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

by Agatha Christie

lungs are as sound as a bell I really cannot see."

  "Be assured it is necessary. You mentioned your friend?"

  "Yes. I told him (strictly in confidence) that dear Emmeline, besides

  the fortune she had inherited from her husband, would inherit an even

  larger sum shortly from an aunt who was deeply attached to her."

  "Eh bien, that ought to keep Mrs. Clegg safe for the time beingl"

  "Oh, M. Poirot, do you really think there is anything wrong?"

  "That is what I am going to endeavor to find out. Have you met a Mr.

  Cole down at the Sanctuary?"

  "There was a Mr. Cole there last time I went down. A most peculiar

  man. He wears grass-green sliorts and eats

  nothing but cabbage. He is a very ardent believer."

  "Eh bien, all progresses well-I make you my compliments on the work you

  have done-all is now set for the Autumn Festival."

  "Miss Carnaby-just a moment."

  Mr. Cole clutched at Miss Carnaby, his eyes bright and feverish.

  " I have had a vision-a most remarkable vision. I really must tell you

  about it."

  Miss Carnaby sighed. She was rather afraid of Mr. Cole and his

  visions. There were moments when she was decidedly of the opinion that

  Mr. Cole was mad.

  And she found these visions of his sometimes very embarrassing. They

  recalled to her certain outspoken passages in that very modern German

  book on the subconscious mind which she had read before coming down to

  Devon.

  Mr. Cole, his eyes glistening, his lips twitching, began to talk

  excitedly.

  "I had been meditating-reflecting on the Fullness of Life, on the

  Supreme joy of Oneness-and then, you know, my eyes were opened and I

  saw-"

  Miss Carnaby braced herself and hoped that what Mr. Cole had seen would

  not be what he had seen last timewhich had been, apparently, a Ritual

  Marriage in ancient Sumeria between a god and goddess.

  "I saw"-Mr. Cole leaned toward her, breathing hard his eyes looking

  (yes, really they did) quite mad-"the Prophet Elijah'descending from

  Heaven in his fiery chariot."

  Miss Carnaby breathed a sigh of relief. Elijah was much better, she

  didn't mind Elijah.

  "Below," went on Mr. Cole, "were the altars of Baalhundreds and

  hundreds of them. A voice cried to me, 'Look, write and testify that

  which you shall see-' "

  He stopped and Miss Carnaby murmured politely, "Yes?"

  "On the altars were the sacrifices, bound there, helpless,

  waiting for the knife. Virgins-hundreds of virgins-young, beautiful,

  naked virgins-"

  Mr. Cole smacked his lips, Miss Carnaby blushed.

  "Then came the ravens, the ravens of Odin, flying from the North. They

  met the ravens of Elijah-together they circled in the sky-they swooped,

  they plucked out the eyes of the victims-there was wailing and gnashing

  of teeth-and the Voice cried, Behold a Sacrifice-for on this day shall

  Jehovah and Odin sign blood brotherhoodt Then the Priests fell upon

  their victims, they raised their knives-they mutilate& their victims-"

  Desperately Miss Carnaby broke away from her tormentor who was now

  slavering at the mouth in a kind of sadistic fervor.

  "Excuse me one moment."

  She hastily accosted Lipscomb, the man who occupied the Lodge which gave

  admission to Green Hills and who providentially happened to be passing.

  "I wonder," she said, "if you have found a broach of mine. I must have

  dropped it somewhere about the grounds."

  Lipscomb, who was a man immune from the general sweetness and light of

  Green Hills, merely growled that he hadn't seen any broach. It wasn't

  his work to go about looking for things. He tried to shake off Miss

  Carnaby but she accompanied him, babbling about her broach, till she had

  put a safe distance between herself and the fervor of Mr. Cole.

  At that moment, the Master himself came out of the Great Fold and,

  emboldened by his benignant smile, Miss Carna ventured to speak her mind

  to him.

  DidbZe think that Mr. Cole was quite-was quiteThe Master laid a hand on

  her shoulder.

  "You must cast out Fear," he said. '."Perfect Love casteth out Fear."

  "But I think Mr. Cole is mad. Those visions he has-"

  "As yet," said the Master, "he sees Imperfectly-through the Glass of his

  own Carnal Nature. But the day will come when he shall see

  Spiritually-Face to Face."

  Miss Carnaby was abashed. Of course, put like that- She rallied to make

  a smaller protest.

  "And really," she said, Oneed Lipscomb be so abominably rude?"

  Again the Master gave his Heavenly Smile.

  "Lipscomb," he said, "is a faithful watchdog. He is a crude-a primitive

  soul-but faithful-utterly faithful."

  He strode on. Miss Carnaby saw him meet Mr. Cole, pause, put a hand on

  Mr. Cole's shoulder. She hoped that the Master's influence might altar

  the scope of future visions.

  In any case, it was only a week now to the Autumn Festival.

  On the afternoon preceding the Festival, Miss Carnaby met Hercule Poirot

  in a small teashop in the sleepy little town of Newton Woodbury. Miss

  Carnaby was flushed and even more breathless than usual. She sat

  sipping tea and crumbling a rock bun between her fingers.

  Poirot asked several questions to which she replied monosyllabically.

  Then he said, "How many will there be at the Festival?"

  "I think a hundred and twenty. Emmeline is there, of course, and Mr.

  Cole-really he has been very odd lately.

  He has visions. He described some of them to me-really most peculiar. I

  hope, I do hope, he is not insane. Then there will be quite a lot of

  new members-nearly twenty."

  "Good. You know what you have to do?"

  There was a moment's pause before Miss Carnaby said in a rather odd

  voice: "I know what you told me, M. Poirot. . .

  "Trhs bien!"

  Then Amy Carnaby said clearly and distinctly, "But I am not going to do

  it."

  Hercule Poirot stared at her. Miss Carnaby rose to her feet. Her voice

  came fast and. hysterical.

  "You sent me here to spy on Dr. Andersen. You suspected him of all

  sorts of things. But he is a wonderful man -a great Teacher. I believe

  in him heart and soull And I

  am not going to do your spying work any more, M. Poirotl I am one of

  the Sheep of the Shepherd. The Master has a new passage for the World

  and from now on I belong to him body and soul. And I'll pay for my own

  tea, please."

  With which slight anticlimax Miss Carnaby planked down one and

  threepence and rushed out of the teashop.

  "Nom d'lln nom d'lln nom," said Hercule Poirot.

  The waitress had to ask him twice before he realized that she was

  presenting the bill. He met the interested stare of a surly-looking man

  at the next table, flushed, paid the check, and got up and went out.

  He was thinking furiously.

  Once again the Sheep were assembled in the Great Fold.

  The Ritual Questions and Answers had been chanted.

  :'Are you prepared for the Sacrament?"

  'We are."

  "Bind your eyes and hold out
your right arm."

  The Great Shepherd, magnificent in his green robe, moved along the

  waiting lines. Mr. Cole, next to Miss Carnaby, gave a gulp of painful

  ecstasy as the needle pierced his flesh.

  The Great Shepherd stood by Miss Carnaby. His hands touched her arm

  "No, you don't. None of that.

  Words incredible-unprecedented. A scuffle, a roar of anger. Green

  veils were torn from eyes-to see an unbelievable sight-the Great

  Shepherd struggling in the grasp of the sheepskinned Mr. Cole aided by

  another devotee.

  In rapid professional tones, the erstwhile Mr. Cole was saying:

  -and I have here a warrant for your arrest. I must warn you that

  anything you say may be used in evidence at your trial."

  There were other figures now at the door of the Sheep

  Fold-blue-uniformed figures.

  Someone cried, "It's the police. They're taking the Master away.

  They're taking the Master......

  Everyone was shocked-horrified. To them the Great

  Shepherd was a martyr, suffering, as all great teachers suffer, from the

  ignorance and persecution of the outside world.

  Meanwhile Detective Inspector Cole was carefully packing up the

  hypodermic syringe that had fallen from the Great Shepherd's hand.

  "My brave colleaguer"

  Poirot shook Miss Carnaby warmly by the hand and introduced her to Chief

  Inspector japp.

  "First-class work, Miss Carnaby," said Chief Inspector japp. "We

  couldn't have done it without you and that's a fact."

  "Oh, dear[" Miss Carnaby was fluttered. "It's so kind of YOU to say so.

  And I'm afraid, you know, that I've really enjoyed it all. The

  excitement, you know, and playing my part. I got quite carried away

  sometimes. I really felt I was one of those foolish women'

  'That's where your success lay," said japp. "You were the genuine

  article. Nothing less would have taken that gentleman inl He's a pretty

  astute scoundrel."

  Miss Carnaby turned to Poirot.

  ..That was a terrible moment in the teashop. I didn't know what to do.

  I just had to act on the spur of the moment."

  "You were magnificent," said Poirot warmly. "For a moment I thought

  that either you or I had taken leave of our senses. I thought for one

  little minute that you meant it."

  "It was such a shock," said Miss Carnaby. "Just when we had been

  talking confidentially, I saw in the glass that Lipscomb, who keeps the

  Lodge of the Sanctuary, was sitting at the table behind me. I don't

  know now if it was an accident or if he had actually followed me. As I

  say, I had to do the best I could on the spur of the minute and trust

  that you would understand."

  Poirot smiled. "I did understand. There was only one person sitting

  near enough to overhear anything we said and as soon as I left the

  teashop I arranged to have him

  followed when he came out. When he went straight back to the Sanctuary

  I understood that I could rely on you and that you would not let me

  down-but I was afraid because it increased the danger for you."

  "Was-was there really danger? What was there in the syringe?"

  japp said, "Will you explain, or shall I?"

  Poirot said gravely, "Mademoiselle, this Dr. Andersen had perfected a

  scheme of exploitation and murder-scientific murder. Most of his life

  has been spent in bacteriological research. Under a different name he

  has a chemical laboratory in Sheffield. There he makes cultures of

  various bacilli. It was his practice, at the Festivals, to inject into

  his followers a small but sufficient dose of cannabis indica -which is

  also known by the names of hashish or bhang.

  This gives delusions of grandeur and pleasurable enjoyment. It bound

  his devotees to him. These were the Spiritual joys that he promised

  them."

  "Most remarkable," said Miss Carnaby. "Really a most remarkable

  sensation."

  Hercule Poirot nodded. "That was his general stock in trade-a

  dominating personality, the power of creating mass hysteria, and the

  reactions produced by this drug.

  But he had a second aim in view.

  "Lonely women, in their gratitude and fervor, made wills leaving their

  money to the Cult. One by one, these women died. They died in their

  own homes and apparently of natural causes. Without being too technical

  I will try to explain. It is possible to make intensified cultures of

  certain bacteria. The bacillus colicommunis, for instance, the cause of

  ulcerative colitis. Typhoid bacilli can be introduced into the system.

  So can the pneumococcus. There is also what is termed old tuberculin

  which is harmless to a healthy person but which stimulates any old

  tubercular lesion into activity. You perceive the cleverness of the

  man? These deaths would occur in different parts of the country, with

  different doctors attending them and without any risk of arousing

  suspicion. He had also, I gather, cultivated a substance which had the

  power of delaying

  but intensifying the action of the chosen bacillus."

  "He's a devil, if there ever was onel" said Chief Inspector japp.

  Poirot went on: "By my orders, you told him that you were a tuberculous

  subject. There was old tuberculin in the syringe when Cole arrested

  him. Since you were a healthy person it would not have harmed you,

  which is why I made you lay stress on your tubercular trouble. I was

  terrified that even now he might choose some other germ, but I respected

  your courage and I had to let you take the risk."

  "Oh, that's all right," said Miss Carnaby brightly. "I don't mind

  taking risks. I'm only frightened of bulls in fields and things like

  that. But have you enough evidence to convict this dreadful person?"

  japp grinned. , 'Plenty of evidence," he said. "We've got his

  laboratory and his cultures and the whole layoutl"

  Poirot said, "It is possible, I think, that he has committed a long line

  of murders. I may say that it was not be.

  cause his mother was a jewess that he was dismissed from that German

  University. That merely made a convenient tale to account for his

  arrival here and to gain sympathy for him. Actually, I fancy, he is of

  pure Aryan blood."

  Miss Carnaby sighed.

  :'Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?" asked Poirot.

  'I was thinking," said Miss Carnaby, "of a marvelous dream I had at the

  First Festival-hashish, I suppose. I arranged the whole world so

  beautifullyl No wars, no poverty, no ill health, no ugliness ... no

  crime. . . ."

  "It must have been a fine dream," said japp enviously.

  Miss Carnaby jumped up.

  She said, "I must get home. Emily has been so anxious.

  And dear Augustus has been missing me terribly, I hear."

  Hercule Poirot said with a smile, "He was afraid, perhaps, that, like

  him, you were going to 'die for Hercule Poirot'I"

  HERCULE POIROT LOOKET) THOUGHTFULLY into the face of the man behind the

  big mahogany desk. He noted the generous brow, the mean mouth, the

  rapacious line of the jaw, and the piercing visionary eyes. He

  understood fro
m looking at the man why Emery Power had become the great

  financial force that he was.

  And his eyes falling to the long delicate hands, exquisitely shaped,

  that lay on the desk, he understood, too, why Emery Power had attained

  renown as a great collector. He was known on both sides of the Atlantic

  as a connoisseur of works of art. His passion for the artistic went

  hand in hand with an equal passion for the historic. It was not enough

  for him that a thing should be beautiful-he demanded also that it should

  have a tradition behind it.

  Emery Power was speaking. His voice was quiet-a small, distinct voice

  that was more effective than any mere volume of sound could have been.

  "You do not, I know, take many cases nowadays. But I think you will

  take this one."

  "It is, then, an affair of great moment?"

  Emery Power said, "It is of moment to me."

  Poirot remained in an inquiring attitude, his head slightly on one side.

  He looked like a meditative robin.

  The other went on.

  "It concerns the recovery of a work of art. To be exact, a gold chased

  goblet, dating from the Renaissance. It is said to be the goblet used

  by Pope Alexander VI-Roderigo Borgia. He sometimes presented it to a

  favored guest to drink from. That guest, M. Poirot, usually died."

  :'A pretty history," Poirot murmured.

  'Its career has always been associated with violence. It has been

  stolen more than once. Murder has been done to

  gain possession of it. A trail of bloodshed has followed it through the

  ages."

  "On account of its intrinsic value or for other reasons?"

  "Its intrinsic value is certainly considerable. The workmanship is

  exquisite (it is said to have been made by Benvenuto Cellinf). The

  design represents a tree round which a jeweled serpent is coiled and the

  apples on the tree are formed of very beautiful emeralds."

  Poirot murmured with an apparent quickening of interest, "Apples?"

  "The emeralds are particularly fine, so are the rubies in the serpent,

  but of course the real value of the cup is its historical associations.

  It was put up for sale by the Marchese di San Veratrino ten years ago.

  Collectors bid against each other and I secured it finally for a sum

  equaling (at the then rate of exchange) thirty thousand pounds."

  Poirot raised his eyebrows.

  He murmured, "Indeed a princely suml The Marchese di San Veratrino was

  fortunate."

  Emery Power said, "When I really want a thing, I am willing to pay for

  it, M. Poirot."

  Hercule Poirot said softly, "You have no doubt heard

  the Spanish proverb: Take what you want-and Pay for it, says God."

  For a moment the'financier frowned-a swift light of anger showed in his

  eyes.

  He said coldly., "You are by way of being a philosopher, M. Poirot."

  "I have arrived at the age of reflection, Monsieur."

  "Doubtless. But it is not reflection that will restore my goblet to

  me."

  "You think not?"

  "I fancy action will be necessary. It

  Hercule Poirot nodded placidly. "A lot of people make the same mistake.

  But I demand your pardon, Mr. Power, we have digressed from the matter

  in hand. You were saying that you had bought the cup from the Marchese

  di San Veratrino?"

  "Exactly. What I have now to tell you is that it was

  stolen before it actually came into my possession."

  "How did that happen?"

  "The Marchese's Palace was broken into on the night of the sale and