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
Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 18
