Agatha Christie - The Labours of Hercules

"Perhaps," said Poirot, "because I am afraid myself."

The deep grey eyes opened wide, stared up at him. She said in a whisper: "What are you afraid of?"

Hercule Poirot sighed – a deep sigh.

He said: "It is much easier to catch a murderer than it is to prevent a murder."

She cried out: "Murder? Don't use that word."

"Nevertheless," said Hercule Poirot, "I do use it."

He altered his tone, speaking quickly and authoritatively.

"Mademoiselle, it is necessary that both you and I should pass the night at Lyde Manor. I look to you to arrange the matter. You can do that?"

"I – yes – I suppose so. But why -?"

"Because there is no time to lose. You have told me that you have courage. Prove that courage now. Do what I ask and make no questions about it."

She nodded without a word and turned away.

Poirot followed her into the house after the lapse of a moment or two. He heard her voice in the library and the voices of three men. He passed up the broad staircase. There was no one on the upper floor.

He found Hugh Chandler's room easily enough. In the corner of the room was a fitted washbasin with hot and cold water. Over it, on a glass shelf, were various tubes and pots and bottles.

Hercule Poirot went quickly and dexterously to work…

What he had to do did not take him long. He was downstairs again in the hall when Diana came out of the library, looking flushed and rebellious.

"It's all right," she said.

Admiral Chandler drew Poirot into the library and closed the door. He said: "Look here, M. Poirot, I don't like this."

"What don't you like, Admiral Chandler?"

"Diana has been insisting that you and she should both spend the night here. I don't want to be inhospitable -"

"It is not a question of hospitality."

"As I say, I don't like being inhospitable – but frankly, I don't like it, M. Poirot. I – I don't want it. And I don't understand the reason for it. What good can it possibly do?"

"Shall we say that it is an experiment I am trying?"

"What kind of an experiment?"

"That, you will pardon me, is my business…"

"Now look here, M. Poirot, I didn't ask you to come here in the first place -"

Poirot interrupted.

"Believe me, Admiral Chandler, I quite understand and appreciate your point of view. I am here simply and solely because of the obstinacy of a girl in love. You have told me certain things. Colonel Frobisher has told me certain things. Hugh himself has told me certain things. Now – I want to see for myself."

"Yes, but see what? I tell you, there's nothing to see! I lock Hugh into his room every night and that's that."

"And yet – sometimes – he tells me that the door is not locked in the morning?"

"What's that?"

"Have you not found the door unlocked yourself?"

Chandler was frowning.

"I always imagined George had unlocked – what do you mean?"

"Where do you leave the key – in the lock?"

"No, I lay it on the chest outside. I, or George, or Withers, the valet, take it from there in the morning. We've told Withers it's because Hugh walks in his sleep… I daresay he knows more – but he's a faithful fellow, been with me for years."

"Is there another key?"

"Not that I know of."

"One could have been made."

"But who -"

"Your son thinks that he himself has one hidden somewhere, although he is unaware of it in his waking state."

Colonel Frobisher, speaking from the far end of the room, said: "I don't like it, Charles… The girl -"

Admiral Chandler said quickly: "Just what I was thinking. The girl mustn't come back with you. Come back yourself, if you like."

Poirot said: "Why don't you want Miss Maberly here tonight?"

Frobisher said in a low voice: "It's too risky. In these cases -"

He stopped.

Poirot said: "Hugh is devoted to her…"

Chandler cried: "That's just why! Damn it all, man, everything's topsy-turvy where a madman's concerned. Hugh knows that himself. Diana mustn't come here."

"As to that," said Poirot, "Diana must decide for herself."

He went out of the library. Diana was waiting outside in the car. She called out, "We'll get what we want for the night and be back in time for dinner."

As they drove down the long drive, Poirot repeated to her the conversation he had just held with the Admiral and Colonel Frobisher. She laughed scornfully.

"Do they think Hugh would hurt me?"

By way of reply, Poirot asked her if she would mind stopping at the chemist's in the village. He had forgotten, he said, to pack a toothbrush.

The chemist's shop was in the middle of the peaceful village street. Diana waited outside in the car. It struck her that Hercule Poirot was a long time choosing a toothbrush…

In the big bedroom with the heavy Elizabethan oak furniture, Hercule Poirot sat and waited. There was nothing to do but wait. All his arrangements were made.

It was towards early morning that the summons came.

At the sound of footsteps outside, Poirot drew back the bolt and opened the door. There were two men in the passage outside – two middle-aged men who looked older than their years. The Admiral was stern-faced and grim. Colonel Frobisher twitched and trembled.

Chandler said simply: "Will you come with us, M. Poirot?"

There was a huddled figure lying outside Diana Maberly's bedroom door. The light fell on a rumpled, tawny head. Hugh Chandler lay there breathing stertorously. He was in his dressing-gown and slippers. In his right hand was a sharply-curved, shining knife. Not all of it was shining – here and there it was obscured by red glistening patches.

Hercule Poirot exclaimed softly: "Mon Dieu!"

Frobisher said sharply: "She's all right. He hasn't touched her."

He raised his voice and called: "Diana! It's us! Let us in!"

Poirot heard the Admiral groan and mutter under his breath: "My boy. My poor boy."

There was a sound of bolts being drawn. The door opened and Diana stood there. Her face was dead white.

She faltered out: "What's happened? There was someone – trying to get in – I heard them – feeling the door – the handle – scratching on the panels – Oh! it was awful… like an animal…"

Frobisher said sharply: "Thank God your door was locked!"

"M. Poirot told me to lock it."

Poirot said: "Lift him up and bring him inside."

The two men stooped and raised the unconscious man. Diana caught her breath with a little gasp as they passed her.

"Hugh? Is it Hugh? What's that – on his hands?"

Hugh Chandler's hands were sticky and wet with a brownish, red stain.

Diana breathed: "Is that blood?"

Poirot looked inquiringly at the two men.

The Admiral nodded. He said: "Not human, thank God! A cat! I found it downstairs in the hall. Throat cut. Afterwards he must have come up here -"

"Here?" Diana's voice was low with horror. "To me?"

The man on the chair stirred – muttered. They watched him, fascinated. Hugh Chandler sat up. He blinked.

"Hullo," his voice was dazed – hoarse. "What's happened? Why am I -?"

He stopped. He was staring at the knife which he held still clasped in his hand.

He said in a slow, thick voice: "What have I done?"

His eyes went from one to the other. They rested at last on Diana shrinking back against the wall.

He said quietly: "Did I attack Diana?"

His father shook his head.

Hugh said: "Tell me what has happened? I've got to know!"

They told him – told him unwillingly – haltingly. His quiet perseverance drew it out of them.

Outside the window the sun was coming up. Hercule Poirot drew a curtain aside. The radiance of the dawn came into the room.

Hugh Chandler's face was composed, his voice was steady.