whilst with Frobisher, had been impressed by the other's restlessness, nervousness and irritability – all the signs of intense mental strain. With Admiral Chandler he felt a sense of hopelessness, of quiet, deep despair…
With a deep sigh. Chandler said: 'I can't help being sorry Diana has brought you into this… Poor child, I know how hard it is for her. But – well – it is our own private tragedy, and I think you will understand, M. Poirot, that we don't want outsiders.'
'I can understand your feeling, certainly.'
'Diana, poor child, can't believe it… I couldn't at first. Probably wouldn't believe it now if I didn't know -'
He paused.
'Know what?'
'That it's in the blood. The taint, I mean.'
'And yet you agreed to the engagement?'
Admiral Chandler flushed.
'You mean, I should have put my foot down then? But at the time I'd no idea. Hugh takes after his mother – nothing about him to remind you of the Chandlers. I hoped he'd taken after her in every way. From his childhood upwards, there's never been a trace of abnormality about him until now. I couldn't know that – dash it all, there's a trace of insanity in nearly every old family!'
Poirot said softly: 'You have not consulted a doctor?'
Chandler roared: 'No, and I'm not going to! The boy's safe enough here with me to look after him. They shan't shut him up between four walls like a wild beast…'
'He is safe here, you say. But are others safe?'
'What do you mean by that?'
Poirot did not reply. He looked steadily into Admiral Chandler's sad, dark eyes.
The Admiral said bitterly: 'Each man to his trade. You're looking for a criminal! My boy's not a criminal, M. Poirot.'
'Not yet.'
'What do you mean by 'not yet'?'
'These things increase… Those sheep -'
'Who told you about the sheep?'
'Diana Maberly. And also your friend, Colonel Frobisher.'
'George would have done better to keep his mouth shut.'
'He is a very old friend of yours, is he not?'
'My best friend,' the Admiral said gruffly.
'And he was a friend of – your wife's, too?'
Chandler smiled.
'Yes. George was in love with Caroline, I believe. When she was very young. He's never married. I believe that's the reason. Ah well, I was the lucky one – or so I thought. I carried her off – only to lose her.'
He sighed and his shoulders sagged.
Poirot said: 'Colonel Frobisher was with you when your wife was – drowned?'
Chandler nodded.
'Yes, he was with us down in Cornwall when it happened. She and I were out in the boat together – he happened to stay at home that day. I've never understood how that boat came to capsize… Must have sprung a sudden leak. We were right out in the bay – strong tide running. I held her up as long as I could…' His voice broke. 'Her body was washed up two days later. Thank the Lord we hadn't taken little Hugh out with us! At least, that's what I thought at the time. Now – well – better for Hugh, poor devil, perhaps, if he had been with us. If it had all been finished and done for then…'
Again there came that deep, hopeless sigh.
'We're the last of the Chandlers, M. Poirot. There will be no more Chandlers at Lyde after we're gone. When Hugh got engaged to Diana, I hoped – well, it's no good talking of that. Thank God, they didn't marry. That's all I can say!'
IV
Hercule Poirot sat on a seat in the rose garden. Beside him sat Hugh Chandler. Diana Maberly had just left them.
The young man turned a handsome, tortured face towards his companion.
He said: 'You've got to make her understand, M. Poirot.'
He paused for a minute and then went on: 'You see, Di's a fighter. She won't give in. She won't accept what she's darned well got to accept. She – she will go on believing that I'm – sane.'
'While you yourself are quite certain that you are – pardon me – insane?'
The young man winced. He said: 'I'm not actually hopelessly off my head yet – but it's getting worse. Diana doesn't know, bless her. She's only seen me when I am – all right.'
'And when you are – all wrong, what happens?'
Hugh Chandler took a long breath. Then he said: 'For one thing – I dream. And when I dream, I am mad. Last night, for instance – I wasn't a man any longer. I was first of all a bull – a mad bull – racing about in blazing sunlight – tasting dust and blood in my mouth – dust and blood… And then I was a dog – a great slavering dog. I had hydrophobia – children scattered and fled as I came – men tried to shoot me – someone set down a great bowl of water for me and I couldn't drink. I couldn't drink…'
He paused. 'I woke up. And I knew it was true. I went over to the wash-stand. My mouth was parched – horribly parched – and dry. I was thirsty. But I couldn't drink, M. Poirot… I couldn't swallow… Oh, my God, I wasn't able to drink…'
Hercule Poirot made a gentle murmur. Hugh Chandler went on. His hands were clenched on his knees. His face was thrust forward, his eyes were half closed as though he saw something coming towards him.
'And there are things that aren't dreams. Things that I see when I'm wide awake. Spectres, frightful shapes. They leer at me. And sometimes I'm able to fly, to leave my bed, and fly through the air, to ride the winds – and fiends bear me company!'
'Tcha, tcha,' said Hercule Poirot.
It was a gentle, deprecating little noise.
Hugh Chandler turned to him.
'Oh, there isn't any doubt. It's in my blood. It's my family heritage. I can't escape. Thank God I found it out in time! Before I'd married Diana. Suppose we'd had a child and handed on this frightful thing to him!'
He laid a hand on Poirot's arm.
'You must make her understand. You must tell her. She's got to forget. She's got to. There will be someone else someday. There's young Steve Graham – he's crazy about her and he's an awfully good chap. She'd be happy with him – and safe. I want her – to be happy. Graham's hard up, of course, and so are her people, but when I'm gone they'll be all right.'
Hercule's voice interrupted him.
'Why will they be 'all right' when you are gone?'
Hugh Chandler smiled. It was a gentle, lovable smile.
He said: 'There's my mother's money. She was an heiress, you know. It came to me. I've left it all to Diana.'
Hercule Poirot sat back in his chair. He said: 'Ah!'
Then he said: 'But you may live to be quite an old man, Mr Chandler.'
Hugh Chandler shook his head.
He said sharply: 'No, M. Poirot. I am not going to live to be an old man.'
Then he drew back with a sudden shudder.
'My God! Look!' He stared over Poirot's shoulder. 'There – standing by you… it's a skeleton – its bones are
