The Labours of Hercules. Агата Кристи
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He said:
‘Are you married, Mr Poirot?’
‘Alas,’ said Poirot, ‘I have not that felicity.’
‘H’m,’ 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 police–she’d got it into her head that something would happen 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 whilst 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.’
II
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, lovey–Pick 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 any one. There’s a lovely boy, then.’
Having performed the necessary introduction, Sir Joseph said:
‘Well, Mr 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, Mr 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–wicked!’
‘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 thing! 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 couldn’t just 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 through–’
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 called! 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 £200 in one pound notes in an unregistered packet to Captain Curtis, 38 Bloomsbury Road Square. It said that if the money were marked or the police informed then–then–Shan Tung’s ears and tail would be–cut off!’
Miss Carnaby began to sniff.
‘So awful,’ she murmured. ‘How people can be such fiends!’
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 afterwards I went to the police, it would be Shan Tung who would suffer for it–’
Miss Carnaby murmured tearfully:
‘Oh dear, I’m so afraid that even now–of course, M. Poirot isn’t exactly the police–’
Lady Hoggin said anxiously:
‘So you see, Mr 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? Oh! 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 sweetheart! These old maids are all the same, idiotic over babies! 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 really is an excellent creature–but a complete fool, as I said.’
Amy Carnaby returned at this minute, slightly