The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [101]
“And the answer, you think, is this place Hell?”
“We believe it’s the headquarters of the whole racket. We’ve discovered where the work on the jewellery is done—a place called Golconda Ltd—respectable enough on the surface, high-class imitation jewellery. There’s a nasty bit of work called Paul Varesco—ah, I see you know him?”
“I have seen him—in Hell.”
“That’s where I’d like to see him—in the real place! He’s as bad as they make ’em—but women—even decent women—eat out of his hand! He’s got some kind of connection with Golconda Ltd and I’m pretty sure he’s the man behind Hell. It’s ideal for his purpose—everyone goes there, society women, professional crooks—it’s the perfect meeting place.”
“You think the exchange—jewels for dope—takes place there?”
“Yes. We know the Golconda side of it—we want the other—the dope side. We want to know who’s supplying the stuff and where it’s coming from.”
“And so far you have no idea?”
“I think it’s the Russian woman—but we’ve no evidence. A few weeks ago we thought we were getting somewhere. Varesco went to the Golconda place, picked up some stones there and went straight from there to Hell. Stevens was watching him, but he didn’t actually see him pass the stuff. When Varesco left we picked him up—the stones weren’t on him. We raided the club, rounded up everybody! Result, no stones, no dope!”
“A fiasco, in fact?”
Japp winced. “You’re telling me! Might have got in a bit of a jam, but luckily in the round up we got Peverel (you know, the Battersea murderer). Pure luck, he was supposed to have got away to Scotland. One of our smart sergeants spotted him from his photos. So all’s well that ends well—kudos for us—terrific boost for the club—it’s been more packed than ever since!”
Poirot said:
“But it does not advance the dope inquiry. There is, perhaps, a place of concealment on the premises?”
“Must be. But we couldn’t find it. Went over the place with a toothcomb. And between you and me, there’s been an unofficial search as well—” he winked. “Strictly on the Q.T. Spot of breaking and entering. Not a success, our ‘unofficial’ man nearly got torn to pieces by that ruddy great dog! It sleeps on the premises.”
“Aha, Cerberus?”
“Yes. Silly name for a dog—to call it after a packet of salt.”
“Cerberus,” murmured Poirot thoughtfully.
“Suppose you try your hand at it, Poirot,” suggested Japp. “It’s a pretty problem and worth doing. I hate the drug racket, destroys people body and soul. That really is Hell if you like!”
Poirot murmured meditatively: “It would round off things—yes. Do you know what the twelfth Labor of Hercules was?”
“No idea.”
“The Capture of Cerberus. It is appropriate, is it not?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, old man, but remember: ‘Dog eats Man’ is news.” And Japp leaned back roaring with laughter.
III
“I wish to speak to you with the utmost seriousness,” said Poirot.
The hour was early, the Club as yet nearly empty. The Countess and Poirot sat at a small table near the doorway.
“But I do not feel serious,” she protested. “La petite Alice, she is always serious and, entre nous, I find it very boring. My poor Niki, what fun will he have? None.”
“I entertain for you much affection,” continued Poirot steadily. “And I do not want to see you in what is called the jam.”
“But it is absurd what you say there! I am on top of the world, the money it rolls in!”
“You own this place?”
The Countess’s eye became slightly evasive.
“Certainly,” she replied.
“But you have a partner?”
“Who told you that?” asked the Countess sharply.
“Is your partner Paul Varesco?”
“Oh! Paul Varesco! What an idea!”
“He has a bad—a criminal record. Do you realize that you have criminals frequenting this place?”
The Countess burst out laughing.
“There speaks the bon bourgeois! Naturally I realize! Do you not see that that is half the attraction of this place? These young people from Mayfair