Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  "And so, at once, I was suspicious. That evening, I did not drink my coffee. I poured it away. And I was wise. Late that evening a man came into my room, came in with the easy confidence of one who knows that the man whose room he is searching is drugged. He looked through my affairs and he found the letter in my wallet - where I had left it for him to find! The next morning Gustave comes into my room with my coffee. He greets me by name and acts his part with complete assurance. But he is anxious - horribly anxious - for somehow or other the police have got on his track! They have learnt where he is and that is for him a terrible disaster. It upsets all his plans. He is caught up here like a rat in a trap."

  Schwartz said: "The damn fool thing was ever to come here! Why did he?"

  Poirot said gravely: "It is not so foolish as you think. He had need, urgent need, of a retired spot, away from the world, where he could meet a certain person, and where a certain happening could take place."

  "What person?"

  "Dr Lutz."

  "Dr Lutz? Is he a crook too?"

  "Dr Lutz is really Dr Lutz - but he is not a nerve specialist - not a psychoanalyst. He is a surgeon, my friend, a surgeon who specialises in facial surgery. That is why he was to meet Marrascaud here. He is poor now, turned out of his country. He was offered a huge fee to meet a man here and change that man's appearance by means of his surgical skill. He may have guessed that that man was a criminal, but if so, he shut his eyes to the fact. Realise this, they dared not risk a nursing home in some foreign country. No, up here, where no one ever comes so early in the season except for an odd visit, where the manager is a man in need of money who can be bribed, was an ideal spot.

  "But, as I say, matters went wrong. Marrascaud was betrayed. The three men, his bodyguard, who were to meet him here and look after him had not yet arrived, but Marrascaud acts at once. The police officer who is pretending to be a waiter is kidnapped and Marrascaud takes his place. The gang arrange for the funicular to be wrecked. It is a matter of time. The following evening Drouet is killed and a paper is pinned on the dead body. It is hoped that by the time that communications are established with the world Drouet's body may have been buried as that of Marrascaud. Dr Lutz performs his operation without delay. But one man must be silenced - Hercule Poirot. So the gang are sent to attack me. Thanks to you, my friend -"

  Hercule Poirot bowed gracefully to Schwartz who said:

  "So you're really Hercule Poirot?"

  "Precisely."

  "And you were never fooled by that body for a minute? You knew all along that it wasn't Marrascaud?"

  "Certainly."

  "Why didn't you say so?"

  Hercule Poirot's face was suddenly stern.

  "Because I wanted to be quite sure of handing the real Marrascaud over to the police."

  He murmured below his breath: "To capture alive the wild boar of Erymanthea..."

  Chapter 5

  THE AUGEAN STABLES

  II

  On his way downstairs, Hercule Poirot was intercepted by a tall, fairhaired woman.

  She said: "Please come into my sitting-room, M. Poirot."

  He bowed and followed her.

  She shut the door, motioned him to a chair, and offered him a cigarette. She sat down opposite him. She said quietly:

  "You have just seen my husband - and he has told you - about my father."

  Poirot looked at her with attention. He saw a tall woman, still handsome, with character and intelligence in her face. Mrs Ferrier was a popular figure. As the wife of the Prime Minister she naturally came in for a good share of the limelight. As the daughter of her father, her popularity was even greater. Dagmar Perrier represented the popular ideal of English womanhood.

  She was a devoted wife, a fond mother, she shared her husband's love of country life. She interested herself in just those aspects of public life which were generally felt to be proper spheres of womanly activity.

  She dressed well, but never in an ostentatiously fashionable manner.

  She devoted much of her time and activity to large-scale charities, she had inaugurated special schemes for the relief of the wives of unemployed men. She was looked up to by the whole nation and was a most valuable asset to the Party.

  Hercule Poirot said: "You must be terribly worried, Madame."

  "Oh, I am - you don't know how much. For years I have been dreading something."

  Poirot said: "You had no idea of what was going on actually?"

  She shook her head. "No - not in the least. I only knew that my father was not - was not what everyone thought him. I realised, from the time that I was a child, that he was a - a humbug."

  Her voice was deep and bitter. She said: "It is through marrying me that Edward - that Edward will lose everything."

  Poirot said in a quiet voice: "Have you any enemies, Madame?"

  She looked up at him, surprised.

  "Enemies? I don't think so."

  Poirot said thoughtfully: "I think you have..." He went on: "Have you courage, Madame? There is a great campaign afoot - against your husband - and against yourself. You must prepare to defend yourself."

  She cried: "But it doesn't matter about me. Only about Edward!"

  Poirot said: "The one includes the other. Remember, Madame, you are Caesar's wife."

  He saw her colour ebb. She leaned forward.

  She said: "What is it you are trying to tell me?"

  III

  Percy Perry, editor of the X-ray News, sat behind his desk smoking.

  He was a small man with a face like a weasel.

  He was saying in a soft, oily voice: "We'll give 'em the dirt, all right.

  Lovely - lovely! Oh boy!"

  His second-in-command, a thin, spectacled youth, said uneasily:

  "You're not nervous?"

  "Expecting strong arm stuff? Not them. Haven't got the nerve. Wouldn't do them any good, either. Not the way we've got it farmed out - in this country and on the Continent and America."

  The other said: "They must be in a pretty good stew. Won't they do anything?"

  "They'll send someone to talk pretty -"

  A buzzer sounded. Percy Perry picked up a receiver.

  He said: "Who do you say? Right, send him up."

  He put the receiver down - grinned.

  "They've got that high-toned Belgian dick on to it. He's coming up now to do his stuff. Wants to know if we'll play ball."

  Hercule Poirot came in. He was immaculately dressed - a white camellia in his buttonhole.

  Percy Perry said: "Pleased to meet you, M. Poirot. On your way to the Royal Enclosure at Ascot? No? My mistake."

  Hercule Poirot said: "I am flattered. One hopes to present a good appearance. It is even more important," his eyes roamed innocently over the editor's face and somewhat slovenly attire, "when one has few natural advantages."

  Perry said shortly: "What do you want to see me about?"

  Poirot leaned forward, tapped him on the knee, and said with a beaming smile: "Blackmail."

  "What the devil do you mean, blackmail?"

  "I have heard - the little bird has told me - that on occasions you have been on the point of publishing certain very damaging statements in your so spirituel paper - then, there has been a pleasant little increase in your bank balance - and after all, those statements have not been published."

  Poirot leaned back and nodded his head in a satisfied sort of way.

  "Do you realise that what you're suggesting amounts to slander?"

  Poirot smiled confidently.

  "I am sure you will not take offence."

  "I do take offence! As to blackmail there is no evidence of my ever having blackmailed anybody."

  "No, no, I am quite sure of that. You misunderstand me. I was not threatening you. I was leading up to a simple question. How much?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," said Percy Perry.

  "A matter of national importance, M. Perry."

  They exchanged a significant glance
.

  Percy Perry said: "I'm a reformer, M. Poirot. I want to see politics cleaned up. I'm opposed to corruption. Do you know what the state of politics is in this country? The Augean Stables, no more, no less."

  "Tiens!" said Hercule Poirot. "You, too, use that phrase."

  "And what is needed," went on the editor, "to cleanse those stables is the great purifying flood of Public Opinion."

  Hercule Poirot got up. He said: "I applaud your sentiments."

  He added: "It is a pity that you do not feel in need of money."

  Percy Perry said hurriedly: "Here, wait a sec - I didn't say that exactly..."

  But Hercule Poirot had gone through the door.

  His excuse for later events is that he does not like blackmailers.

  IV

  Everett Dashwood, the cheery young man on the staff of The Branch, clapped Hercule Poirot affectionately on the back.

  He said: "There's dirt and dirt, my boy. My dirt's clean dirt - that's all."

  "I was not suggesting that you were on a par with Percy Perry."

  "Damned little bloodsucker. He's a blot on our profession. We'd all down him if we could."

  "It happens," said Hercule Poirot, "that I am engaged at the moment on a little matter of clearing up a political scandal."

  "Cleaning out the Augean Stables, eh?" said Dashwood. "Too much for you, my boy. Only hope is to divert the Thames and wash away the Houses of Parliament."

  "You are cynical," said Hercule Poirot, shaking his head.

  "I know the world, that's all."

  Poirot said: "You, I think, are just the man I seek. You have a reckless disposition, you are the good sport, you like something that is out of the usual."

  "And granting all that?"

  "I have a little scheme to put into action. If my ideas are right, there is a sensational plot to unmask. That, my friend, shall be a scoop for your paper."

  "Can do," said Dashwood cheerfully.

  "It will concern a scurrilous plot against a woman."

  "Better and better. Sex stuff always goes."

  "Then sit down and listen."

  V

  People were talking.

  In the Goose and Feathers at Little Wimplington.

  "Well, I don't believe it. John Hammett, he was always an honest man, he wasn't like some of these political folk."

  "That's what they say about all swindlers before they're found out."

  "Thousands, they say he made, out of that Palestine Oil business. Just a crook deal, it was."

  "Whole lot of 'em tarred with the same brush. Dirty crooks, every one of 'em."

  "You wouldn't find Everhard doing that. He's one of the old school."

  "Eh, but I can't believe as John Hammett was a wrong 'un. You can't believe all these papers say."

  "Ferrier's wife was 'is daughter. Have you seen what it says about her?"

  They poured over a much-thumped copy of the X-ray News.

  Caesar's wife? We hear that a certain highly-placed political lady was seen in very strange surroundings the other day. Complete with her gigolo. Oh Dagmar, Dagmar, how could you be so naughty?

  A rustic voice said slowly: "Mrs Ferrier's not that kind. Gigolo? That's one of these dago skunks."

  Another voice said: "You never can tell with women. The whole bunch of 'em wrong 'uns if you ask me."

  VI

  People were talking.

  "But, darling, I believe it's absolutely true. Naomi had it from Paul and he had it from Andy. She's absolutely depraved."

  "But she was always so terribly dowdy and proper and opening Bazaars."

  "Just camouflage, darling. They say she's a nymphomaniac. Well, I mean! It's all in the X-ray News. Oh, not right out, but you can read between the lines. I don't know how they get hold of these things."

  "What do you think of all this political scandal touch? They say her father embezzled the Party funds."

  VII

  People were talking.

  "I don't like to think of it, and that's a fact, Mrs Rogers. I mean, I always thought Mrs Ferrier was a really nice woman."

  "Do you think all these awful things are true?"

  "As I say, I don't like to think it of her. Why, she opened a Bazaar in Pelchester only last June. I was as near to her as I am to that sofa. And she had such a pleasant smile."

  "Yes, but what I say is there's no smoke without fire."

  "Well, of course that's true. Oh dear, it seems as though you can't believe in anyone!"

  VIII

  Edward Ferrier, his face white and strained, said to Poirot: "These attacks on my wife! They're scurrilous - absolutely scurrilous! I'm bringing an action against that vile rag."

  Hercule Poirot said: "I do not advise you to do so."

  "But these damned lies have got to be stopped."

  "Are you sure they are lies?"

  "God damn you, yes!"

  Poirot said, his head held a little on one side: "What does your wife say?"

  For a moment Ferrier looked taken aback.

  "She says it is best to take no notice... But I can't do that - everybody is talking."

  Hercule Poirot said: "Yes, everybody is talking."

  IX

  And then came the small bald announcement in all the papers: Mrs Ferrier has had a slight nervous breakdown. She has gone to Scotland to recuperate.

  Conjectures, rumours - positive information that Mrs Ferrier was not in Scotland, had never been to Scotland.

  Stories, scandalous stories, of where Mrs Ferrier really was...

  And again, people talking.

  "I tell you Andy saw her. At that frightful place! She was drunk or doped and with an awful Argentine gigolo - Ramon. You know!"

  More talking.

  Mrs Ferrier had gone off with an Argentine dancer. She had been seen in Paris, doped. She had been taking drugs for years. She drank like a fish.

  Slowly the righteous mind of England, at first unbelieving, had hardened against Mrs Ferrier. Seemed as though there must be something in it! That wasn't the sort of woman to be the Prime Minister's wife. "A Jezebel, that's what she is, nothing better than a Jezebel!"

  And then came the camera records.

  Mrs Ferrier, photographed in Paris - lying back in a Night Club, her arm twined familiarly over the shoulder of a dark, olive-skinned viciouslooking young man.

  Other snapshots - half-naked on a beach - her head on the lounge lizard's shoulder.

  And underneath: "Mrs Ferrier has a good time..."

  Two days later an action for libel was brought against the X-ray News.

  X

  The case for the prosecution was opened by Sir Mortimer Inglewood,

  KC. He was dignified and full of righteous indignation. Mrs Ferrier was the victim of an infamous plot - a plot only to be equalled 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 plot, also, had been engineered to discredit a noble 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 both 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 Northumbria was one of the best-known figures in the English church, a man of great saintliness and integrity of character. He was broadminded, 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 in the Palace with himself and his wife. Worn out by her activities in good works, she had been recommended a thorough rest. Her visit had been kept a secret so as to obviate any 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 ge
neral practitioner gave evidence to the effect that he had attended Mrs Ferrier at the Palace.

  The next witness called was Thelma Andersen.

  A thrill went round the Court when she entered the witness-box.

  Everyone realised at once what a strong resemblance the woman bore to Mrs Edward Ferrier.

  "Your name is Thelma Andersen?"

  "Yes."

  "You are a Danish subject?"

  "Yes. Copenhagen is my home."

  "And you formerly worked at a café there?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Please tell us in your own words what happened on the 18th March last."

  "There is a gentleman who comes to my table there - an English gentleman. He tells me he works for an English paper - the X-ray News."

  "You 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 recognise the name he says, but he tells me, yes, she is very famous, and that 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."