Agatha Christie - The Labours of Hercules

Another groan burst from Sir George.

Poirot asked: "You knew nothing of all this?"

Again the smile flashed across the weary face. Ferrier said: "You may not believe me, M. Poirot, but like everyone else, I was completely deceived. I never understood my wife's curious attitude of reserve towards her father. I understand it now. She knew his essential character."

He paused and then said: "When the truth began to leak out, I was horrified, incredulous. We insisted on my father-in-law's resignation on the grounds of ill-health and we set to work to – to clean up the mess, shall I say?"

Sir George groaned. "The Augean Stables!"

Poirot started.

Ferrier said: "It will prove, I fear, too Herculean a task for us. Once the facts become public, there will be a wave of reaction all over the country. The Government will fall. There will be a General Election and in all probability Everhard and his party will be returned to power. You know Everhard's policy."

Sir George spluttered. "A firebrand – a complete firebrand."

Ferrier said gravely: "Everhard has ability – but he is reckless, belligerent and utterly tactless. His supporters are inept and vacillating – it would be practically a Dictatorship."

Hercule Poirot nodded.

Sir George bleated out: "If only the whole thing can be hushed up…"

Slowly, the Premier shook his head. It was a movement of defeat.

Poirot said: "You do not believe that it can be hushed up?"

Ferrier said: "I sent for you, M. Poirot, as a last hope. In my opinion this business is too big, too many people know about it, for it to be successfully concealed. The only two methods open to us which are, to put it bluntly, the use of force, or the adoption of bribery – cannot really hope to succeed. The Home Secretary compared our troubles with the cleansing of the Augean Stables. It needs, M. Poirot, the violence of a river in spate, the disruption of the great natural forces of Nature – nothing less, in fact, than a miracle."

"It needs, in fact, a Hercules," said Poirot, nodding his head with a pleased expression.

He added: "My name, remember, is Hercule…"

Edward Ferrier said: "Can you perform miracles, M. Poirot?"

"It is why you sent for me, is it not? Because you thought that I might?"

"That is true… I realised that if salvation was to be achieved, it could only come through some fantastic and completely unorthodox suggestion."

He paused a minute, then he said: "But perhaps, M. Poirot, you take an ethical view of the situation? John Hammett was a crook, the legend of John Hammett must be exploded. Can one build an honest house on dishonest foundations? I do not know. But I do know that I want to try." He smiled with a sudden sharp bitterness. "The politician wants to remain in office – as usual from the highest motives."

Hercule Poirot rose.

He said: "Monsieur, my experience in the police force has not, perhaps, allowed me to think very highly of politicians. If John Hammett were in office – I would not lift a finger – no, not a little finger. But I know something about you. I have been told, by a man who is really great, one of the greatest scientists and brains of the day, that you are – a sound man. I will do what I can."

He bowed and left the room.

Sir George burst out: "Well, of all the damned cheek -"

But Edward Ferrier still smiling said: "It was a compliment."

On his way downstairs, Hercule Poirot was intercepted by a tall, fair-haired woman.

She said: "Please come into my sitting-room, M. Poirot."

He bowed and followed her.

She shut the door, motioned him to a chair, and offered him a cigarette. She sat down opposite him. She said quietly: "You have just seen my husband – and he has told you – about my father."

Poirot looked at her with attention. He saw a tall woman, still handsome, with character and intelligence in her face. Mrs Ferrier was a popular figure. As the wife of the Prime Minister she naturally came in for a good share of the limelight. As the daughter of her father, her popularity was even greater. Dagmar Ferrier represented the popular ideal of English womanhood.

She was a devoted wife, a fond mother, she shared her husband's love of country life. She interested herself in just those aspects of public life which were generally felt to be proper spheres of womanly activity. She dressed well, but never in an ostentatiously fashionable manner. She devoted much of her time and activity to large-scale charities, she had inaugurated special schemes for the relief of the wives of unemployed men. She was looked up to by the whole nation and was a most valuable asset to the Party.

Hercule Poirot said: "You must be terribly worried, Madame."

"Oh, I am – you don't know how much. For years I have been dreading – something."

Poirot said: "You had no idea of what was going on actually?"

She shook her head. "No – not in the least. I only knew that my father was not – was not what everyone thought him. I realised, from the time that I was a child, that he was a – a humbug."

Her voice was deep and bitter. She said: "It is through marrying me that Edward – that Edward will lose everything."

Poirot said in a quiet voice: "Have you any enemies, Madame?"

She looked up at him, surprised.

"Enemies? I don't think so."

Poirot said thoughtfully: "I think you have…" He went on: "Have you courage, Madame? There is a great campaign afoot – against your husband – and against yourself. You must prepare to defend yourself."

She cried: "But it doesn't matter about me. Only about Edward!"

Poirot said: "The one includes the other. Remember, Madame, you are Caesar's wife."

He saw her colour ebb. She leaned forward.

She said: "What is it you are trying to tell me?"

Percy Perry, editor of the X-ray News, sat behind his desk smoking.

He was a small man with a face like a weasel.

He was saying in a soft, oily voice: "We'll give 'em the dirt, all right. Lovely – lovely! Oh boy!"

His second-in-command, a thin, spectacled youth, said uneasily: "You're not nervous?"

"Expecting strong arm stuff? Not them. Haven't got the nerve. Wouldn't do them any good, either. Not the way we've got it farmed out – in this country and on the Continent and America."

The other said: "They must be in a pretty good stew. Won't they do anything?"

"They'll send someone to talk pretty -"

A buzzer sounded. Percy Perry picked up a receiver.

He said: "Who do you say? Right, send him up."

He put the receiver down – grinned.

"They've got that high-toned Belgian dick on to it. He's coming up now to do his stuff. Wants to know if we'll play ball."

Hercule Poirot came in. He was immaculately dressed – a white camellia in his buttonhole.

Percy Perry said: "Pleased to meet you, M. Poirot. On your way to the Royal Enclosure at Ascot? No? My mistake."

Hercule Poirot said: "I am flattered. One hopes to present a good appearance. It is even more important," his eyes roamed innocently over the editor's face and somewhat slovenly attire, "when one has few natural advantages."

Perry said shortly: "What do you want to see me about?"

Poirot leaned forward, tapped him on the knee, and said with a beaming smile: "Blackmail."

"What the devil do you mean, blackmail?"

"I have heard – the little bird has told me – that on occasions you have been on the point of publishing certain very damaging statements in your so spirituel paper – then, there has been a pleasant little increase in your bank balance – and after all, those statements have not been published."

Poirot leaned back and nodded his head in a satisfied sort of way.