V
In the saloon bar of Jimmy Donovan's Hotel, Hercule Poirot sat uncomfortably against the wall. The hotel did not come up to his ideas of what a hotel should be. His bed was broken – so were two of the window panes in his room – thereby admitting that night air which Hercule Poirot distrusted so much. The hot water brought him had been tepid and the meal he had eaten was producing curious and painful sensations in his inside.
There were five men in the bar and they were all talking politics. For the most part Hercule Poirot could not understand what they said. In any case, he did not much care.
Presently he found one of the men sitting beside him. This was a man of slightly different class to the others. He had the stamp of the seedy townsman upon him.
He said with immense dignity: 'I tell you, sir. I tell you – Pegeen's Pride hasn't got a chance, not a chance… bound to finish right down the course – right down the course. You take my tip… everybody ought to take my tip. Know who I am, sir, do you know, I shay? Atlas, thatsh who I am – Atlas of the Dublin Sun… been tipping winnersh all the season… Didn't I give Larry's Girl? Twenty-five to one – twenty-five to one. Follow Atlas and you can't go wrong.'
Hercule Poirot regarded him with a strange reverence. He said, and his voice trembled: 'Mon Dieu, it is an omen!'
VI
It was some hours later. The moon showed from time to time, peeping out coquettishly from behind the clouds. Poirot and his new friend had walked some miles. The former was limping. The idea crossed his mind that there were, after all, other shoes – more suitable to country walking than patent-leather. Actually George had respectfully conveyed as much. 'A nice pair of brogues,' was what George had said.
Hercule Poirot had not cared for the idea. He liked his feet to look neat and well-shod. But now, tramping along this stony path, he realised that there were other shoes…
His companion said suddenly: 'Is it the way the Priest would be after me for this? I'll not have a mortal sin upon my conscience.'
Hercule Poirot said: 'You are only restoring to Caesar the things which are Caesar's.'
They had come to the wall of the Convent. Atlas prepared to do his part.
A groan burst from him and he exclaimed in low, poignant tones that he was destroyed entirely!
Hercule Poirot spoke with authority.
'Be quiet. It is not the weight of the world that you have to support – only the weight of Hercule Poirot.'
VII
Atlas was turning over two new five pound notes.
He said hopefully: 'Maybe I'll not remember in the morning the way I earned this. I'm after worrying that Father O'Reilly will be after me.'
'Forget everything, my friend. Tomorrow the world is yours.'
Atlas murmured: 'And what'll I put it on? There's Working Lad, he's a grand horse, a lovely horse he is! And there's Sheila Boyne.7 to 1 I'd get on her.'
He paused.
'Was it my fancy now or did I hear you mention the name of a heathen god? Hercules, you said, and glory be to God, there's a Hercules running in the three-thirty tomorrow.'
'My friend,' said Hercule Poirot, 'put your money on that horse. I tell you this, Hercules cannot fail.'
And it is certainly true that on the following day Mr Rosslyn's Hercules very unexpectedly won the Boynan Stakes, starting price 60 to 1.
VIII
Deftly Hercule Poirot unwrapped the neatly done-up parcel. First the brown paper, then the wadding, lastly the tissue paper.
On the desk in front of Emery Power he placed a gleaming golden cup. Chased on it was a tree bearing apples of green emeralds.
The financier drew a deep breath. He said: 'I congratulate you, M. Poirot.'
Hercule Poirot bowed.
Emery Power stretched out a hand. He touched the rim of the goblet, drawing his finger round it.
He said in a deep voice: 'Mine!'
Hercule Poirot agreed. 'Yours!'
The other gave a sigh. He leaned back in his chair.
He said in a businesslike voice: 'Where did you find it?'
Hercule Poirot said: 'I found it on an altar.'
Emery Power stared.
Poirot went on: 'Casey's daughter was a nun. She was about to take her final vows at the time of her father's death. She was an ignorant but a devout girl. The cup was hidden in her father's house in Liverpool. She took it to the Convent wanting, I think, to atone for her father's sins. She gave it to be used to the glory of God. I do not think that the nuns themselves ever realised its value. They took it, probably, for a family heirloom. In their eyes it was a chalice and they used it as such.'
Emery Power said: 'An extraordinary story!' He added: 'What made you think of going there?'
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
'Perhaps – a process of elimination. And then there was the extraordinary fact that no one had ever tried to dispose of the cup. That looked, you see, as though it were in a place where ordinary material values did not apply. I remembered that Patrick Casey's daughter was a nun.'
Power said heartily: 'Well, as I said before, I congratulate you. Let me know your fee and I'll write you a cheque.'
Hercule Poirot said: 'There is no fee.'
The other stared at him. 'What do you mean?'
'Did you ever read fairy stories when you were a child? The King in them would say: 'Ask of me what you will'?'
'So you are asking something?'
'Yes, but not money. Merely a simple request.'
'Well, what is it? D'you want a tip for the markets?'
'That would be only money in another form. My request is much simpler than that.'
'What is it?'
Hercule Poirot laid his hands on the cup.
'Send this back to the Convent.'
There was a pause. Then Emery Power said: 'Are you quite mad?'
Hercule Poirot shook his head.
