The Labours of Hercules

'Not get back my money?' Sir Joseph turned purple.

Hercule Poirot went on: 'But I am not a policeman. I am acting in this case solely in your interests. I could, I think, recover your money intact, if no proceedings were taken.'

'Eh?' said Sir Joseph. 'That needs a bit of thinking about.'

'It is entirely for you to decide. Strictly speaking, I suppose you ought to prosecute in the public interest. Most people would say so.'

'I dare say they would,' said Sir Joseph sharply. 'It wouldn't be their money that had gone west. If there's one thing I hate it's to be swindled. Nobody's ever swindled me and got away with it.'

'Well then, what do you decide?'

Sir Joseph hit the table with his fist.

'I'll have the brass! Nobody's going to say they got away with two hundred pounds of my money.'

Hercule Poirot rose, crossed to the writing-table, wrote out a cheque for two hundred pounds and handed it to the other man.

Sir Joseph said in a weak voice: 'Well, I'm damned! Who the devil is this fellow?'

Poirot shook his head. 'If you accept the money, there must be no questions asked.'

Sir Joseph folded up the cheque and put it in his pocket.

'That's a pity. But the money's the thing. And what do I owe you, Mr Poirot?'

'My fees will not be high. This was, as I said, a very unimportant matter.' He paused – and added, 'Nowadays nearly all my cases are murder cases…'

Sir Joseph started slightly. 'Must be interesting?' he said.

'Sometimes. Curiously enough, you recall to me one of my early cases in Belgium, many years ago – the chief protagonist was very like you in appearance. He was a wealthy soap manufacturer. He poisoned his wife in order to be free to marry his secretary… Yes – the resemblance is very remarkable…'

A faint sound came from Sir Joseph's lips – they had gone a queer blue colour. All the ruddy hue had faded from his cheeks. His eyes, starting out of his head, stared at Poirot. He slipped down a little in his chair.

Then, with a shaking hand, he fumbled in his pocket. He drew out the cheque and tore it into pieces.

'That's washed out – see? Consider it as your fee.'

'Oh but, Sir Joseph, my fee would not have been as large as that.'

'That's all right. You keep it.'

'I shall send it to a deserving charity.'

'Send it anywhere you damn well like.'

Poirot leaned forward. He said: 'I think I need hardly point out. Sir Joseph, that in your position, you would do well to be exceedingly careful.'

Sir Joseph said, his voice almost inaudible: 'You needn't worry. I shall be careful all right.'

Hercule Poirot left the house. As he went down the steps he said to himself: 'So – I was right.'

X

Lady Hoggin said to her husband: 'Funny, this tonic tastes quite different. It hasn't got that bitter taste any more. I wonder why?'

Sir Joseph growled: 'Chemist. Careless fellows. Make things up differently different times.'

Lady Hoggin said doubtfully: 'I suppose that must be it.'

'Of course it is. What else could it be?'

'Has the man found out anything about Shan Tung?'

'Yes. He got me my money back all right.'

'Who was it?'

'He didn't say. Very close fellow, Hercule Poirot. But you needn't worry.'

'He's a funny little man, isn't he?'

Sir Joseph gave a slight shiver and threw a sideways glance upwards as though he felt the invisible presence of Hercule Poirot behind his right shoulder. He had an idea that he would always feel it there.

He said: 'He's a damned clever little devil!'

And he thought to himself: 'Greta can go hang! I'm not going to risk my neck for any damned platinum blonde!'

XI

'Oh!'

Amy Carnaby gazed down incredulously at the cheque for two hundred pounds. She cried: 'Emily! Emily! Listen to this.

Dear Miss Carnaby,

Allow me to enclose a contribution to your very deserving Fund before it is finally wound up.

Yours very truly,

Hercule Poirot.'

'Amy,' said Emily Carnaby, 'you've been incredibly lucky. Think where you might be now.'

'Wormwood Scrubbs – or is it Holloway?' murmured Amy Carnaby. 'But that's all over now – isn't it, Augustus? No more walks to the Park with mother or mother's friends and a little pair of scissors.'

A far away wistfulness came into her eyes. She sighed.

'Dear Augustus! It seems a pity. He's so clever… One can teach him anything.'

Chapter 2 THE LERNEAN HYDRA

I

Hercule Poirot looked encouragingly at the man seated opposite him.

Dr Charles Oldfield was a man of perhaps forty. He had fair hair slightly grey at the temples and blue eyes that held a worried expression. He stooped a little and his manner was a trifle hesitant. Moreover, he seemed to find difficulty in coming to the point.

He said, stammering slightly: 'I've come to you, M. Poirot, with rather an odd request. And now that I'm here, I'm inclined to funk the whole thing. Because, as I see very well now, it's the sort of thing that no one can possibly do anything about.'

Hercule Poirot murmured: 'As to that, you must let me judge.'

Oldfield muttered: 'I don't know why I thought that perhaps -'

He broke off.

Hercule Poirot finished the sentence.