'You know, you must really be a thought reader, M. Poirot. I have been anxious lately about a friend of mine. I was going to consult you. Of course you may say it is all an old maid's fancy – just imagination. One is prone, perhaps to exaggerate, and to see design where there may be only coincidence.'
'I do not think you would exaggerate, Miss Carnaby. Tell me what is on your mind.'
'Well, I have a friend, a very dear friend, though I have not seen very much of her of late years. Her name is Emmeline Clegg. She married a man in the North of England and he died a few years ago leaving her very comfortably off. She was unhappy and lonely after his death and I am afraid she is in some ways a rather foolish and perhaps credulous woman. Religion, M. Poirot, can be a great help and sustenance – but by that I mean orthodox religion.'
'You refer to the Greek Church?' asked Poirot.
Miss Carnaby looked shocked.
'Oh no, indeed. Church of England. And though I do not approve of Roman Catholics, they are at least recognised. And the Wesleyans and Congregationalists – they are all well-known respectable bodies. What I am talking about are these odd sects. They just spring up. They have a kind of emotional appeal but sometimes I have very grave doubts as to whether there is any true religious feeling behind them at all.'
'You think your friend is being victimised by a sect of this kind?'
'I do. Oh! I certainly do. The Flock of the Shepherd, they call themselves. Their headquarters is in Devonshire – a very lovely estate by the sea. The adherents go there for what they term a Retreat. That is a period of a fortnight – with religious services and rituals. And there are three big Festivals in the year, the Coming of the Pasture, the Full Pasture, and the Reaping of the Pasture.'
'Which last is stupid,' said Poirot. 'Because one does not reap pasture.'
'The whole thing is stupid,' said Miss Carnaby with warmth. 'The whole sect centres round the head of the movement, the Great Shepherd, he is called. A Dr Andersen. A very handsome-looking man, I believe, with a presence.'
'Which is attractive to the women, yes?'
'I am afraid so,' Miss Carnaby sighed. 'My father was a very handsome man. Sometimes, it was most awkward in the parish. The rivalry in embroidering vestments – and the division of church work…'
She shook her head reminiscently.
'Are the members of the Great Flock mostly women?'
'At least three quarters of them, I gather. What men there are, are mostly cranks! It is upon the women that the success of the movement depends and – and on the funds they supply.'
'Ah,' said Poirot. 'Now we come to it. Frankly, you think the whole thing is a ramp?'
'Frankly, M. Poirot, I do. And another thing worries me. I happen to know that my poor friend is so bound up in this religion that she has recently made a will leaving all her property to the movement.'
Poirot said sharply: 'Was that – suggested to her?'
'In all fairness, no. It was entirely her own idea. The Great Shepherd had shown her a new way of life – so all that she had was to go on her death to the Great Cause. What really worries me is -'
'Yes – go on -'
'Several very wealthy women have been among the devotees. In the last year three of them, no less, have died.'
'Leaving all their money to this sect?'
'Yes.'
'Their relations have made no protest? I should have thought it likely that there might have been litigation.'
'You see, M. Poirot, it is usually lonely women who belong to this gathering. People who have no very near relations or friends.'
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Miss Carnaby hurried on: 'Of course I've no right to suggest anything at all. From what I have been able to find out, there was nothing wrong about any of these deaths. One, I believe, was pneumonia following influenza and another was attributed to gastric ulcer. There were absolutely no suspicious circumstances, if you know what I mean, and the deaths did not take place at Green Hills Sanctuary, but at their own homes. I've no doubt it is quite all right, but all the same I – well – I shouldn't like anything to happen to Emmie.'
She clasped her hands, her eyes appealed to Poirot.
Poirot himself was silent for some minutes. When he spoke there was a change in his voice. It was grave and deep.
He said: 'Will you give me, or will you find out for me, the names and addresses of these members of the sect who have recently died?'
'Yes indeed, M. Poirot.'
Poirot said slowly: 'Mademoiselle, I think you are a woman of great courage and determination. You have good histrionic powers. Would you be willing to undertake a piece of work that may be attended with considerable danger?'
'I should like nothing better,' said the adventurous Miss Carnaby.
Poirot said warningly: 'If there is a risk at all, it will be a grave one. You comprehend – either this is a mare's nest or else it is serious. To find out which it is, it will be necessary for you yourself to become a member of the Great Flock. I would suggest that you exaggerate the amount of the legacy that you recently inherited. You are now a well-to-do woman with no very definite aim in life. You argue with your friend Emmeline about this religion she has adopted – assure her that it is all nonsense. She is eager to convert you. You allow yourself to be persuaded to go down to Green Hills Sanctuary. And there you fall a victim to the persuasive powers and magnetic influence of Dr Andersen. I think I can safely leave that part to you?'
Miss Carnaby smiled modestly.
She murmured: 'I think I can manage that all right!'
II
'Well, my friend, what have you got for me?'
Chief Inspector Japp looked thoughtfully at the little man who asked the question.
He said ruefully: 'Not at all what I'd like to have, Poirot. I hate these long-haired, religious cranks like poison. Filling up women with a lot of mumbo-jumbo. But this fellow's being careful. There's nothing one can get hold of. All sounds a bit batty but harmless.'
'Have you learned anything about this Dr Andersen?'
'I've looked up his past history. He was a promising chemist and got chucked out of some German University. Seems his mother was Jewish. He was always keen on the study of Oriental Myths and Religions, spent all his spare time on that and has written various articles on the subject – some of the articles sound pretty crazy to me.'
'So it is possible that he is a genuine fanatic?'
'I'm bound to say it seems quite likely!'
'What about those names and addresses I gave you?'
'Nothing doing there. Miss Everett died of ulcerative colitis. Doctor quite positive there was no hanky-panky. Mrs Lloyd died of broncho-pneumonia. Lady Western died of tuberculosis. Had suffered from it many years ago – before she even met this bunch. Miss Lee died of typhoid – attributed to some salad she ate somewhere in the north of England. Three of them got ill and died in their own homes, and Mrs Lloyd died in a hotel in the south of France. As far as those deaths go, there's nothing to connect them with the Great Flock or with Andersen's place down in Devonshire. Must be pure coincidence. All absolutely OK and according to Cocker.'
Hercule Poirot sighed. He said: 'And yet, mon cher, I have a feeling that this is the tenth Labour of Hercules, and that this Dr Andersen is the Monster Geryon whom it is my mission to destroy.'
Japp looked at him anxiously.
'Look here, Poirot, you haven't been reading any queer literature yourself lately, have you?'
