Agatha Christie - The Labours of Hercules

"You knew him well also?"

"Charles is one of my oldest friends. He's my best friend – always has been."

"Did you see much of them – after the marriage?"

"Used to spend most of my leaves here. Like a second home to me, this place. Charles and Caroline always kept my room here – ready and waiting…" He squared his shoulders, suddenly thrust his head forward pugnaciously. "That's why I'm here now – to stand by in case I'm wanted. If Charles needs me – I'm here."

Again the shadow of tragedy crept over them.

"And what do you think – about all this?" Poirot asked.

Frobisher stood stiffly. His brows came down over his eyes.

"What I think is, the least said the better. And to be frank, I don't see what you're doing in the business, M. Poirot. I don't see why Diana roped you in and got you down here."

"You are aware that Diana Maberly's engagement to Hugh Chandler has been broken off?"

"Yes, I know that."

"And you know the reason for it?"

Frobisher replied stiffly: "I don't know anything about that. Young people manage these things between them. Not my business to butt in."

Poirot said: "Hugh Chandler told Diana that it was not right that they should marry, because he was going out of his mind."

He saw the beads of perspiration break out on Frobisher's forehead.

Frobisher said: "Have we got to talk about the damned thing? What do you think you can do? Hugh's done the right thing, poor devil. It's not his fault, it's heredity – germ plasm – brain cells… But once he knew, well, what else could he do but break the engagement? It's one of those things that just has to be done."

"If I could be convinced of that -"

"You can take it from me."

"But you have told me nothing."

"I tell you I don't want to talk about it."

"Why did Admiral Chandler force his son to leave the Navy?"

"Because it was the only thing to be done."

"Why?"

Frobisher shook an obstinate head.

Poirot murmured softly: "Was it to do with some sheep being killed?"

The other man said angrily: "So you've heard about that?"

"Diana told me."

"That girl had far better keep her mouth shut."

"She did not think it was conclusive."

"She doesn't know."

"What doesn't she know?"

Unwillingly, jerkily, angrily, Frobisher spoke: "Oh well, if you must have it… Chandler heard a noise that night. Thought it might be someone got in the house. Went out to investigate. Light in the boy's room. Chandler went in. Hugh asleep on bed – dead asleep – in his clothes. Blood on the clothes. Basin in the room full of blood. His father couldn't wake him. Next morning heard about sheep being found with their throats cut. Questioned Hugh. Boy didn't know anything about it. Didn't remember going out – and his shoes found by the side door caked in mud. Couldn't explain the blood in the basin. Couldn't explain anything. Poor devil didn't know, you understand.

"Charles came to me, talked it over. What was the best thing to be done? Then it happened again – three nights later. After that – well, you can see for yourself. The boy had got to leave the service. If he was here, under Charles' eye, Charles could watch over him. Couldn't afford to have a scandal in the Navy. Yes, it was the only thing to be done."

Poirot asked: "And since then?"

Frobisher said fiercely, "I'm not answering any more questions. Don't you think Hugh knows his own business best?"

Hercule Poirot did not answer. He was always loath to admit that anyone could know better than Hercule Poirot.

As they came into the hall, they met Admiral Chandler coming in. He stood for a moment, a dark figure silhouetted against the bright light outside.

He said in a low, gruff voice: "Oh there you both are. M. Poirot, I would like a word with you. Come into my study."

Frobisher went out through the open door, and Poirot followed the Admiral. He had rather the feeling of having been summoned to the quarter-deck to give an account of himself.

The Admiral motioned Poirot to take one of the big easy chairs and himself sat down in the other. Poirot, whilst with Frobisher, had been impressed by the other's restlessness, nervousness and irritability – all the signs of intense mental strain. With Admiral Chandler he felt a sense of hopelessness, of quiet, deep despair…

With a deep sigh. Chandler said: "I can't help being sorry Diana has brought you into this… Poor child, I know how hard it is for her. But – well – it is our own private tragedy, and I think you will understand, M. Poirot, that we don't want outsiders."

"I can understand your feeling, certainly."

"Diana, poor child, can't believe it… I couldn't at first. Probably wouldn't believe it now if I didn't know -"

He paused.

"Know what?"

"That it's in the blood. The taint, I mean."

"And yet you agreed to the engagement?"

Admiral Chandler flushed.

"You mean, I should have put my foot down then? But at the time I'd no idea. Hugh takes after his mother – nothing about him to remind you of the Chandlers. I hoped he'd taken after her in every way. From his childhood upwards, there's never been a trace of abnormality about him until now. I couldn't know that – dash it all, there's a trace of insanity in nearly every old family!"

Poirot said softly: "You have not consulted a doctor?"

Chandler roared: "No, and I'm not going to! The boy's safe enough here with me to look after him. They shan't shut him up between four walls like a wild beast…"

"He is safe here, you say. But are others safe?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Poirot did not reply. He looked steadily into Admiral Chandler's sad, dark eyes.

The Admiral said bitterly: "Each man to his trade. You're looking for a criminal! My boy's not a criminal, M. Poirot."

"Not yet."

"What do you mean by 'not yet'?"

"These things increase… Those sheep -"

"Who told you about the sheep?"

"Diana Maberly. And also your friend, Colonel Frobisher."

"George would have done better to keep his mouth shut."

"He is a very old friend of yours, is he not?"

"My best friend," the Admiral said gruffly.

"And he was a friend of – your wife's, too?"

Chandler smiled.

"Yes. George was in love with Caroline, I believe. When she was very young. He's never married. I believe that's the reason. Ah well, I was the lucky one – or so I thought. I carried her off – only to lose her."

He sighed and his shoulders sagged.

Poirot said: "Colonel Frobisher was with you when your wife was – drowned?"

Chandler nodded.

"Yes, he was with us down in Cornwall when it happened. She and I were out in the boat together – he happened to stay at home that day. I've never understood how that boat came to capsize… Must have sprung a sudden leak. We were right out in the bay – strong tide running. I held her up as long as I could…" His voice broke. "Her body was washed up two days later. Thank the Lord we hadn't taken little Hugh out with us! At least, that's what I thought at the time. Now – well – better for Hugh, poor devil, perhaps, if he had been with us. If it had all been finished and done for then…"

Again there came that deep, hopeless sigh.

"We're the last of the Chandlers, M. Poirot. There will be no more Chandlers at Lyde after we're gone. When Hugh got engaged to Diana, I hoped – well, it's no good talking of that. Thank God, they didn't marry. That's all I can say!"

Hercule Poirot sat on a seat in the rose garden. Beside him sat Hugh Chandler. Diana Maberly had just left them.

The young man turned a handsome, tortured face towards his companion.

He said: "You've got to make her understand, M. Poirot."