"Did you ever read fairy stories when you were a child? The King in them would say: 'Ask of me what you will'?"
"So you are asking something?"
"Yes, but not money. Merely a simple request."
"Well, what is it? D'you want a tip for the markets?"
"That would be only money in another form. My request is much simpler than that."
"What is it?"
Hercule Poirot laid his hands on the cup.
"Send this back to the Convent."
There was a pause. Then Emery Power said:
"Are you quite mad?"
Hercule Poirot shook his head.
"No, I am not mad. See, I will show you something."
He picked up the goblet. With his finger-nail, he pressed hard into the open jaws of the snake that was coiled round the tree. Inside the cup a tiny portion of the gold chased interior slid aside leaving an aperture into the hollow handle.
Poirot said: "You see? This was the drinking cup of the Borgia Pope.
Through this little hole the poison passed into the drink. You have said yourself that the history of this cup is evil. Violence and blood and evil passions have accompanied its possession. Evil will perhaps come to you in turn."
"Superstition!"
"Possibly. But why were you so anxious to possess this thing? Not for its beauty. Not for its value. You have a hundred - a thousand perhaps beautiful and rare things. You wanted it to sustain your pride. You were determined not to be beaten. Eh bien, you are not beaten. You win! The goblet is in your possession. But now, why not make a great - a supreme gesture? Send it back to where it has dwelt in peace for nearly ten years. Let the evil of it be purified there. It belonged to the Church once - let it return to the Church. Let it stand once more on the altar, purified and absolved as we hope that the souls of men shall be also purified and absolved from their sins."
He leaned forward.
"Let me describe for you the place where I found it - the Garden of Peace, looking out over the Western Sea towards a forgotten Paradise of Youth and Eternal Beauty."
He spoke on, describing in simple words the remote charm of Inishgowlan.
Emery Power sat back, one hand over his eyes.
He said at last: "I was born on the west coast of Ireland. I left there as a boy to go to America."
Poirot said gently: "I heard that."
The financier sat up. His eyes were shrewd again. He said, and there was a faint smile on his lips:
"You are a strange man, M. Poirot. You shall have your way. Take the goblet to the Convent as a gift in my name. A pretty costly gift. Thirty thousand pounds - and what shall I get in exchange?"
Poirot said gravely: "The nuns will say Masses for your soul."
The rich man's smile widened - a rapacious, hungry smile.
He said: "So, after all, it may be an investment! Perhaps, the best one I ever made..."
IX
In the little parlour of the Convent, Hercule Poirot told his story and restored the chalice to the Mother Superior.
She murmured: "Tell him we thank him and we will pray for him."
Hercule Poirot said gently: "He needs your prayers."
"Is he then an unhappy man?"
Poirot said: "So unhappy that he has forgotten what happiness means.
So unhappy that he does not know he is unhappy."
The nun said softly: "Ah, a rich man..."
Hercule Poirot said nothing - for he knew there was nothing to say.
Chapter 12
THE CAPTURE OF CERBERUS
II
On the following morning Poirot paid a visit to Scotland Yard to his old friend Chief Inspector Japp.
Japp's reception of his tentative inquiries was unexpected.
"You old fox!" said Japp affectionately. "How you get on to these things beats me!"
"But I assure you I know nothing - nothing at all! It is just idle curiosity."
Japp said that Poirot could tell that to the Marines!
"You want to know all about this place Hell? Well, on the surface it's just another of these things. It's ca ught on! They must be making a lot of money, though of course the expenses are pretty high. There's a Russian woman ostensibly running it, calls herself the Countess Something or other -"
"I am acquainted with Countess Rossakoff," said Poirot coldly. "We are old friends."
"But she's just a dummy," Japp went on. "She didn't put up the money.
It might be the head waiter chap, Aristide Papopolous - he's got an interest in it - but we don't believe it's really his show either. In fact we don't know whose show it is!"
"And Inspector Stevens goes there to find out?"
"Oh, you saw Stevens, did you? Lucky young dog landing a job like that at the taxpayer's expense! A fat lot he's found out so far!"
"What do you suspect there is to find out?"
"Dope! Drug racket on a large scale. And the dope's being paid for not in money, but in precious stones."
"Aha?"
"This is how it goes. Lady Blank - or the Countess of Whatnot - finds it hard to get hold of cash - and in any case doesn't want to draw large sums out of the Bank. But she's got jewels - family heirlooms sometimes! They're taken along to a place for 'cleaning' or 'resetting' there the stones are taken out of their settings and replaced with paste. The unset stones are sold over here or on the Continent. It's all plain sailing - there's been no robbery, no hue and cry after them. Say sooner or later it's discovered that a certain tiara or necklace is a fake? Lady Blank is all innocence and dismay - can't imagine how or when the substitution can have taken place - necklace has never been out of her possession! Sends the poor, perspiring police off on wildgoose chases after dismissed maids, or doubtful butlers, or suspicious window-cleaners.
"But we're not quite so dumb as these social birds think! We had several cases come up one after another - and we found a common factor - all the women showed signs of dope - nerves, irritability twitching, pupils of eyes dilated, etcetera. Question was: Where were they getting the dope from and who was running the racket?"
"And the answer, you think, is this place Hell?"
"We believe it's the headquarters of the whole racket. We've discovered where the work on the jewellery is done - a place called Golconda Ltd. - respectable enough on the surface, high-class imitation jewellery. There's a nasty bit of work called Paul Varesco ah, I see you know him?"
"I have seen him - in Hell."
"That's where I'd like to see him - in the real place! He's as bad as they make 'em - but women - even decent women - eat out of his hand! He's got some kind of connection with Golconda Ltd. and I'm pretty sure he's the man behind Hell. It's ideal for his purpose - everyone goes there, society women, professional crooks - it's the perfect meeting place."
"You think the exchange - jewels for dope - takes place there?"
"Yes. We know the Golconda side of it - we want the other - the dope side. We want to know who's supplying the stuff and where it's coming from."
"And so far you have no idea?"
"I think it's the Russian woman - but we've no evidence. A few weeks ago we thought we were getting somewhere. Varesco went to the Golconda place, picked up some stones there and went straight from there to Hell. Stevens was watching him, but he didn't actually see him pass the stuff. When Varesco left we picked him up - the stones weren't on him. We raided the club, rounded up everybody! Result, no stones, no dope!"
"A fiasco, in fact?"
Japp winced. "You're telling me! Might have got in a bit of a jam, but luckily in the round up we got Peverel (you know, the Battersea murderer). Pure luck, he was supposed to have got away to Scotland.
One of our smart sergeants spotted him from his photos. So all's well that ends well - kudos for us - terrific boost for the club - it's been more packed than ever since!"
Poirot said: "But it does not advance the dope inquiry. There is, perhaps, a place of concealment on the premises?"
"M
ust be. But we couldn't find it. Went over the place with a toothcomb. And between you and me, there's been an unofficial search as well -" he winked. "Strictly on the Q.T. Spot of breaking and entering. Not a success, our 'unofficial' man nearly got torn to pieces by that ruddy great dog! It sleeps on the premises."
"Aha, Cerberus?"
"Yes. Silly name for a dog - to call it after a packet of salt."
"Cerberus," murmured Poirot thoughtfully.
"Suppose you try your hand at it, Poirot," suggested Japp. "It's a pretty problem and worth doing. I hate the drug racket, destroys people body and soul. That really is Hell if you like!"
Poirot murmured meditatively: "It would round off things - yes. Do you know what the twelfth labour of Hercules was?"
"No idea."
"The Capture of Cerberus. It is appropriate, is it not?"
"Don't know what you're talking about, old man, but remember: 'Dog eats Man' is news." And Japp leaned back roaring with laughter.
III
"I wish to speak to you with the utmost seriousness," said Poirot.
The hour was early, the Club as yet nearly empty. The Countess and Poirot sat at a small table near the doorway.
"But I do not feel serious," she protested. "La petite Alice, she is always serious and, entre nous, I find it very boring. My poor Niki, what fun will he have? None."
"I entertain for you much affection," continued Poirot steadily. "And I do not want to see you in what is called the jam."
"But it is absurd what you say there! I am on top of the world, the money it rolls in!"
"You own this place?"
The Countess's eye became slightly evasive.
"Certainly," she replied.
"But you have a partner?"
"Who told you that?" asked the Countess sharply.
"Is your partner Paul Varesco?"
"Oh! Paul Varesco! What an idea!"
"He has a bad - a criminal record. Do you realise that you have criminals frequenting this place?"
The Countess burst out laughing.
"There speaks the bon bourgeois! Naturally I realise! Do you not see that that is half the attraction of this place? These young people from Mayfair - they get tired of seeing their own kind round them in the West End. They come here, they see the criminals; the thief, the blackmailer, the confidence trickster - perhaps, even, the murderer the man who will be in the Sunday papers next week! It is exciting, that - they think they are seeing life! So does the prosperous man who all the week sells the knickers, the stockings, the corsets! What a change from his respectable life and his respectable friends! And then, a further thrill - there at a table, stro king his moustache, is the Inspector from Scotland Yard - an Inspector in tails!"
"So you knew that?" said Poirot softly.
Her eyes met his and he smiled.
"Mon cher ami, I am not so simple as you seem to suppose!"
"Do you also deal in drugs here?"
"Ah, ça no!" The Countess spoke sharply. "That would be an abomination!"
Poirot looked at her for a moment or two, then he sighed.
"I believe you," he said. "But in that case it is all the more necessary that you tell me who really owns this place."
"I own it," she snapped.
"On paper, yes. But there is someone behind you."
"Do you know, mon ami, I find you altogether too curious? Is he not much too curious, Dou-dou?"
Her voice dropped to a coo as she spoke the last words and she threw the duck bone from her plate to the big black hound who caught it with a ferocious snap of the jaws.
"What is it that you call that animal?" asked Poirot, diverted.
"C'est mon petit Dou-dou!"
"But it is ridiculous, a name like that!"
"But he is adorable! He is a police dog! He can do anything - anything -
Wait!"
She rose, looked round her, and suddenly snatched up a plate with a large succulent steak which had just been deposited before a diner at a nearby table. She crossed to the marble niche and put the plate down in front of the dog, at the same time uttering a few words in Russian.
Cerberus gazed in front of him. The steak might not have existed.
"You see? And it is not just a matter of minutes! No, he will remain like that for hours if need be!"
Then she murmured a word and like lightning Cerberus bent his long neck and the steak disappeared as though by magic.
Vera Rossakoff flung her arms round the dog's neck and embraced him passionately, rising on tip-toe to do so.
"See how gentle he can be!" she cried. "For me, for Alice, for his friends - they can do what they li ke! But one has but to give him the word and Presto! I can assure you he would tear a - police inspector, for instance - into little pieces ! Yes, into little pieces!"
She burst out laughing.
"I would have but to say the word -"
Poirot interrupted hastily. He mistrusted the Countess's sense of humour. Inspector Stevens might be in real danger.
"Professor Liskeard wants to speak to you."
The Professor was standing reproachfully at her elbow.
"You took my steak," he complained. "Why did you take my steak? It was a good steak!"
IV
"Thursday night, old man," said Japp. "That's when the balloon goes up. It's Andrews' pigeon, of course - Narcotic Squad - but he'll be delighted to have you horn in. No, thanks, I won't have any of your fancy sirops. I have to take care of my stomach. Is that whisky I see over there? That's more the ticket!"
Setting his glass down, he went on:
"We've solved the problem, I think. There's another way out at that Club - and we've found it!"
"Where?"
"Behind the grill. Part of it swings round."
"But surely you would see -"
"No, old boy. When the raid started, the lights went out - switched off at the main - and it took us a minute or two to get them turned on again.
Nobody got out the front way because it was being watched, but it's clear now that somebody could have nipped out by the secret way with the doings. We've been examining the house behind the Club - and that's how we tumbled to the trick."
"And you propose to do - what?"
Japp winked. "Let it go according to plan - the police appear, the lights go out - and somebody's waiting on the other side of that secret door to see who comes through. This time we've got 'em!"
"Why Thursday?"
Again Japp winked. "We've got the Golconda pretty well taped now.
There will be stuff going out of there on Thursday. Lady Carrington's emeralds."
"You permit," said Poirot, "that I too make one or two little arrangements?"
Sitting at his usual small table near the entrance on Thursday night Poirot studied his surroundings. As usual Hell was going with a swing!
The Countess was even more flamboyantly made up than usual if that was possible. She was being very Russian tonight, clapping her hands and screaming with laughter. Paul Varesco had arrived. Sometimes he wore faultless evening dress, sometimes, as tonight, he chose to present himself in a kind of apache get-up, tightly-buttoned coat, scarf round the neck. He looked vicious and attractive. Detaching himself from a stout, middle-aged woman plastered with diamonds, he leaned over Alice Cunningham who was sitting at a table writing busily in a little notebook and asked her to dance. The stout woman scowled at Alice and looked at Varesco with adoring eyes.
There was no adoration in Miss Cunningham's eyes. They gleamed with pure scientific interest, and Poirot caught fragments of their conversation as they danced past him. She had progressed beyond the nursery governess and was now seeking information about the matron at Paul's preparatory school.
When the music stopped, she sat down by Poirot looking happy and excited.
"Most interesting," she said. "Varesco will be one of the most important cases in my book. The symbolism is unmistakable. Trouble about the vests for instance - for vest read hair
shirt with all its associations - and the whole thing becomes quite plain. You may say that he's a definitely criminal type but a cure can be effected -"
"That she can reform a rake,-" said Poirot, "has always been one of woman's dearest illusions!"
Alice Cunningham looked at him coldly.
"There is nothing personal about this, M. Poirot."
"There never is," said Poirot. "It is always pure disinterested altruism but the object of it is usually an attractive member of the opposite sex.
Are you interested, for instance, in where I went to school, or what was the attitude of the matron to me?"
"You are not a criminal type," said Miss Cunningham.
"Do you know a criminal type when you see one?"
"Certainly I do."
Professor Liskeard joined them. He sat down by Poirot.
"Are you talking about criminals? You should study the criminal code of Hammurabi, M. Poirot. 1800 BC. Most interesting. The man who is caught stealing during a fire shall be thrown into the fire."
He stared pleasurably ahead of him towards the electric grill.
"And there are older, Sumerian laws. If a wife hateth her husband and saith unto him, 'Thou art not my husband' they shall throw her into the river. Cheaper and easier than the divorce court. But if a husband says that to his wife he only has to pay her a certain measure of silver.
Nobody throws him in the river."
"The same old story," said Alice Cunningham. "One law for the man and one for the woman."
"Women, of course, have a greater appreciation of monetary value," said the Professor thoughtfully. "You know," he added, "I like this place. I come here most evenings. I don't have to pay. The Countess arranged that - very nice of her - in consideration of my having advised her about the decorations, she says. Not that they're anything to do with me really - I'd no idea what she was asking me questions for - and naturally she and the artist have got everything quite wrong. I hope nobody will ever know I had the remotest connection with the dreadful things. I should never live it down. But she's a wonderful woman rather like a Babylonian, I always think. The Babylonians were good women of business, you know -"
Short Stories Page 166