someone else whose bloody hands were washed in your basin."

  "But why?"

  "In order that you should do what you were just about to do when I stopped you."

  Hugh stared. Poirot turned to Colonel Frobisher.

  "Colonel Frobisher, you lived for many years in India. Did you never come across cases where persons were deliberately driven mad by the administration of drugs?"

  Colonel Frobisher's face lit up.

  He said: "Never came across a case myself, but I've heard of them often enough. Datura poisoning. It ends by driving a person insane."

  "Exactly. Well, the active principle of the datura is very closely allied to, if it is not actually, the alkaloid atropine - which is also obtained from belladonna or deadly nightshade. Belladonna preparations are fairly common and atropine sulphate itself is prescribed freely for eye treatments. By duplicating a prescription and getting it made up in different places a large quantity of the poison could be obtained without arousing suspicion. The alkaloid could be extracted from it and then introduced into, say - a soothing shaving cream. Applied externally it would cause a rash, this would soon lead to abrasions in shaving and thus the drug would be continually entering the system. It would produce certain symptoms - dryness of the mouth and throat, difficulty in swallowing, hallucinations, double vision - all the symptoms, in fact, which Mr Chandler has experienced."

  He turned to the young man.

  "And to remove the last doubt from your mind, I will tell you that that is not a supposition but a fact. Your shaving cream was heavily impregnated with atropine sulphate. I took a sample and had it tested."

  White, shaking, Hugh asked: "Who did it?"

  Hercule Poirot said: "That is what I have been studying ever since I arrived here. I have been looking for a motive for murder. Diana Maberly gained financially by your death, but I did not consider her seriously -"

  Hugh Chandler flashed out: "I should hope not!"

  "I envisaged another possible motive. The eternal triangle; two men and a woman. Colonel Frobisher had been in love with your mother.

  Admiral Chandler married her."

  Admiral
Chandler cried out: "George? George! I won't believe it."

  Hugh said in an incredulous voice: "Do you mean that hatred could go on - to a son?"

  Hercule Poirot said: "Under certain circumstances, yes."

  Frobisher cried out: "It's a damned lie! Don't believe him, Charles."

  Chandler shrank away from him. He muttered to himself:

  "The datura... India - yes, I see... And we'd never suspect poison - not with madness in the family already..."

  "Mais oui!" Hercule Poirot's voice rose high and shrill. "Madness in the family. A madman - bent on revenge - cunning - as madmen are, concealing his madness for years." He whirled round on Frobisher.

  "Mon Dieu, you must have known, you must have suspected, that Hugh was your son? Why did you never tell him so?"

  Frobisher stammered, gulped.

  "I didn't know. I couldn't be sure... You see, Caroline came to me once she was frightened of something - in great trouble. I don't know, I never have known, what it was all about. She - I - we lost our heads.

  Afterwards I went away at once - it was the only thing to be done, we both knew we'd got to play the game. I - well, I wondered, but I couldn't be sure. Caroline never said anything that led me to think Hugh was my son. And then when this - this streak of madness appeared, it settled things definitely, I thought."

  Poirot said: "Yes, it settled things! You could not see the way the boy has of thrusting out his face and bringing down his brows - a trick he inherited from you. But Charles Chandler saw it. Saw it years ago - and learnt the truth from his wife. I think she was afraid of him - he'd begun to show her the mad streak - that was what drove her into your arms you whom she had always loved. Charles Chandler planned his revenge. His wife died in a boating accident. He and she were out in the boat alone and he knows how that accident came about. Then he settled down to feed his concentrated hatred against the boy who bore his name but who was not his son. Your Indian stories put the idea of datura poisoning into his head. Hugh should be slowly driven mad.

  Driven to the stage where he would take his own life in despair. The blood lust was Admiral Chandler's, not Hugh's. It was Charles Chandler who was driven to cut the throats of sheep in lonely fields.

  But it was Hugh who was to pay the penalty!