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

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Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 25

by Agatha Christie

To me it seems but as yesterday. You have not changed-not in the least

  have you changedl"

  " Nor you, chhre amie," Poirot exclaimed, bowing over her hand.

  Nevertheless, he was fully conscious now that twenty years is twenty

  years. Countess Rossakoff might not uncharitably have been described as

  a ruin. But she was at least a spectacular ruin. The exuberance, the

  full-b100ded enjoyment of life was still there, and she knew, none

  better, how to flatter a man.

  She drew Poirot with her to a table at which two other people were

  sitting.

  " My friend, my celebrated friend, M. Hercule Poirot," she announced.

  "He who is the terror of evildoers! I was once afraid of him myself,

  but now I lead a life of the extreme, the most virtuous dullness. Is it

  not so?"

  The tall, thin elderly man to whom she spoke said, "Never say dtill,

  Countess."

  "The Professor Liskeard," the Countess annotince(l. "He who knows

  everything about the past and who gave me the valuable hints for the

  decorations here."

  The archaeologist shuddered slightly.

  "If I'd known what you meant to dol" he murmured.

  "The result is so appalling."

  Poirot observed the frescoes more closely. On the wall facing him,

  Orpheus and his jazz band played, while Eurydice looked hopefully toward

  the grifl. On the opposite wall Osiris and Isis seemed to be throwing

  an Egypttn underworld boating party. On the third wall some bright

  young people were enjoying mixed bathing in a state of nature.

  "The Country of the Young," explained the Countess and added in the same

  breath, completing her introductions, "And this is my little Alice."

  Poirot bowed to the second occupant of the table, a severe-looking girl

  in a check coat and skirt. She wore hornrimmed glasses.

  "She is very, very clever," said Countess Rossakoff. "She has a degree

  and she is a psychologist and she knows all the reasons why lunatics are

  lunatical It is not, as you might think, because they are madi No, there

  are all sorts of other reasons. I find that very peculiar."

  The girl called Alice smiled kindly but a little disdainfully. She

  asked the Professor in a firm voice if he would like to dance. He

  appeared flattered but dubious.

  "My dear youn x fady, I fear I only waltz."

  This is a waltz said Alice patiently.

  They got up am danced. Tiey did not dance well.

  The Countess Rossakoff sighed. Following out a train of thought of her

  own, she murmured, "And yet she is not really bad looking. . . ."

  "She does not make the most of herself," said Poirot judicially.

  "Frankly," cried the Countess, "I cannot understand the young people of

  nowadays. They do not try any more to please-always, in my youth, I

  tried-the colors that suited me-a little padding in the frocks-the

  corset laced tight round the waist-the hair, perhaps, a more interesting

  shade-"

  She pushed back the heavy Titian tresses from her forehead-it was

  undeniable that she, at least, was still trying and trying hardl

  "To be content with what nature has given you, thatthat is stupid! It

  is also arrogantl The little Alice she writes pages of long words about

  sex, but how often, I ask yott, does a man suggest to her that they

  should go to Brighton for the week-end? It is all long words and work,

  and the welfare of the workers, and the future of the world.

  It is very worthy, but I ask you, is it gay? And look, I ask you, how

  drab these young people have made the worldl It is all regulations and

  prohibitionsl Not so when I was yoting."

  "That reminds me, how is your son, Madame?" At the last moment he

  substituted "son," for "little boy," remembering tliat twenty years had

  passed.

  The Countess's face lit up with enthusiastic motherhood.

  "The beloved angel! So big now, such shoulders, so handsomel He is in

  America. He builds there-bridges, banks, hotels, department stores,

  railways, anything the Americans wantl" Poirot looked slightly puzzled.

  "He is then an engineer? Or an architect?"

  "What does it matter?" demanded the Countess. "He is adorable! He is

  wrapped up in iron girders, and machinery, and things called stresses.

  The kind of things that I have never understood in the least. But we

  adore each other-always we adore each otherl And so for his sake I adore

  the little Alice. But, yes, they are engaged. They meet on a plane or

  a boat or a train, and they fall in love, all in the midst of talking

  about the welfare of the workers. And when she comes to London sl-ie

  comes to see me and I take her to my heart." The Countess clasped her

  arms across her vast bosom, "And I say, 'You and N iki love each

  other-so I too love you-but if you love him why do you leave him in

  America?" And she talks about her '.job' and the book she is writing and

  her career, and frankly I do not understand, but I have always said one

  must be tolerant." She added all in one breath, "And what do you

  think, cher ami, of all this that I have imagined here?"

  "It is very well imagined," said Poirot, looking round him approvingly.

  "It is chic!"

  The place was full and it had about it that unmistakable air of success

  which cannot be counterfeited. There were languid couples in full

  evening dress, Bohemians in corduroy trousers, stout gentlemen in

  business suits. The band, dressed as devils, dispensed hot music. No

  doubt about it, Hell had caught on.

  "We have all kinds here," said the Countess. "That is as

  it should be, is it not? The gates of hell are open to all?"

  "Except, possibly, to the poor?" Poirot suggested.

  The Countess laughed.

  "Are we not told tliat it is difficult for a rich man to enter the

  kingdom of heaven? Naturally, then, he should have priority in hell."

  The Professor and Alice were returning to the table.

  The Countess got up.

  "I must speak to Aristide."

  She exchanged some words with the head waiter, a lean Mephistopheles,

  then went round from table to table, speaking to the guests.

  The Professor, wiping his forehead and sipping a glass of wine,

  remarked:

  "She is a personality, is she not? People feel it."

  He excused himself as he went over to speak to someone at another table.

  Poirot, left alone with the severe Alice, felt slightly embarrassed as

  he met the cold blue of her eyes. He recognized that she was actually

  quite goodlooking, but he found her distinctly alarming.

  "I do not yet know your last name," he murmured.

  "Cunningham. Dr. Alice Cunningham. You have known .Vera in past days,

  I understand?"

  "Twenty years ago it must be."

  "Ifind lier a very interesting study," said Dr. Alice Cunningliam.

  "Naturally I am interested in her as the mother of the man I am goin(,,

  to marry, but I am interested in her from the professional standpoint as

  well."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes. I am writing a book on criminal psychology. I find the night

  life of this place very illuminating. We have several criminal types


  who come here regularly. I have discussed their early life with some of

  them. Of course, you know all about Vera's criminal tendencies-I mean

  that she steals?"

  "Why, yes-I know that," said Poirot, slightly taken aback.

  "I call it the Magpie complex myself. She takes, you know, always

  glittering things. Never money. Always jewels. I find that as a child

  she was petted and indulged but very much shielded. Life was

  unendurably dull for her-dull and safe. Her nature demanded drama-it

  craved for punishment. That is at the root of her indulgence in theft.

  She wants the importance, the notoriety of being puni*shed!"

  Poirot objected: "Her life can surely not have been safe and dull as a

  member of the ancien rdgime in Russia during the Revolution?"

  A look of faint amusement showed in Miss Cunningham's pale blue eyes.

  "Ah," she said. "A member of the ancien rdgime? She has told you

  that?"

  "She is undeniably an aristocrat," said Poirot staunchly, gghting back

  certain uneasy memories of the wildly varying accounts of her early life

  told him by the Countess herself.

  "One believes what one wishes to believe," remarked Miss Cunningham,

  casting a professional eye on him.

  Poirot felt alarmed. In a moment, he felt, he would be told what was

  his complex. He decided to carry the war into the enemy's camp. He

  enjoyed the Countess Rossakoff's society partly because of her

  aristocratic provenance, and he was not going to have his enjoyment

  spoiled by a spectacled little girl with boiled gooseberry eyes and a

  degree in psychologyf "Do you know what I find astonishing me?" he

  asked.

  Alice Cunningham did not admit in so many words that she did not know.

  She contented herself with looking

  bored but indulgent.

  Poirot went on: "It amazes me that you-who are young, and who could look

  pretty if you took the trouble-well, it amazes me that you do not take

  the troubler You wear the heavy coat and skirt with the big pockets as

  though you were going to play the game of golf. But it is not here, the

  golf links, it is the underground cellar with the temperature of 71

  Fahrenheit, and your nose it is hot and shines, but you do not powder

  it, and the lipstick you put it on your mouth without interest without

  emphasizing the curve of the lipsl You are a whman, but you do not draw

  attention to the fact of being a woman. And I say to you, 'Why Not'? It

  is a pityl"

  For a moment he had the satisfaction of seeing Alice Cunningham look

  human. He even saw a spark of anger in her eyes. Then she regained her

  attitude of smiling contempt.

  "My dear M. Poirot," she said, "I'm afraid you're out of touch with the

  modern ideology. It is fundamentals that matter-not the trappings."

  She looked up as a dark and very beautiful young man came toward them.

  "This is a most interesting type," she murmured with zest. "Paul

  Varescol Lives on women and has strange depraved cravingsl I want him to

  tell me more about a nursery governess who looked after him when he was

  three years old."

  A moment or two later she was dancing with the young man. He danced

  divinely. As they drifted near Poirot's table, Poirot heard her say:

  "And after the summer at Bognor she gave you a toy crane? A crane-yes,

  that's very suggestive."

  For a moment Poirot allowed himself to toy with the speculation that

  Miss Cunningham's interest in criminal types might lead one day to her

  mutilated body being fotin(I in a lonely wood. He did not like Alice

  Cunningbarn, but he was honest enough to realize that the reason for his

  dislike was the fact that she was so palpably unimpressed by Hercule

  Poirotl His vanity sufferedl

  Then he saw something that momentarily put Alice Cunningham out of his

  head. At a table on the opposite side of the floor sat a fair-haired

  young man. He wore eyening dress, his hair shone, his mustache was such

  as the Guards affect, his whole demeanor was that of one who lived a

  life of ease-and pleasure. Opposite him sat the right kind of expensive

  girl. He was gazing at her in a fatuous and foolish manner. Anyone

  seeing them might have murmured: The idle rich! Nevertheless Poirot

  knew very well that the young man was neither rich nor idle. He was, in

  fact, Detective Inspector Charles Stevens, and it seemed probable to

  Poirot that Detective Inspector Stevens was here on business.

  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 mel"

  "But I assure you I know nothing-nothing at allt It is just idle

  curiosity."

  japp said that Poirot could tell that to the Marinesl "You want to know

  all about this place Hell? Well, on the surface it's just another of

  these things. It's caught onl 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 Paaopolous-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 isl"

  "And Inspector Stevens goes there to find out?"

  "Oh, you saw Stevens, did you? Lucky young dog, landing a job like that

  at the taxpayers' expenser A fat lot he's

  found out so farl"

  "What do you suspect there is to find out?"

  "Dopel Drug racket on a large scale. And the dope's being paid for not

  in money, M. Poirot, 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 sometimest

  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

  possessionl Sends the poor perspiring police off on wild-goose 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 andtherand 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 jewelry is donea place called

  Golconda, Ltd.-respectable enough on the surface, high-class imitation

  jewelry. 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 placel He's as bad as they

  make 'em-but women-even decent women -eat out of his handt 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 meet.

  ing-place."

  "'Vou 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 everybodyl Result ' no stones, no dopel"

  "A fiasco, in fact?"

  japp winced. "You're telling mel Might have got in a bit of a jam, but

  luckily in the roundup 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 I "

  Poirot said, "But it does not advance the dope inquiry.

  There is, perhaps, a place of concealment on the premises?"

  " Must 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 dogl 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

  likel"

  Poirot murmured meditatively, "It would round off things-yes. . . .

  Do you know what the twelfth labor 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.

  "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 therel I am on the top of the world, the

  money it rolls inl"

 

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