"A jezebel, that's what she is, nothing better than a jezebell"
Atid then came the camera records.
Mrs. Ferrier, photographeel in Paris-lying back in a night club, her
arm twined familiarly over the shoulder of a dark, olive-skinned,
vicious-looking young man.
Other snapshots-half-naked on a beach-her head on the lounge lizard's
shoulder.
An(i titiderneatli: Mrs. Ferrier has a good time.
Two days later an action for libel was brought against the X-Ray News.
The case for the prosecution was opened by Sir Mortimer Inglewood, K.C.
He was dignified a(i full of righteous indignation. Mrs. Ferrier was
the victim of an infamotis I)Iot-a I)Iot only to be equaled by the
famous case of the Queen's Necklace, familiar to readers of Alexandre
Dumas. That plot had been engineered to lower Queen Marie Antoinette in
the eyes of the populace. This I)Iot, also, had been engineered to
discredit a nol)le and virtuous lady who was in this country in the
position of Caesar's wife. Sir Mortimer spoke with bitter disparagement
of Fascists and Communists, I)oth of whom sought to undermine democracy
by every unfair machination known. He then proceeded to call witnesses.
The first was the Bishop of Northumbria.
Dr. Henderson, the Bishop of Northuml)ria, was one of the best-known
figures in the English church, a man of great saintliness and integrity
of cli;iricter. He wzts I)ro-.idminded, tolerant, and a fine preacher.
He was loved and revered by all who knew him.
He went into the box and swore that between the dates mentioned Mrs.
Edward Ferrier had been staying ill tile Palace with himself and his
wife. Worn outby lier activities in good works, she had been
recommended a thorough rest. Her visit had been kept a secret so as to
obviate ally worry from the press.
An eminent doctor followed the Bishop and deposed to having ordered Mrs.
Ferrier rest and complete absence from worry.
A local general practitioner gave evidence to the effect that lie had
atten(le(I Mrs. Ferrier at the Palace.
The next witness called was -I'hela A(fersen.
A thrill went round the court when she etere(I the witness box.
Everyone realized at once what a strong resemblance the woman bore to
Mrs. Edward Ferrier.
"Your name is Thelma Andersen?"
"Yes."
"You are a Danish sub ' ject?"
"Yes. Copenhagen is my home."
"And you formerly worked at a cafd there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please tell us in your own words what happened on the 18th of March
last."
"There is a gentleman who conies to my tal)le there-an English
gentleman. He tells me he works for a English
paper-the X-Ray News."
"Yon are sure he mentioned that name-X-Ray News?"
"Yes, I am sure-because, you see, I think at first it must be a medical
paper. But, no, it seems not so. Then he tells me there is an English
film actress who wants to find a 'stand-in,' and that I am just the
type. I do not go to the pictures much, and I do not recognize the name
he says, but he tells me, yes, she is very famous, and she has not been
well and so she wants someone to appear as her in public places, and for
that she will pay very much money."
"How much money did this gentleman offer you?"
" Five hundred pounds in English money. I do not at first believe-I
think it is some trick, but he pays me at once half the money. So then
I give in my notice where I work."
The tale went on. She had been taken to Paris, supplied with smart
clothes, and had been provided with an "escort."
"A very nice Argentinian gentleman-very respectful, very polite."
It was clear that the woman had thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had
flown over to London and had been taken there to certain "night clubs"
by her olive-skinned cavalier. She had been photographed in Paris with
him.
Some of the places to which she had gone were not, she admitted, quite
nice. Indeed, they were not respectable!
An(I some of the photographs taken, they too had not been very nice. But
these things, they had told her, were necessary for "advertisement"-and
Sefior Ramon himself had always been most respectful.
In answer to questioning, she declared that the name of Mrs. Ferrier
had never been mentioned and that she had had no idea that it was that
lady she was supposed to be un(lerstti(lying. She had meant no harm.
She identified certain photographs which were shown to her as having
been taken of lier in Paris and on the Riviera.
There was the hallmark of absolute honesty about Thelma Andersen. She
was quite clearly a I.)Ieasant, but slightly sttil)id woniari. Her
distress at the w,liole tl ' ng, now that she tin(lerstoo(i it, was
I)atent to everyone.
The defense was unconvincing. A frenzied denial of having had any
dealings with the woman Andersen. The photos in question had been
brought to the London offace and had been believed to be genuine. Sir
Mortimer's closing speech roused enthusiasm. He described the whole
thing as a dastardly political plot, formed to discredit the Prime
Minister and his wife. All sympathy would be extended to the
unfortunate Mrs. Ferrier.
The verdict, a foregone conclusion, was given amid unparalleled scenes.
Damages were assessed at an enormous figure. As Mrs. Ferrier and her
husband and father left the court, they were greeted by the appeciative
roars of a vast crowd.
Edward Ferrier grasped Poirot warmly by the hand.
He said, "I thank you, M. Poirot, a thousand times.
Well, that finishes the X-Ray News. Dirty little rag.
They're wiped out completely. Serves them right for cooking up such a
scurrilous plot. Against I)agmar, too, the kindliest creature in the
world. Thank goodness you managed to expose the whole thing for the
wicked ramp it was.
... What put you on to the idea that they might be using a
double?"
"It is not a new idea," Poirot reminded him. "It was employed
successfully in the case of.jeanne de la Motte when she inipersonated
Marie Antoinette."
"I know. I must reread The Queen's Necklace. But how did you actually
find the woman they were eml-)loying?"
"I looked for her in Denmark, and I found her there."
"But why Denmark?"
"Because Mrs. Fei,rier's grandmother was a Dine, and she herself was a
markedly Danish type. And tl-lere were other reasons."
"The resemblance was certainly quite striking. What a
devilish ideal I wonder how the little rat came to think of it?"
Poirot smiled. "But he did not."
He tal-)ped himself on the chest.
"I thought of itt"
Edward Ferrier stared. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"
Poirot said, "We must go back to an older story than that Qf The Queen's
Necklace-to the cleansing of the Augean stables. What Hercules used was
a river-that is to say, one of the great forces of nature. Modernize
thatl What is a great force of nature? Sex, is it not? It
is the sex
angle that sells stories, that makes news. Give people scandal allied
to sex and it appeals far more than any mere political chicanery or
fraud.
"Eh bien, tlzat was my taskl First, to put my own hands in the mud like
Hercules, to build up a dam that should turn the course of that river. A
journalistic friend of mine aided me. He searched Denmark until lie
found a suitable person to attempt the inipersonatio. He approached
lier, c,istially mentioned the X-Ray News to her, hoping she wotil(i
reenibei- it. She did.
"A(I so, what happened? Mud-a great deal of mudl Caesar's wife is
bespattered with it. Far more interesting to everybody than any
political scandal. And the resultthe denouement? Why? Reactionl
Virtue vindicated! The pure woman cleared! A great tide of romance and
sentiment sweeping through the Augean stables.
"If all the newspapers in the country publish the news of John Hammett's
defalcations now, no one will believe it. It will be put (lown as
another political plot to discredit the Government."
Edward Ferrier took a deep breath. For a moment Hercule Poirot came
nearer to being physically assaulted than at any other time in his
career.
"My wifel You dared to use her-"
Fortunately, perhal-)s, Mrs. Ferrier herself entered the room at this
nioinent.
"Well," she said, "that went off very well."
" Dagmar, did you-know all along?"
"Of course, (lear," said Dagniar Ferrier.
And she smiled, the gentle maternal smile of a devoted wife.
"And you never told mel"
"But, Edward, you would never have let M. Poirot do it."
"Indeed, I would notl"
Dagmar smiled. "That's what we thought."
"we?"
"I and M. Poirot."
She smiled at Hercule Poirot and at her husband.
She added, "I had a very restful time with the dear Bisliop-I feel full
of ecigy now. They want me to christen the new battleslj) it Liverpool
next month-I think it would be a popular thing to do."
HAROLD WARING NOTICED THEM FIRST walking up the patli from the lake. He
was sitting outside the liotel on the terrace. I'he (lay was fine, the
lake was blue, and the sun shone. Harold was smoking a pipe and feeling
that the world was a pretty good place.
His political career was shaping well. An undersecretaryshil) at the
age of thirty was something to ))e justly proud of. It had been
rel)orte(I th;it the Ilre enfinister hzi(I said to someone that "young
Wai,ing would go far."
Harold was, not unnaturally, elated. Life presented itself to him in
rosy colors. He was young, sufficiently goodlooking, in first-class
condition, and quite unencumbered with romantic ties.
He had deci(le(i to take a holiday in Herzoslovakia so as to get right
off the beaten track and have a real rest from everyone and everything.
The hotel at Lake Steml)ka, thotigh small, was comfortable and not
overcrowded. The few beojjle there were mostly foreigners. So far the
only other English beol)le were an elderly woman, Mrs. Rice, and her
niarried daughter, Mrs. Clayton. Harold liked them both. Elsie
Clayton was pretty in a rather oldfashioned style. She made up very
little, if at all, and was gentle and rather shy. Mrs. Rice was what
is called a womin of character. She was tall, with a deep voice and a
inasterful manner, but she had a sense of humor and was good company.
Her life was clearly bound up in that of her daughter.
Haro](I had spent some pleasant hours in the company of mother an(i
daughter, but they did not attcml)t to monopolize him and relations
remained friendly and unex:teting between them.
The other 1)eol)le in the hotel had not aroused Harold's
notice. Usually they were hikers, or members of a unotorcoach tour.
They stayed a night or two and then went on.
He had hardly fioticed anyone else-until this afternoon.
They came up the path from the lake very slowly and it just happened
that at the moment when Harold's .attention was attracted to them a
cloud came over the the sun. He shivered a little.
Then he stared. Surely there was something odd about these two women?
They had long, curved noses, like birds, and their faces, which were
curiously alike, were quite immobile., Over their shoulders they wore
loose cloaks that flapped in the wind like the wings of two big birds.
Harold thought to himself, They are like birds. He added, almost
without volition, Birds of ill omen.
The women came straight up on the terrace and passed close by him. They
were not young-perhaps nearer fifty than forty-and the resenance between
them was so close that they were obviously sisters. Their expression
was forbidding. As they passed Harold the eyes of both of them rested
on him for a minute. It was a curious, appraising glance-almost
inhuman.
Harold's impression of evil grew stronger. He noticed the hand of one
of the two siscers, a long, clawlike hand.
Although the sun had come out, he shivered once again.
He thought, Horrible creatures. Like birds of prey.
He was distracted from these imaginings by the emergence of Mrs. Rice
from the hotel. He jumped up and drew forward a chair. With a word of
thanks she sat down and, as usual, began to knit vigorously.
Harold asked, "Did you see those two women who just went into the
hotel?"
"With cloaks on? Yes, I passed them."
"Extraordinary creatures, didn't you think?"
"Well-yes, perhaps they are rather odd, Mr. Waring.
They only arrived yesterday, I think. Very alike-they must be twins."
Harold said, "I may be fanciful, but I distinctly felt there was
something evil about them."
"How curious. I must look at them more closely and see if I agree with
you."
She added, "We'll find out from the concierge who they are. Not
English, I imagine?"
"Oh, no."
Mrs. Rice glanced at her watch.
She said, "Tea time. I wonder if you'd mind going in and ringing the
bell, Mr. Waring?"
"Certainly, Mrs. Rice."
He did so and then as he returned to his seat he asked: "Where's your
daughter this afternoon?"
"Elsie? We went for a.walk together. Part of the way rou(I the lake
and then back through the pinewoods.
It really was lovely."
A waiter ce out and received orders for tea. Mrs. Rice went on, lier
needles living vigorously:
"Elsie ha(i a letter from her husband. She mayn't come down to tea."
"Her husband?" Harold was surprised. "Do you know, I always tliotight
she was a widow."
Mrs. ]Xice shot him a sharp glance.
She said (iryly, "Oh, no, Elsie isn't a widow." She added with
enil)hasis, "Unfortunatelyl"
Harold was startled.
Mrs. Rice, nodding her head grimly, said, "Drink is resposil)le for a
lot of unhappiness, Mr. Waring."
"Does lie drink?"
"Yes. And a good many other things as well. He's insanely jealous and
has a
singularly violent temper." She sighed. "It's a difficult world,
Mr. Waring. I'ni devoted to Elsie, she's my only child-and to see her
unhappy isn't an easy thing to bear."
Harold said with real emotion, "She's such a gentle creature."
"A little too gentle, perhaps."
"Yoti mean-"
Mi-s. 12,ice s;tid slowly, "A happy creature is more arrogant. Elsie's
gentleness comes, I think, from a sense of defeat. Life lias been too
much for her."
Harold said with some slight hesitation, "How-did she come to marry this
husband of liers?"
Mrs. Rice answered, "Philip Clayton was a very attractive person. He
had, still has, great charm, a certain amount of money-and there was no
one to advise us of his real character. I had been a widow for many
years.
Two women, living alone, are not the best judges of a man's character."
Harold said thoughtfully, "No, that's true."
He felt a wave of indignation and pity sweep over him.
Elsie Clayton could not be more than twenty-five a-t the most. He
recalled tile clear friendliness of her blue eyes, the soft droop of her
month. He realized, suddenly, that his tercst in her went a little
beyond friendship.
And she was tied to a brute....
That evening, Harold joined mother and daughter after dinner. Elsie
Clayton wzts wearing a soft dtill pink dress. Her eyelids, he noticed,
were red. She had been crying.
Mrs. Rice said briskly, "I've found out who your two harpies are, Mr.
Waring. Polish ladies-of very good fanlily-so the concieil,,e says."
Harold looked across the room to where the Polish ladies were sitting.
Elsie said with interest, "Those two women over there?
With the henna-dyed hair? They look rather horrible somehow-I don't
know why."
Harold said triumphantly, "That's just what I thought."
Mrs. Rice said with a laugh, "I think you are both being al)surd. You
can't possibly tell what people are like just by looking at them."
Elsie laughed.
Slie said, "I suppose one can't. All the same I think they're
vtttires!"
"Picking out (lead men's eyesl" said Harold.
"Oli, don't," cried Elsie.
Harold said quickly, "Sorry."
Mrs. Rice said with a smile, "Anyway they're not likely
to cross our path."
Elsie said, "We haven't got any guilty secretsl"
"Perhaps Mr. Waring has," said Mrs. Rice, with a twinkle.
Harold laughed, throwing his head back.
He said, "Not a secret in the world. My life's an open book."
And it flashed across his mind: What fools people are who leave the
straight path. A clear conscience-that's all one needs in life. With
that you can face the world and tell everyone who interferes with you to
go to the devil!
He felt suddenly very much alive-very strong-very much master of his
fatel
Harold Waring, like many other Englishmen, was a bad Igst. His French
was halting and decidedly British in intonation. Of German and Italian
he knew nothing.
Up to now, these linguistic disabilities had not worried him. In most
hotels on the Continent, he had always found, everyone spoke English, so
why worry?
But in this otit-of-the-way spot, where the native language was a form
of Slovak and even the concierge only spoke German, it was sometimes
galling to Harold when one of Is two women friends acted as interpreter
for him. Mrs. Rice, who was fond of languages, could even speak a
Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 12