Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works)

by Agatha Christie

  unpleasant young man. But apparently rolling in money.

  He comes down here to hunt-and he gives parties-very lavish parties-and

  rather peculiar parties, too, if one is to belibve all one is told-not

  that I ever do, because I do think people are so ill-natured. They

  always believe the worst. You know, it's become quite a fashion to say

  a person drinks or takes drugs. Somebody said to me the other day that

  young girls were natural inebriates, and really I don't think that was a

  nice thing to say at all. And if anyone's at all eculiar or vague in

  their manner, everyone says 'drugs' anythat's unfair, too. They say it

  about Mrs. Larkin and though I don't care for the woman, I do really

  think it's nothing more than absent-mindedness. She's a great friend of

  your Anthony Hawker, and that's why, if you ask me, she's so down on the

  Grant girls-says they're maneatersl I dare say they do run after men a

  bit, but why not?

  It's natural, after all. And they're good-looking pieces, every one of

  them."

  Poirot interjected a question.

  "Mrs. Larkin? My dear man, it's no good asking me who she is? Who's

  anybody nowadays? They say she rides well and she's obviously well off.

  Husband was something in the city. He's dead, not divorced. She's not

  been here very long, came here just after the Grants did. I've always

  thought she-"

  Old Lady Carmichael stopped. Her mouth opened, her eyes bulged. Leaning

  forward she struck Poirot a sharp blow across the knuckles with a

  paper-cutter she was holding. Disregarding his wince of pain she

  exclaimed excitedly:

  "Why, of coursel So that's why you're down herel You nasty, deceitful

  creature, I insist on your telling me all about it."

  "But what is it I am to tell you all about?"

  Lady Carmichael aimed another playful blow which Poirot avoided deftly.

  "Don't be an oyster, Hercule Poirotl I can see your mustaches quivering.

  Of course, it's crime brings you down here-and you're just pumping me

  shamelesslyl Now, let

  me see, can it be murder? Who has died lately? Only old Louisa Gilmore

  and she was eighty-five and had dropsy, too. Can't be her. Poor Leo

  Staverton broke his neck in the hunting-field and lie's all done ul) in

  plaster-tliat can't be it. Perhaps iL iszi't inuider. What a pity! I

  can't renicml)er any special jewel robberies lately.... Perhaps it's

  just a ci-inal you're tracking down.... Is it Beryl Larkin? Did she

  1),)ison lier hsl)and? Perhaps it's remorse that makes her so y;igue."

  "Madame, Madame," cried Hercule Poirot, "you go too fast."

  "Nonsense. You're up to something, Hercule Poirot."

  "Are you acquainted with the el;tssics, Madame?"

  "What have the classics got to do with it?"

  "They have this to (lo with it. I emulate my great predecessor

  Hercules. One of the Labors of Hercules was the taming of the wild

  horses of Diome(les."

  "Don't tell me you came down here to train horses-at your age-and always

  wearing patent leather shoes! You don't look to me as though you'd ever

  been on a horse in your life!"

  "The horses, Madame, are symbolic. They were wild horses who aae human

  flesh."

  "How vei-y unpleasant of tilem. I always do think these ancient Greeks

  and Romans are very unpleasant. I can't think wlly clergyinen are so

  fond of cluotilig from the classics-for one thing one never understands

  what they meztti and it always seems to me tliat the whole sul).iect

  matter of the classics is very unsuitable for clergymen.

  So nitic nicest, and all those s(ailles with nothing onnot tliat I mind

  that myself, but yoti know what clergymen are-quite upset if girls come

  to church with no stockings on-let me see, where was I?"

  "I afh not (te sure."

  "I sul)l)ose, yoti wretch, you just won't tell me if N,Irs.

  Larkin mui-dered her hsl)an(l? Or berliaps Anthony Hawker is tile

  Brighton ti-link mt-(Iei-er?"

  She looked at him hopefully, but I-lerctile Poirot's face remained

  inil)assive.

  "It might be forgery," speculated Lady Carmichael.

  "I did see Mrs. Larkin in the bank the other morning and she'd just

  cashed a fifty-pound check to self-it seemed to me at the time a lot of

  money to want in cash. Oh, no, that's the wrong way round-if she was a

  forger she would be paying it in, wouldn't she? Hercule Poirot, if you

  sit there looking like an owl and saying nothing, I shall throw

  something at you."

  "You must have a little patience," said Hercule Poirot.

  Ashley Lodge, the residence of General Grant, was not a large house. It

  was situated on the side of a hill, had good stables and a straggling,

  rather neglected garden.

  Inside, it was what a house agent would have described as "fully

  furnished." Cross-legged Buddhas leered down from convenient niches,

  brass Benares trays and tal)les encumbered the floor space. Processional

  elephants gar.

  nished the mantelpieces and more tortured brasswork adorned the walls.

  In the midst of this Anglo-Indian home away from home, General Grant was

  ensconced in a large, shabby armchair with his leg, swathed in bandages,

  reposing on another chair.

  "Gout," he explained. "Ever had the gout, Mr.-er Poirot? Makes a

  feller damned bad-tempere(il All my father's fault. Drank port all his

  life-so did my grandfather. It's played the deuce with me. Have a

  drink? Ring that bell, will you, for that feller of mine?"

  A turbaned servant appeared. General Grant addressed him as Abdul and

  ordered him to bring the whisky and soda. When it came he poured out

  such a generous portion that Poirot was moved to protest.

  "Can't join you, I'm afraid, M. Poirot." -I'he General eyed the

  tantalus sadly. "My doctor wallah says it's poison to me to touch the

  stuff. Don't suppose he knows for a minute. Ignorant chaps, doctors.

  Spoil sports. Enjoy knocking a man off his food and drink and putting

  him on some pap like steamed fish. Steamed fish-pahl" In his

  indignation the General incautiously moved his

  bad foot and uttered a yelp of agony at the twinge that ensued.

  He apologized for his language.

  "Like a bear with a sore head, that's what I am. My girls give me a

  wide berth when I've got an attack of gout.

  Don't know that I blame them. You've met one of 'em, I hear."

  "I havd had that pleasure, yes. You have several daughters, have you

  not?"

  "Four," said the General gloomily. "Not a boy among ,em. Four blinking

  girls. Bit of a thought, these days."

  "They are all four very charming, I hear?"

  "Not too bad-not too bad. Mind you, I never know what they're up to.

  You can't control girls nowadays. Lax times-too much laxity everywhere.

  What can a man do?

  Can't lock'em up, can I?"

  "They are popular in the neighborhood, I gather."

  "Some of the old cats don't like 'em," said General Grant. "A good deal

  of mutton dressed as lamb round here. A man's got to be careful. One

  of those blue-eyed widows nearly caught me-used to come rou
nd here

  parring like a kitten. 'Poor General Grant-you must have had such an

  interesting life." " The General winked and placed one finger against

  his nose. "A little bit too obvious, M.

  Poirot. Oh, well, take it all round, I suppose it's not a bad part of

  the world. A bit go-ahead and noisy for my taste.

  I liked the country when it was the country-not all this motoring and

  jazz and that blasted eternal radio. I won't have one here and the

  girls know it. A man's got a right to a little peace in his own home."

  Gently Poirot led the conversation round to Anthony Hawker.

  "Hawker? Hawker? Don't know him. Yes, I do, though.

  Nasty-looking fellow with his eyes too close together.

  Never trust a man who can't look you in the face."

  "He is a friend, is he not, of your daughter Sheila's?"

  "Sheila? Wasn't aware of it. Girls never tell me anything." The bushy

  eyebrows came down over the nosethe piercing blue eyes looked out of the

  red face straight

  into Hercule Poirot's. "Look here, M. Poirot, what's all this about?

  Mind telling me what you've come to see me about?"

  Poirot said slowly, "That would be difficult-perhaps I hardly know

  myself. I would say only this: your daughter Sheila-perhaps all your

  daughters-have made some undesirable friends."

  "Got into a bad set, have they? I was a bit afraid of that.

  One hears a word dropped here.and there." He looked pathetically at

  Poirot. "But what am I to do, M. Poirot?

  What am I to do?"

  Poirot shook his head perplexedly.

  General Grant went on.

  "What's wrong with the bunch they're running with?"

  he asked.

  Poirot replied by another question.

  "Have you noticed, General Grant, that any of your daughters have been

  moody, excited-then depressednervy-uncertain in their tempers?"

  "Damme, sir, you're talking like a patent medicine. No, I haven't

  noticed anything of the kind."

  "That is fortunate," said Poirot gravely.

  "What the devil is the meaning of all this, sir?"

  "Drugsl"

  "WHATI"

  The word came in a roar.

  Poirot said, "An attempt is being made to induce your daughter Sheila to

  become a drug addict. The cocaine habit is very quickly formed. A week

  or two will suffice.

  Once the habit is formed, an addict will pay anything, do anything, to

  get a further supply of the drug. You can realize what a rich haul the

  person who peddles that drug can make."

  He listened in silence to the spluttering, wrathful blasphemies that

  poured from the old man's lips. Then, as the fires died down, with a

  final choice description of exactly what he, the General, would do to

  the blinketyblinkety son of a blank when he got hold of him, Hercule

  Poirot said:

  "We have first, as your so admirable Nfrs. Beeton says, to catch the

  hare. Once we have caught our drug peddler, I will turn him over to you

  with the greatest pleasure, General."

  He got up, tripped over a heavily carved small table, regained his

  balance with a clutch at the General, murmured:

  "A thousand pardons, and may I beg of you, Generalyou understand, beg of

  you-to say nothing whatever about all this to your daughters."

  "What? lll have the truth out of them, that's what I'll havel"

  "-That is exactly what you will not have. All you will get is a lie."

  "But damme, sir-"

  "I assure you, General Grant, you must hold your tongue. That is

  vital-you understand? Vitall"

  "Oh, well, have it your own way," growled the old soldier.

  He was mastered but not convinced.

  Hercule Poirot picked his way carefully through the Benares brass and

  went out.

  Mrs. Larkin's room was full of people.

  Mrs. Larkin herself was nxing (o(-ktails at a side table.

  She was a tall woman with pale aubLIFn hair rolled into the back of her

  neck. Her eyes were greenish gray with big black pupils. She moved

  easily, with a kind of sinister grace. She looked as though she were in

  the early thirties.

  Only a close scrutiny revealed the lines at the corners of the eyes and

  hinted that she was ten years older than her looks.

  Hercule Poirot had been brought here by a brisk middleaged woman, a

  friend of Lady Carmichael's. He found himself given a cocktail and

  further directed to take one to a girl sitting in the window. The girl

  was small and fair-her face was pink an(i white and suspiciously

  angelic.

  Her eyes, Hercule Poirot noticed at once, were alert and suspicious.

  He said, "To your continued good health, Mademoiselle."

  She nodded and drank. Then she said abruptly, "You know my sister."

  "Your sister? Ah, you are one of the Miss Grants?"

  "I'm Pam Grant."

  "And where is your sister today?"

  "She's out hunting. Ought to be back soon."

  "I met your sister in London."

  "I know."

  "She told you?"

  Pam Grant nodded. She said abruptly, "Was Sheila in a jam?"

  "So she did not tell you everything?"

  The girl shook her head. She asked, "Was Tony Hawker there?"

  Before Poirot could answer, the door opened and Hawker and Sheila Grant

  came in. They were in hunting kit and Sheila had a streak of mud on her

  cheek.

  ,. Hello, people, we've come in for a drink. Tony's flask is dry."

  Poirot murmured, "Talk of the angels-" Pam Grant snapped, "Devils, you

  mean."

  Poirot said sharply, "Is it like that?"

  Beryl Larkin had come forward.

  She said, "Here you are, Tony. Tell me about the run?

  Did you draw Gelert's Copse?"

  She drew him away with her skillfully to a sofa near the fireplace.

  Poirot saw him turn his head and glance at Sheila before he went.

  Sheila had seen Poirot. She hesitated a minute, then came over to the

  two in the window.

  She said abruptly, "So it was you who came to the house yesterday?"

  "Did your father tell you?"

  She shook her head. "Abdul described you. I-guessed."

  Pam exclaimed, "You went to see Father?"

  Poirot said, "Ah-yes. We have-some mutual friends."

  Pam said sharply, "I don't believe it."

  "What do you not believe? That your father and I could have a mutual

  friend?"

  The girl flushed. "Don't be stupid. I meant-that wasn't really your

  reason-" She turned on her sister.

  "Why don't you say something, Sheila?"

  Sheila started. She said, "It wasn't-it wasn't anything to do with Tony

  Hawker?"

  "Why should it be?" asked Poirot.

  Sheila flushed and went back across the room to the others.

  Pam said with sudden vehemence but in a lowered voice, "I don't like

  Tony Hawker. There-there's something sinister about him-and about

  her-M.rs. Larkin, I mean. Look at them now."

  Poirot followed her glance.

  Hawker's head was close to that of his hostess. He appeared to be

  soothing her. Her voice rose for a minute.

  "-but I can't wait. I want it nowl"

  Poirot said with a little smile, "Les femmes-whate
ver it is-they always

  want it now, do they not?"

  But Pam Grant did not respond. Her face was cast down.

  She was nervously pleating and repleating her tweed skirt.

  Poirot murmured conversationally, "You are quite a different type from

  your sister, Mademoiselle."

  She flung her head up, impatient of banalities.

  She said "M. Poirot, what's the stuff Tony's been L'ivinLr Sheila? What

  is it that's been making her-differerrt?"

  He looked straight at her. He asked, "Have you ever taken cocaine, Miss

  Grant?"

  She shook her head. "Oh, nol So that's itl Cocaine? But isn't that

  very dangerous?"

  Sheila Grant had come over to them, a fresh drink in her hand.

  She said, "What's dangerous?"

  Poirot said, "We are talking of the effects of drug-taking.

  Of the slow death of the mind and spirit-the destroying of all that is

  true a.-id good in a human being."

  Sheila Grant caught her breath. The drink in her hand swayed and

  spilled a little on the floor.

  Poirot went on: "Dr. Stoddart has, I think, made clear to you just what

  that death in life entails. It is so easily done-so hard to undo. The

  person who deliberately profits from the degradation and misery of other

  people is a vampire preying on flesh and blood."

  He turned away. Behind him he heard Pam Grant's voice say, "Sheilal"

  and he caught a whisper-a faint whisper-from Sheila Grant. It was so

  low he hardly heard it.

  ,, The flask..

  Hercule Poirot said good-by to Mrs. Larkin and went out into the hall.

  On the hall table was a hunting-flask lying with a crop and a hat.

  Poirot picked it up. There were initials on it. A.H.

  Poirot murmured to himself, Tony's flask is empty?

  He shook it gently. There was no sound of liquor. He unscrewed the

  top.

  Tony Hawker's flask was not empty. It was full-of white powder.

  Hercule Poirot stood on the terrace of Lady Carmichael's house and

  pleaded with a girl.

  He said, "You are very young, Mademoiselle. It is my belief that you

  have not known, not really known, what it is you and your sisters have

  been doing. You have been feeding, like the mares of Diomedes, on human

  flesh."

  Sheila shuddered and gave a sob. She said, "It sounds horrible, put

  like that. And yet it's truel I never realized it until that evening in

  London when Dr. Stoddart talked to me. He was so grave-so sincere. I

  saw then what an awful thing it was I had been doing. Before that I

  thought it was-ohl rather like drink after hours-something people would

  pay to get, but not something that really mattered very muclil" Poirot

  said, "And now?"

  Sheila Grant said, "I'll do anything yoti say. H'll talk to the

  others," she added. "I don't'suppose Dr. Stoddart

  will ever speak to me again."

  " On the contrary," said Poirot. "Both Dr. Stoddart and I are prepared

  to help you in every way in our power to start afresh. You can trust

  us. But one thing must be done.

  There is one person who must be destroyed-destroyed utterly, and only

  you and your sisters can destroy him. It is your evidence and your

  evidence alone that will convict him."

  :'You mean-my father?"

  'Not your father, Mademoiselle. Did I not tell you that Hercule Poirot

  knows everything? Your photograph was easily recognized in official

  quarters. You are Sheila Kellya persistent young shoplifter who was