Agatha Christie's Secret Notebooks

pistol still grasped in his hand. That young man was a student named Hans Lutzmann.

For a few days the hopes of the democratic world rose high. The Dictator was dead. Now perhaps, the reign of peace would come. That hope died almost immediately. For the dead man became a symbol, a martyr, a Saint. Those moderates whom he had failed to sway living, he swayed dead. A great wave of warlike enthusiasm swept over the Central Empires. Their Leader had been killed—but his dead spirit should lead them on. The Central Empires should dominate the world—and sweep away democracy.

With dismay, the peace lovers realised that Hertzlein’s death had accomplished nothing. Rather it had hastened the evil day. Lutzmann’s act had accomplished less than nothing.

iv

The dry middle-aged voice said:

‘Hans Lutzmann was my son.’

Poirot said:

‘I do not yet understand you. Your son killed Hertzlein—’

He stopped. The other was slowly shaking his head. He said:

‘My son did not kill Hertzlein. He and I did not think alike. I tell you he loved that man. He worshipped him. He believed in him. He would never have drawn a pistol against him. He was a Nazi[9] through and through—in all his young enthusiasm.’

‘Then if not—who did?’

The elder Lutzmann said:

‘That is what I want you to find out.’

Hercule Poirot said:

‘You have an idea…

Lutzmann said hoarsely:

‘I may be wrong.’

Hercule Poirot said steadily:

‘Tell me what you think.’

Keiserbach leaned forward.

v

Dr Otto Schultz readjusted his tortoiseshell rimmed glasses. His thin face beamed with scientific enthusiasm. He said in pleasant nasal accents:

‘I guess, Mr Poirot, that with what you’ve told me I’ll be able to go right ahead.’

‘You have the schedule?’

‘Why, certainly, I shall work to it very carefully. As I see it, perfect timing is essential to the success of your plan.’

Hercule Poirot bestowed a glance of approval. He said:

‘Order and method. That is the pleasure of dealing with a scientific mind.’

Dr Schultz said:

‘You can count on me,’ and wringing him warmly by the hand he went out.

vi

George, Poirot’s invaluable manservant, came softly in.

He inquired in a low deferential voice:

‘Will there be any more gentlemen coming, sir?’

‘No, Georges, that was the last of them.’

Hercule Poirot looked tired. He had been very busy since he had returned from Bavaria the week before. He leaned back in his chair and shaded his eyes with his hand. He said:

‘When all this is over, I shall go for a long rest.’

‘Yes, sir. I think it would be advisable, sir.’

Poirot murmured:

‘The Last Labour of Hercules.’ Do you know, Georges, what that was?’

‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir. I don’t vote Labour myself.’

Poirot said:

‘Those young men that you have seen here today—I have sent them on a special mission—they have gone to the place of departed spirits. In this Labour there can be no force employed. All must be done by guile.’

‘They seemed very competent looking gentlemen, if I may say so, sir.’

Hercule Poirot said:

‘I chose them very carefully.’

He sighed and shook his head. He said:

‘The world is very sick.’

George said:

‘It looks like war whichever way you turn. Everybody’s very depressed sir. And as for trade it’s just awful. We can’t go on like this.’

Hercule Poirot murmured:

‘We sit in the Twilight of the Gods.’

vii

Dr Schultz paused before a property surrounded by a high wall. It was situated about eight miles from Strasbourg.

He rang the gate bell. In the distance he heard the deep baying of a dog and the rattle of a chain.

The gate-keeper appeared and Dr Otto Schultz presented his card.

‘I wish to see the Herr Doktor Weingartner.’

‘Alas, Monsieur, the doctor has been called away only an hour ago by telegram.’

Schultz frowned.

‘Can I then see his second in command?’

‘Dr Neumann? But certainly.’

Dr Neumann was a pleasant-faced young man, with an ingenuous open countenance.

Dr Schultz produced his credentials—a letter of introduction from one of the leading alienists in Berlin. He himself, he explained, was the author of a publication dealing with certain aspects of lunacy and mental degeneracy.

The other’s face lighted up and he replied that he knew Dr Schultz’s publications and was very much interested in his theories. What a regrettable thing that Dr Weingartner should be absent!

The two men began to talk shop, comparing conditions in America and Europe and finally becoming technical. They discussed individual patients. Schultz recounted some recent results of a new treatment for paranoia.

He said with a laugh:

‘By that means we have cured three Hertzleins, four Bondolinis, five President Roosevelts and seven Supreme Deities.’

Neumann laughed.

Presently the two men went upstairs and visited the wards. It was a small mental home for private patients. There were only about twelve occupants.

Schultz said:

‘You understand I’m principally interested in your paranoiac cases. I believe you have a case admitted quite recently which has some peculiarly interesting features.’

viii

Poirot looked from the telegram lying on his desk to the face of his visitor.

The telegram consisted simply of an address. Villa Eugenie Strasbourg. It was followed by the words ‘Beware of the Dog’.

The visitor was an odoriferous gentleman of middle-age with a red and swollen nose, an unshaven chin and a deep husky voice which seemed to rise from his unprepossessing looking boots. [10]