The Labours of Hercules

‘Good work. Then, when you have got anything to report–’

‘I will report to you at your house.’

Sir Joseph said:

‘If you get to the bottom of this business, it will be a pretty good piece of work.’

Hercule Poirot said:

‘There is no question of failure. Hercule Poirot does not fail.’

Sir Joseph Hoggin looked at the little man and grinned.

‘Sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ he demanded.

‘Entirely with reason.’

‘Oh well.’ Sir Joseph Hoggin leaned back in his chair. ‘Pride goes before a fall, you know.’

VI

Hercule Poirot, sitting in front of his electric radiator (and feeling a quiet satisfaction in its neat geometrical pattern) was giving instructions to his valet and general factotum.

‘You understand, Georges?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

‘More probably a flat or maisonette. And it will definitely be within certain limits. South of the Park, east of Kensington Church, west of Knightsbridge Barracks and north of Fulham Road.’

‘I understand perfectly, sir.’

Poirot murmured.

‘A curious little case. There is evidence here of a very definite talent for organization. And there is, of course, the surprising invisibility of the star performer–the Nemean Lion himself, if I may so style him. Yes, an interesting little case. I could wish that I felt more attracted to my client–but he bears an unfortunate resemblance to a soap manufacturer of Lie`ge who poisoned his wife in order to marry a blonde secretary. One of my early successes.’

Georges shook his head. He said gravely:

‘These blondes, sir, they’re responsible for a lot of trouble.’

VII

It was three days later when the invaluable Georges said:

‘This is the address, sir.’

Hercule Poirot took the piece of paper handed to him.

‘Excellent, my good Georges. And what day of the week?’

‘Thursdays, sir.’

‘Thursdays. And today, most fortunately, is a Thursday. So there need be no delay.’

Twenty minutes later Hercule Poirot was climbing the stairs of an obscure block of flats tucked away in a little street leading off a more fashionable one. No. 10 Rosholm Mansions was on the third and top floor and there was no lift. Poirot toiled upwards round and round the narrow corkscrew staircase.

He paused to regain his breath on the top landing and from behind the door of No. 10 a new sound broke the silence–the sharp bark of a dog.

Hercule Poirot nodded his head with a slight smile. He pressed the bell of No. 10.

The barking redoubled–footsteps came to the door, it was opened…

Miss Amy Carnaby fell back, her hand went to her ample breast.

‘You permit that I enter?’ said Hercule Poirot, and entered without waiting for the reply.

There was a sitting-room door open on the right and he walked in. Behind him Miss Carnaby followed as though in a dream.

The room was very small and much overcrowded. Amongst the furniture a human being could be discovered, an elderly woman lying on a sofa drawn up to the gas fire. As Poirot came in, a Pekinese dog jumped off the sofa and came forward uttering a few sharp suspicious barks.

‘Aha,’ said Poirot. ‘The chief actor! I salute you, my little friend.’

He bent forward, extending his hand. The dog sniffed at it, his intelligent eyes fixed on the man’s face.

Miss Carnaby muttered faintly:

‘So you know?’

Hercule Poirot nodded.

‘Yes, I know.’ He looked at the woman on the sofa. ‘Your sister, I think?’

Miss Carnaby said mechanically: ‘Yes, Emily, this–this is Mr Poirot.’

Emily Carnaby gave a gasp. She said: ‘Oh!’

Amy Carnaby said:

‘Augustus…’

The Pekinese looked towards her–his tail moved–then he resumed his scrutiny of Poirot’s hand. Again his tail moved faintly.

Gently, Poirot picked the little dog up and sat down with Augustus on his knee. He said:

‘So I have captured the Nemean Lion. My task is completed.’

Amy Carnaby said in a hard dry voice:

‘Do you really know everything?’