The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [11]
“I know what you mean,” said Hercule Poirot.
“And then seeing money frittered away so wastefully—that is upsetting. And Sir Joseph, occasionally he used to describe a coup he had made in the City—sometimes something that seemed to me (of course, I know I’ve only got a woman’s brain and don’t understand finance) downright dishonest. Well, you know, M. Poirot, it all—it all unsettled me, and I felt that to take a little money away from these people who really wouldn’t miss it and hadn’t been too scrupulous in acquiring it—well, really it hardly seemed wrong at all.”
Poirot murmured:
“A modern Robin Hood! Tell me, Miss Carnaby, did you ever have to carry out the threats you used in your letters?”
“Threats?”
“Were you ever compelled to mutilate the animals in the way you specified?”
Miss Carnaby regarded him in horror.
“Of course, I would never have dreamed of doing such a thing! That was just—just an artistic touch.”
“Very artistic. It worked.”
“Well, of course I knew it would. I know how I should have felt about Augustus, and of course I had to make sure these women never told their husbands until afterwards. The plan worked beautifully every time. In nine cases out of ten the companion was given the letter with the money to post. We usually steamed it open, took out the notes, and replaced them with paper. Once or twice the woman posted it herself. Then, of course, the companion had to go to the hotel and take the letter out of the rack. But that was quite easy, too.”
“And the nursemaid touch? Was it always a nursemaid?”
“Well, you see, M. Poirot, old maids are known to be foolishly sentimental about babies. So it seemed quite natural that they should be absorbed over a baby and not notice anything.”
Hercule Poirot sighed. He said:
“Your psychology is excellent, your organization is first class, and you are also a very fine actress. Your performance the other day when I interviewed Lady Hoggin was irreproachable. Never think of yourself disparagingly, Miss Carnaby. You may be what is termed an untrained woman but there is nothing wrong with your brains or with your courage.”
Miss Carnaby said with a faint smile:
“And yet I have been found out, M. Poirot.”
“Only by me. That was inevitable! When I had interviewed Mrs. Samuelson I realized that the kidnapping of Shan Tung was one of a series. I had already learned that you had once been left a Pekinese dog and had an invalid sister. I had only to ask my invaluable servant to look for a small flat within a certain radius occupied by an invalid lady who had a Pekinese dog and a sister who visited her once a week on her day out. It was simple.”
Amy Carnaby drew herself up. She said:
“You have been very kind. It emboldens me to ask you a favour. I cannot, I know, escape the penalty for what I have done. I shall be sent to prison, I suppose. But if you could, M. Poirot, avert some of the publicity. So distressing for Emily—and for those few who knew us in the old days. I could not, I suppose, go to prison under a false name? Or is that a very wrong thing to ask?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“I think I can do more than that. But first of all I must make one thing quite clear. This ramp has got to stop. There must be no more disappearing dogs. All that is finished!”
“Yes! Oh yes!”
“And the money you extracted from Lady Hoggin must be returned.”
Amy Carnaby crossed the room, opened the drawer of a bureau and returned with a packet of notes which she handed to Poirot.
“I was going to pay it into the pool today.”
Poirot took the notes and counted them. He got up.
“I think it possible, Miss Carnaby, that I may be able to persuade Sir Joseph not to prosecute.”
“Oh, M. Poirot!”
Amy Carnaby clasped her hands. Emily gave a cry of joy. Augustus barked and wagged his tail.
“As for you, mon ami,” said Poirot addressing him. “There is one thing that I wish