Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Read online

  consult the manager."

  Hercule Poirot said, "Ah, the manager. I think first we will consult

  the waiter-Gustave-alias Inspector Drouet.

  But yes-the waiter Gustave is really a detective."

  Schwartz stared at him.

  "So that's why they did itl"

  ::That is why who did what?"

  This bunch of crooks got to you second on the list.

  They'd already carved up Gustave."

  "What?"

  "Come with me. The doc's busy on him now."

  Drouet's room was a small orie on the tol) floor. Dr. Lutz, in a

  dressing-gown, was busy bandaging the injured man's face.

  He turned his head as they entered.

  "Alil It is you, Mr. Schwartz? A nasty business, this.

  What butchersl What inhuman mostersl" Drouet lay still, moaning faintly.

  Schwartz asked, "Is he in danger?"

  "He will not die, if that is what you mean. But he must not speak-there

  must be no excitement. I have dressed the wounds-there will be no risk

  of septicemia."

  The three men left the room together.

  Schwartz said to Poirot, "Did you say Gustave was a police officer?"

  Hercule Poirot nodded.

  "But what *as he doing up at Rochers Neiges?"

  "He was engaged in tracking down a very dangerous criminal."

  In a few words Poirot explained the situation.

  Dr. Lutz said, "Marrascaud? I read about the case in the paper. I

  should much like to meet that man. There is some deep abnormality

  therel I should like to know the particulars of his childhood."

  "For myself," said Hercule Poirot, "I should like to know exactly where

  he is at this minute."

  Schwartz said, "Isn't he one of those three we locked in the cupboard?"

  Po,ot said in a dissatisfied voice, "It is J:)ossible-yes, but

  me, I am not sure.... I have an idea-"

  He broke off, staring down at the carpet. It was of a light buff color

  and there were marks on it of a deep rusty brown.

  Hercule Poirot said, "Footsteps-footsteps that have trodden, I think, in

  blood and they lead from the unused wing of the hotel. Come-we must be

  quickl"

  They followed him through a swing door and along a dim, dusty corridor.

  They turned the corner of it, still following the marks on the carpet

  until the tracks led them to a half-open doorway.

  Poirot pushed the door open and entered.

  He uttered a sharp, horrified exclamation.

  The room was a bedroom. The bed had been slept in and there was a tray

  of food on the table.

  In the middle of the floor lay the body of a man. He was of just over

  middle height and he had been attacked with savage and unbelievable

  ferocity. There were a dozen wounds on his arms and chest and his head

  and face had been battered almost to a pulp.

  Schwartz gave a half-stifled exclamation and turned away, looking as

  though he might be sick.

  Dr. Lutz uttered a horrified exclamation in German.

  Schwartz said faintly, "Who is this guy? Does anyone know?"

  "I fancy," said Poirot, "that he was known here as Robert, a rather

  unskillful waiter."

  Lutz had gone nearer, bending over the body. He pointed with a finger.

  There was a paper pinned to the dead man's breast. It had some words

  scrawled on it in ink:

  Marrascaud will kill no more-nor will he rob his friends!

  Schwartz ejaculated, "Marrascaud? So this is Marrascaudl But what

  brought him up here to this out-of-theway spot? And why do you say his

  name is Robert?"

  Poirot said, "He was here masquerading as a waiterand by all accounts he

  was a very bad waiter. So bad that no one was surprised when he was

  given the sack. He left

  -presumably to return to Andermatt. But nobody saw him go."

  Lutz said in his slow, rumbling voice, "So-and what do you think

  happened?"

  Poirot replied, "I think we have here the explanation of a certain

  worried expression on the hotel manager's face. Marrascaud must have

  offered him a big bribe to allow him to remain hidden in the unused part

  of the hotel.

  But the manager was not happy about it. Oh, no, he was not happy at

  all."

  '!And Marrascaud continued to live in this unused wing with no one but

  the manager knowing about it?"

  "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 oat the money with his

  gang. He didn't. He double-crossed te.

  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 woi-ld they'd ever think of. He

  was wrong. Somehow or other they got wise to it and followed him." He

  toliclied 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 worldl For how long?"

  Schwaptz added, "And we've got three murderers locked in a cupboardl

  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 evervthing we tell him. My good friend ' Jacques, or his wife,

  will perhaps provide some cord. Our tfiree nscreants 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 youl What stupendous

  events-what emotions you have passed throughl 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 endeavored 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, nol It is believed that the

  funicular is not nearly repaired yet."

  Lementeuil said with emotion, "Ah, this is a great day.

  Ther
e 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.

  "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, "Ai-e you going up to Drouet? How is he, by the way?"

  "Dr. Lutz reported him going on 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 wailei-,

  the waiter Robert who was l)i-isotie(( ill 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 knowsknows quite certainly

  in the course of one's profession.

  One knows, for instance, the difference between a (letective and a

  murdererl Gustave was no waiter-that I suspected at once-but equally he

  was not a policeman. I have dealt with 1)oliceinen all my life and I

  know. He COLIICI I)ZISS as a detective to an outsider-but not to a man

  who was a policeman himself.

  "And so at otice I was suspicious. That evening I did not drink my

  coffee. I potire(i it away. Atid I was wise. L-,Ite that evetng a man

  came into my room, came in with the confidence of one who knows that the

  mati whose- oolil he is sezirclilsig is drugged. He looked through my

  zilfa-s a(i he found the letter in my wallet-where I had left it for him

  to find! The next morning Gustave comes itito illy rooni with my

  coffee. He greets me by naitle anel a(:ts Is part with conil:)Iete

  assurance. But lie is anxious-liori-il)ly anxious-for somehow or other

  the police have got on Is track! They have learned wliere lie is and

  that is fol- I a terrible disaster. It upsets all Is 1)latis. He is

  calight til)

  here like a rat in a trap."

  Schwartz said, "The damn fool thing was ever to come heret 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 specializes 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. Realize 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 kidnaped, 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 Chat body for a minute?

  You knew all along that it wasn't Maer ascaud?"

  "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 mui-mure(I below Is breath, To capture alive the wild boar of

  E)ymanthea.

  "THE SITUATION IS AN EXTREMIELY DELICATE ONE, M. POirot."

  A faint smile flitted across Hercule Poirot's lips. He almost replied,

  ]t alzvays is!

  Instead, he conil)osed Is face and put on what might be des(:ribe(I as a

  bedside manner of extrenie discretion.

  Sir Geoi-ge Conway proceeded weigi-itily. Phrases fell easily from Is

  lips-the extreme delicacy of the Government's position-the interests of

  the public-the solid;trity of the party-the necessity of 1)reseliting a

  united frontthe power of the press-the welfare of the country....

  It :ill sounded well-and meant nothing. Hercule Poirot felt that

  familiar aching of the jaw when one longs to yawn and politeness

  forbids. He had felt the same sometimes when reading parliamentary

  debates. But on those occasions there had been o need to restrain his

  yawns.

  He steeled himself to endure patiently. He felt, at the saz)ie t-time,

  a sympathy for Sir George Conway. The man obviously wanted to tell him

  something-and as obvioitsly had lost the art of simple narration. Words

  had become to him a me;s of obscuring facts-not of revealing them. He

  was an a(lel)t in the art of the useful phrase-that is to say, the

  phrase that falls soothingly on the ear and is quite empty of meaning.

  the words rolled on-poor Sir George became quite red in the face. He

  shot a desperate glance at the other man, sitting at the head of the

  table, and that other man respoti(ted.

  Edward Ferrier said, "All right, George. I'll tell him."

  Hercule Poirot shifted his gaze from the Home Secretary to the Prime

  Minister. He felt a keen interest in Edwa;(l Fei-rier-an interest

  aroused by a chance phrase from

  an old man of eighty-two. Professor Fergus MacLeod, after disposing of

  a chemical difficulty in the conviction of a murderer, had touched for a

  moment on politics. On the retirement of the famous and beloved John

  Hammett (now Lord Dittisham), his son-in-law, Edward Ferrier, had been

  asked to form a Cabinet. As politicians go, he was a young man-under

  fifty. Professor MacLeod had said: "Ferrier was once one of my

  students. He's a sound man."

  That was all, but to Hercule Poirot it represented a good deal. If

  MacLeod called a iuan sound it was a
testimonial to character conipared

  with which no popular or press enthusiasm counted at all.

  It coincided, it was true, with the popular estimate. Edward Ferrier

  was considered sound-just that-not brilliant, not great, not a

  particularly eloquent orator, not a man of deep learning. Ht- was a

  sotind mana man I)red in the tradition-a man who had married John

  Hanimett's daughter-who had been John Hanimett's right-lian(I man and

  who could be trusted to carry on the government of the country in the

  John Hammett traditions.

  For John Hammett was particularly dear to the people and press of

  England. He represented every quality which was dear to Englishmen.

  People said of him: "One does feel that Hammett's honest." Anecdotes

  were told of his simple liome life, of his fondness for gardening.

  Corresponding to Baldwin's pipe and Chamberlain's umbrella, there was

  John Hammett's raincoat. He always carried it -a weather-worn garment.

  It stood as a symbol-of the English climate, of the prudent forethought

  of the English race of their attachment to old possessions. Nioreover,

  in his I)Itiff British way, John Hammett was an orator. His speeches,

  quietly and earnestly delivered, contained those simple sentimental

  clichfis which are so deeply rooted in the English heart. Foreigners

  sometimes criticize them as being both hypocritical and unbearably

  noble..Jolin Hammett did not in the least m(I being noble-in a sporting,

  public school, deprecating fashion.

  Moreover, lie was a man of fine presence, tall, upstanding, with fair

  coloring and very bright blue eyes. His

  mother had been a Dane and he himself had been for many years First Lord

  of the Admiralty, which gave rise to his nickname of the Viking." When

  at last ill-health forced him to give up the reins of office, deep

  uneasiness was felt. Who would succeed him? The brilliant Lord Charles

  Delafield? (Too brilliant-England didn't need brilliance.) Evan

  Whittler (Clever-but perhaps a little unscrupulous.) John Potter? (The

  sort of man who might fancy himself as dictator-and we didn't want any

  dictators in this country, thank you very much.) So a sigh of relief

  went up when the quiet Edward Ferrier assumed office. Ferrier was all

  right. He had been trained by the Old Man, he had married the Old Man's

  daughter. In the classic British phrase, Ferrier would "carry on."

  Hercule Poirot studied the quiet, dark-faced man with the low, pleasant

  voice. Lean and dark and tired-looking.

  Edward Ferrier was saying, "Perhaps, M. Poirot, you are ac(luainted

  with a weekly periodical called the X-Ray News?"

  "I have glanced at it," admitted Poirot, blushing slightly.

  The Prime Minister said, "Then you know more or less of what it

  consists. Semi-libelous matter. Snappy paragraphs hinting at

  sensational secret history. Solue of them true, some of them

  har-mless-but all served up in a spicy manner. Occasionally-"

  He paused and then said, his voice altering a little, "Occasionally

  something more."

  Hercule Poirot did not speak.

  Ferrier went on: "For two weeks now there have been hints of impending

  disclosures of a first-class scandal in 'the highest political circles."

  'Astonishing revelations of corruption and jobbery." "

  Hercule Poirot said, shrugging his shoulders, "A common trick. When the

  actual revelations come they usually disappoint the cravers after

  sensation badly."

  Ferrier said (tryly, "-These will not disappoint them."

  Hercule Poirot asked, "You know, then, what these revelations are going