The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [105]
“The man who is your partner in Hell?”
“Yes, yes, it is he who owns the place, who puts up the money. Until now I do not betray him—I can keep faith, me! But now that he double-crosses me, that he tries to embroil me with the police—ah! now I will spit his name out—yes, spit it out!”
“Calm yourself,” said Poirot, “and come with me into the next room.”
He opened the door. It was a small room and seemed for a moment to be completely filled with DOG. Cerberus had looked outsize even in the spacious premises of Hell. In the tiny dining room of Poirot’s service flat there seemed nothing else but Cerberus in the room. There was also, however, the small and odoriferous man.
“We’ve turned up here according to plan, guv’nor,” said the little man in a husky voice.
“Dou dou!” screamed the Countess. “My angel Dou dou!”
Cerberus beat the floor with his tail—but he did not move.
“Let me introduce you to Mr. William Higgs,” shouted Poirot, above the thunder of Cerberus’s tail. “A master in his profession. During the brouhaha tonight,” went on Poirot, “Mr. Higgs induced Cerberus to follow him up out of Hell.”
“You induced him?” The Countess stared incredulously at the small ratlike figure. “But how? How?”
Mr. Higgs dropped his eyes bashfully.
“ ’Ardly like to say afore a lady. But there’s things no dogs won’t resist. Follow me anywhere a dog will if I want ’im to. Of course you understand it won’t work the same way with bitches—no, that’s different, that is.”
The Countess Rossakoff turned on Poirot.
“But why? Why?”
Poirot said slowly:
“A dog trained for the purpose will carry an article in his mouth until he is commanded to loose it. He will carry it if needs be for hours. Will you now tell your dog to drop what he holds?”
Vera Rossakoff stared, turned, and uttered two crisp words.
The great jaws of Cerberus opened. Then, it was really alarming, Cerberus’s tongue seemed to drop out of his mouth. . . .
Poirot stepped forward. He picked up a small package encased in pink, spongebag rubber. He unwrapped it. Inside it was a packet of white powder.
“What is it?” the Countess demanded sharply.
Poirot said softly:
“Cocaine. Such a small quantity, it would seem—but enough to be worth thousands of pounds to those willing to pay for it . . . Enough to bring ruin and misery to several hundred people. . . .”
She caught her breath. She cried out:
“And you think that I—but it is not so! I swear to you it is not so! In the past I have amused myself with the jewels, the bibelots, the little curiosities—it all helps one to live, you understand. And what I feel is, why not? Why should one person own a thing more than another?”
“Just what I feel about dogs,” Mr. Higgs chimed in.
“You have no sense of right or wrong,” said Poirot sadly to the Countess.
She went on:
“But drugs—that no! For there one causes misery, pain, degeneration! I had no idea—no faintest idea—that my so charming, so innocent, so delightful little Hell was being used for that purpose!”
“I agree with you about dope,” said Mr. Higgs. “Doping of greyhounds—that’s dirty, that is! I wouldn’t never have nothing to do with anything like that, and I never ’ave ’ad!”
“But you say you believe me, my friend,” implored the Countess.
“But of course I believe you! Have I not taken time and trouble to convict the real organizer of the dope racket. Have I not performed the twelfth Labor of Hercules and brought Cerberus up from Hell to prove my case? For I tell you this, I do not like to see my friends framed—yes, framed—for it was you who were intended to take the rap if things went wrong! It was in your handbag the emeralds would have been found and if any one had been clever enough (like me) to suspect a hiding place in the mouth of a savage dog—eh bien, he is your dog, is he not? Even if he has accepted la petite Alice to the point of obeying her orders also! Yes, you may well open your eyes! From the first I did not like that young lady with her scientific jargon and her coat and skirt with the big pockets. Yes, pockets. Unnatural