"You were fortunate," said Hercule Poirot.
Sir Joseph said, "Eh?" again.
"Exceedingly fortunate," said Hercule Poirot firmly. "I .am, I may say
without undue modesty, at the apex of my career. Very shortly I intend
to retire-to live in the country, to travel occasionally to see the
world-also, it may be, to cultivate my garden-with particular attention
to improving the strain of vegetable marrows. Magnificent
vegetables-but they lack flavor. That, however, is not the point. I
wished merely to explain that before retiring I had imposed upon myself
a certain task. I have decided to accept twelve cases-no more, no less.
A self-imposed 'Labors of Hercules,' if I may so describe it. Your
case, Sir Joseph, is the first of the twelve. I was attracted to it by
its striking unimportance."
"Importance?" said Sir ' Joseph.
"UnimPortance was what I said. I have been called in for varying
causes-to investigate murders, unexplained deaths, robberies, thefts of
jewelry. This is the first time that I have been asked to turn my
talents to elucidate the
kidnaping of a Pekinese dog."
Sir Joseph grunted. He said, "You surprise mel I should have said you'd
have had no end of women pestering you about their pet dogs."
."That, certainly. But it is the first time that I am summoned by the
husband in the case."
Sir Joseph's little eyes narrowed appreciatively.
He said, "I begin to see why they recommended you to me. You're a
shrewd fellow, M. Poirot."
Poirot murmured, "If you will now tell me the facts of the case. The
dog disappeared when?"
"Exactly a week ago."
"And your wife is by now quite frantic, I presume?"
Sir Joseph stared.
He said, "You don't understand. The dog has been returned."
"Returned? Then, permit me to ask, where do I enter the matter?"
Sir Joseph went crimson in the face.
"Because I'm damned if I'll be swindledl Now then, M.
Poirot, I'm going to tell you the whole thing. The dog was stolen a
week ago-nipped in Kensington Gardens where he was out with my wife's
companion. The next day my wife got a demand for c2OO. I ask
you-,c2OO! For a damned yapping little brute that's always getting
under your feet anywayl"
Poirot murmured, "You did not approve of paying such a sum, naturally?"
"Of course I didn't-or wouldn't have if I'd known anything about itl
Milly (my wife) knew that well enough.
She didn't say anything to me. just sent off the moneyin one-pound
notes as stipulated-to the address given."
"And the dog was returned?"
"Yes. That evening the bell rang and there was the little bruce sitting
on the doorstep. And not a soul to be seen."
"I"ei,fectly. Continue."
"-]'lien, of (,ourse, filly confessed what she'd done and I lost my
tel)ei, t I)it. However, I calmed down after a wle-zifter all, the hng
was done and you can't expect a woman to behave with any sense-and I
dare say I should have let the whole thing go if it hadn't been for
meeting old Samuelson at the Club."
"Yes?"
"Damn it all, this thing must be a positive racketl Exactly the same
thing had happened to him. Three hundred pounds they'd rooked his wife
of l Well, that was a bit too much. I decided the thing had got to be
stopped. I sent for you.
"But surely, Sir Joseph, the proper thing (and a very much more
inexpensive thing) would have been to send for the police?"
Sir Joseph rubbed his nose.
He said, "Are you married, M. Poirot?"
"Alas," said Poirot, "I have not that felicity."
"Hm," said Sir Joseph. "Don't know about felicity, but if you were,
you'd know that women are funny creatures.
My wife went into hysterics at the mere mention of the olice-she'd got
it into her head that something would nappen to her precious Shan Tung
if I went to them. She wouldn't hear of the idea-and I may say she
doesn't take very kindly to the idea of your being called in. But I
stood firm there and at last she gave way. But, mind you, she doesn't
like it."
Hercule Poirot murmured, "The position is, I perceive, a delicate one.
It would be as well, perhaps, if I were to interview Madame your wife
and gain further particulars from her while at the same time reassuring
her as to the future safety of her dog."
Sir Joseph nodded and rose to his feet.
He said, "I'll take you along in the car right away."
In a large, hot, ornately-furnished drawing-room two women were sitting.
As Sir Joseph and Hercule Poirot entered, a small Pekinese dog rushed
forward, barking furiously, and circling dangerously round Poirot's
ankles.
"Shan-Shan, come here. Come here to mother, loveyPick him up, Miss
Carnaby."
The second woman hurried forward and Hercule Poirot murmured: "A
veritable lion, indeed."
Rather breathlessly Shan Tung's captor agreed.
"Yes, indeed, he's such a good watch dog. He's not frightened of
anything or anyone. There's a lovely boy, then."
Having performed the necessary introduction, Sir Joseph said, "Well, M.
Poirot, I'll leave you to get on with it," and with a short nod he left
the room.
Lady Hoggin was a stout, petulant-looking woman with dyed henna-red
hair. Her companion, the fluttering Miss Carnaby, was a plump,
amiable-looking creature between forty and fifty. She treated Lady
Hoggin with great deference and was clearly frightened to death of her.
Poirot said, "Now tell me, Lady Hoggin, the full circumstances of this
abominable crime."
Lady Hoggin flushed. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, M. Poirot.
For it was a crime. Pekinese are terribly sensitive-just as sensitive
as children. Poor Shan Tung might have died of fright if of nothing
else."
Miss Carnaby chimed in breathlessly, "Yes, it was wicked-wickedl"
"Please tell me the facts."
"Well, it was like this. Shan Tung was out for his walk in the park
with Miss Carnaby-"
, 'Oh, dear me, yes, it was all my fault," chimed in the companion. "How
could I have been so stupid-so careless-"
Lady Hoggin said acidly, "I don't want to reproach you, Miss Carnaby,
but I do think you might have been more alert."
Poirot transferred his gaze to the companion.
"What happened?"
Miss Carnaby burst into voluble and slightly flustered speech.
"Well, it was the most extraordinary thingl We had just been along the
flower walk-Shan Tung was on the lead, of course-he'd had his little run
on the grass-and I was
just about to turn and go home when my attention was caught by a baby in
a pram-such a lovely baby-it smiled at me-lovely rosy cheeks and such
curls. I just couldn't resist speaking to the nurse in charge and
asking how old it was-seventeen months, she said-and I'm sure I was only
speaking to her for about a minute or two, and then suddenly I looked
down and Shan wasn't.there any more.
The lead had been cut right thr
ough-"
Lady Hoggin said, "If you'd been paying proper attention to your duties,
nobody could have sneaked up and cut that lead."
Miss Carnaby seemed inclined to burst into tears. Poirot said hastily:
"And what happened next?"
"Well, of course I looked everywhere. And calledl And I asked the park
attendant if he'd seen a man carrying a Pekinese dog, but he hadn't
noticed anything of the kind -and I didn't know what to do-and I went on
searching, but at last, of course, I had to come home-"
Miss Carnaby stopped dead. Poirot could imagine the scene that followed
well enough. He asked: "And then you received a letter?"
Lady Hoggin took up the tale.
"By the first post the following morning. It said that if I wanted to
see Shan Tung alive I was to send L200 in oneound notes in an
unregistered packet to Captain Curtis, 98 Bloomsbury Road 9-quare. It
said that if the money were marked or the police informed then-then-Shan
Tung's ears and tail would be-cut off I Miss Carnaby began to sniff.
"So awful," she murmured. "How people can be such fiendsl"
Lady Hoggin went on: "It said that if I sent the money at once, Shan
Tung would be returned the same evening alive and well but that if-if
afterward I went to the police, it would be Shan Tung who would suffer
for it-"
Miss Carnaby murmured te;trfully, "Oh, dear, I'm so afraid that even
noly-of course, M. Poirot isn't exactly the police-"
Lady Hoggin said anxiously, "So you see, M. Poirot, you will have to be
very careful-"
Hercule Poirot was quick to allay her anxiety.
"But I, I am not of the police. My inquiries, they will be conducted
very discreetly, very quietly. You can be assured, Lady Hoggin, that
Shan Tung will be perfectly safe.
That I will guarantee."
Both ladies seemed relieved by the magic word. Poirot went on: "You
have here the letter?"
Lady Hoggin shook her head.
"No, I was instructed to enclose it with the money."
"And you did so?"
Yes."
"H'm, that is a pity."
Miss Carnaby said brightly, "But I have the dog lead still. Shall I get
it?"
She left the room. Hercule Poirot profited by her absence to ask a few
pertinent questions.
"Amy Carnaby? Ohl she's quite all right. A good soul, though foolish,
of course. I have had several companions and they have all been
complete fools. But Amy was devoted to Shan Tung and she was terribly
upset over the whole thing-as well she might be-hanging over
perambulators and neglecting my little sweetheartl These old maids are
all the same, idiotic over babiesl No, I'm quite sure she had nothing
whatever to do with it."
" it does not seem likely," Poirot agreed. "But as the dog disappeared
when in her charge one must make quite certain of her honesty. She has
been with you long?"
"Nearly a year. I had excellent references with her. She was with old
Lady Hartingfield until she died-ten years, I believe. After that she
looked after an invalid sister for a while. She is really an excellent
creature-but a complete fool, as I said."
Amy Carnaby returned at this minute, slightly more out of breath, and
produced the cut dog lead which she handed to Poirot with the utmost
solemnity, looking at him with hopeful expectancy.
Poirot surveyed it carefully.
"Mais oui," he said. "This has undoubtedly been cut."
The two women still waited expectantly.
He said: "I will keep this."
Solemnly he put it in his pocket. The two women breathed a sigh of
relief. He had clearly done what was expected of him.
It was the habit of Hercule Poirot to leave nothing untested.
Though on the face of it it seemed unlikely that Miss Carnaby was
anything but the foolish and rather muddleheaded woman that she appeared
to be, Poirot nevertheless managed to interview a somewhat forbidding
lady who was the niece of the late Lady Hartingfield.
"Amy Carnaby?" said Miss Maltravers. "Of course, remember her
perfectly. She was a good soul and suited Aunt Julia down to the
ground. Devoted to dogs and excellent at reading aloud. Tactful, too,
never contradicted an invalid. What's happened to her? Not in distress
of any kind, I hope. I gave her a reference about a year ago to some
womarmame began with H-"
Poirot explained hastily that Miss Carnaby was still in her post. Tfiere
had been, he said, a little trouble over a, lost dog.
"Amy Carnaby is devoted to dogs. My aunt had a Pekinese. She left it
to Miss Carnaby when she died and Miss Carnaby was devoted to it. I
believe she was quite heartbroken when it died. Oh, yes, she's a good
soul. Not, of course, precisely intellectual."
Hercule Poirot agreed that Miss Carnaby could not, perhaps, be described
as intellectual.
His next proceeding was to discover the Park Keeper to whom Miss Carnaby
had spoken on the fateful afternoon.
This he did without much difficulty. The man rememhered the incident in
question.
"Middle-aged lady, rather stout-in a regular state she was-lost her
Pekinese dog. I knew her well by gightbrings the dog along most
afternoons. I saw her come in
with it. She was in a rare takingwhen she lost it. Came running to jne
to know if I'd seen anyone with a Pekinese dogl Well, I ask youl I can
tell you, the Gardens is full of dogsevery kind-terriers, Pekes, German
sausage dogs-even them borzois-all kinds we have. Not likely as I'd
notice one Peke more than another."
Hercule Poirot nodded his head thoughtfully.
He went to 38 Bloomsbury Road Square.
Numbers 38, 39, and 40 were incorporated together as the Balaclava
Private Hotel. Poirot walked up the steps a(i pushed open the door. He
was greeted inside by gloom axid a smell of cooking cabbage with a
reminiscence of breakfast kippers. On his left was a mahogany table
with a sad-looking chrysanthemum plant on it. Above the table was a big
baize-covered rack into which letters were stuck.
Poirot stared at the board thoughtfully for some minutes.
He pushed open a door on his right. It led into a kind of lounge with
small tables and some so-called easy chairs covered with a depressing
pattern of cretonne. Three old ladies and one fierce-looking old
gentleman raised their heads and gazed at the intruder with deadly
venom. Hercule Poirot blushed and withdrew.
He walked farther along the passage and came to a staircase. On his
right a passage branched at right angles to what was evidently the
dining-room.
A little way along this passage was a door marked: OFFICE.
On this Poirot tapped. Receiving no response, he opened.the door and
looked in. There was a large desk in the room, covered with papers, but
there was no one to be seen. He withdrew, closing the door again. He
penetrated to the dining-room.
A sad-looking girl in a dirty apron was shuffling about with a basket of
knives and forks with which she was laying the tables
.
Hercule Poirot said apologetically, "Excuse me, but could I see the
manageress?"
Thie girl looked at him with lackluster eyes.
She said, "I don't know, I'm sure."
Hercule Poirot said, "There is no one in the office.".
"Well, I don't know where she'd be, I'm sure."
"Perhaps," Hercule Poirot said, patient and persistent, you could find
out?"
The girl sighed. Dreary as her day's round was, it had now been made
additionally so by this new burden laid upon her. She said sadly:
"Well, I'll see what I can do."
Poirot thanked her and removed himself once more to the hall, not daring
to face the malevolent glare of the occupants of the lounge. He was
staring up at the baizecovered letter rack when a rustle and a strong
smell of Devonshire violets proclaimed the arrival of the manageress.
Mrs. Harte was full of graciousness. She exclaimed:
"So sorry I was not in my office. You were requiring rooms?"
Hercule Poirot murmured, "Not precisely. I was wondering if a friend of
mine had been staying here lately. A Captain Curtis."
"Curtis," exclaimed Mrs. Harte. "Captain Curtis? Now where have I
heard that n;ime?"
Poirot did not help her. She shook her head vexedly.
He said, "You have not, then, had a Captain Curtis staying here?"
"Well, noi lately, certainly. And yet, you know, the name is certainly
familiar to me. Can you describe your friend at all?"
"That," said Hercule Poirot, "would be difficult." He went on: "I
suppose it sometimes happens that letters arrive for people when in
actual fact no one of that name is staying here?"
"That does happen, of course."
"What do you do with such letters?"
"Well, we keep them for a time. You see, it probably means that the
Derson in question will arrive shortly. Of course, if letters or
parcels are a long time here unclaimed, they are returned to the post
office."
Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
He said, "I comprehend." He added, "It is like this, you see. I wrote a
letter to my friend here."
Mrs. Harte's face cleared.
"That explains it. I must have noticed the name on an envelope. But
really we have so many ex-Army gentlemen staying here or passing
through- Let me see now."
She peered up at the board.
Hercule Poirot said, "It is not there now."
"It must have been returned to the postman, I suppose.
am so sorry. Nothing important, I hope?"
"No, no, it was of no importance."
As he moved toward the door, Mrs. Harte, enveloped in her pungent odor
of violets, pursued him.
"If your friend should come-" :,it is most unlikely. I must have made a
mistake."
'Our terms," said Mrs. Harte, "are very moderate. Coffee after dinner
is included. I would like you to see one or two of our
bed-sitting-rooms......
With difficulty Hercule Poirot escaped.
The drawing-room of Mrs. Samuelson was larger, more lavishly furnished,
and enjoyed an even more stifling amount of central heating than that of
Lady Hoggin. Hercule Poirot picked his way giddily among gilded console
tables and large groups of statuary.
Mrs. Samuelson was taller than Lady Hoggin and her.
hair was dyed with peroxide. Her Pekinese was called Nanki Poo. His
bulging eyes surveyed Hercule Poirot with arrogance. I%Iiss Keble,
I%Irs. Samuelson's companion, was thin and scraggy where Miss Carnaby
had been plump, but she also was voluble and slightly breathless. She,
Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 2
