Agatha Christie - The Labours of Hercules

"So it seems. It would be quite possible, you know."

Dr Lutz said: "And why was he killed? And who killed him?"

Schwartz cried: "That's easy. He was to share out the money with his gang. He didn't. He double-crossed them. He came here, to this out of the way place, to lie low for a while. He thought it was the last place in the world they'd ever think of. He was wrong. Somehow or other they got wise to it and followed him." He touched the dead body with the tip of his shoe. "And they settled his account – like this."

Hercule Poirot murmured: "Yes, it was not quite the kind of rendezvous we thought."

Dr Lutz said irritably: "These hows and whys may be very interesting, but I am concerned with our present position. Here we have a dead man. I have a sick man on my hands and a limited amount of medical supplies. And we are cut off from the world! For how long?"

Schwartz added: "And we've got three murderers locked in a cupboard! It's what I'd call kind of an interesting situation."

Dr Lutz said: "What do we do?"

Poirot said: "First, we get hold of the manager. He is not a criminal, that one, only a man who was greedy for money. He is a coward, too. He will do everything we tell him. My good friend Jacques, or his wife, will perhaps provide some cord. Our three miscreants must be placed where we can guard them in safety until the day when help comes. I think that Mr Schwartz's automatic will be effective in carrying out any plans we may make."

Dr Lutz said: "And I? What do I do?"

"You, doctor?" said Poirot gravely, "will do all you can for your patient. The rest of us will employ ceaseless vigilance – and wait. There is nothing else we can do."

It was three days later that a little party of men appeared in front of the hotel in the early hours of the morning.

It was Hercule Poirot who opened the front door to them with a flourish.

"Welcome, mon vieux."

Monsieur Lementeuil, Commissaire of Police, seized Poirot by both hands.

"Ah, my friend, with what emotion I greet you! What stupendous events – what emotions you have passed through! And we below, our anxiety, our fears – knowing nothing – fearing everything. No wireless – no means of communication. To heliograph, that was indeed a stroke of genius on your part."

"No, no," Poirot endeavoured to look modest. "After all, when the inventions of man fail, one falls back upon nature. There is always the sun in the sky."

The little party filed into the hotel.

Lementeuil said: "We are not expected?" His smile was somewhat grim.

Poirot smiled also. He said: "But no! It is believed that the funicular is not nearly repaired yet."

Lementeuil said with emotion: "Ah, this is a great day. There is no doubt, you think? It is really Marrascaud?"

"It is Marrascaud all right. Come with me."

They went up the stairs. A door opened and Schwartz came out in his dressing-gown. He stared when he saw the men.

"I heard voices," he explained. "Why, what's this?"

Hercule Poirot said grandiloquently: "Help has come! Accompany us, monsieur. This is a great moment."

He started up the next flight of stairs.

Schwartz said: "Are you going up to Drouet? How is he, by the way?"

"Dr Lutz reported him going well last night."

They came to the door of Drouet's room. Poirot flung it open. He announced: "Here is your wild boar, gentlemen. Take him alive and see to it that he does not cheat the guillotine."

The man in the bed, his face still bandaged, started up. But the police officers had him by the arms before he could move.

Schwartz cried bewildered: "But that's Gustave the waiter – that's Inspector Drouet."

"It is Gustave, yes – but it is not Drouet. Drouet was the first waiter, the waiter Robert who was imprisoned in the unused part of the hotel and whom Marrascaud killed the same night as the attack was made on me."

Over breakfast, Poirot explained gently to the bewildered American.

"You comprehend, there are certain things one knows – knows quite certainly in the course of one's profession. One knows, for instance, the difference between a detective and a murderer! Gustave was no waiter – that I suspected at once – but equally he was not a policeman. I have dealt with policemen all my life and I know. He could pass as a detective to an outsider – but not to a man who was a policeman himself.

"And so, at once, I was suspicious. That evening, I did not drink my coffee. I poured it away. And I was wise. Late that evening a man came into my room, came in with the easy confidence of one who knows that the man whose room he is searching is drugged. He looked through my affairs and he found the letter in my wallet – where I had left it for him to find! The next morning Gustave comes into my room with my coffee. He greets me by name and acts his part with complete assurance. But he is anxious – horribly anxious – for somehow or other the police have got on his track! They have learnt where he is and that is for him a terrible disaster. It upsets all his plans. He is caught up here like a rat in a trap."

Schwartz said: "The damn fool thing was ever to come here! Why did he?"

Poirot said gravely: "It is not so foolish as you think. He had need, urgent need, of a retired spot, away from the world, where he could meet a certain person, and where a certain happening could take place."

"What person?"

"Dr Lutz."

"Dr Lutz? Is he a crook too?"

"Dr Lutz is really Dr Lutz – but he is not a nerve specialist – not a psychoanalyst. He is a surgeon, my friend, a surgeon who specialises in facial surgery. That is why he was to meet Marrascaud here. He is poor now, turned out of his country. He was offered a huge fee to meet a man here and change that man's appearance by means of his surgical skill. He may have guessed that that man was a criminal, but if so, he shut his eyes to the fact. Realise this, they dared not risk a nursing home in some foreign country. No, up here, where no one ever comes so early in the season except for an odd visit, where the manager is a man in need of money who can be bribed, was an ideal spot.

"But, as I say, matters went wrong. Marrascaud was betrayed. The three men, his bodyguard, who were to meet him here and look after him had not yet arrived, but Marrascaud acts at once. The police officer who is pretending to be a waiter is kidnapped and Marrascaud takes his place. The gang arrange for the funicular to be wrecked. It is a matter of time. The following evening Drouet is killed and a paper is pinned on the dead body. It is hoped that by the time that communications are established with the world Drouet's body may have been buried as that of Marrascaud. Dr Lutz performs his operation without delay. But one man must be silenced – Hercule Poirot. So the gang are sent to attack me. Thanks to you, my friend -"

Hercule Poirot bowed gracefully to Schwartz who said: "So you're really Hercule Poirot?"

"Precisely."

"And you were never fooled by that body for a minute? You knew all along that it wasn't Marrascaud?"

"Certainly."

"Why didn't you say so?"

Hercule Poirot's face was suddenly stern.

"Because I wanted to be quite sure of handing the real Marrascaud over to the police."

He murmured below his breath: "To capture alive the wild boar of Erymanthea…"

"The situation is an extremely delicate one, M. Poirot."

A faint smile flitted across Hercule Poirot's lips. He almost replied: "It always is!"

Instead, he composed his face and put on what might be described as a bedside manner of extreme discretion.

Sir George Conway proceeded weightily. Phrases fell easily from his lips – the extreme delicacy of the Government's position – the interests of the public – the solidarity of the Party – the necessity of presenting a united front – the power of the Press – the welfare of the Country…