The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [55]
“So you will have to send for more money which Mrs. Rice will pretend to distribute to a fresh set of people.”
Harold drew a deep breath. He said:
“And Elsie—Elsie?”
Hercule Poirot averted his eyes.
“She played her part very well. She always does. A most accomplished little actress. Everything is very pure—very innocent. She appeals, not to sex, but to chivalry.”
Hercule Poirot added dreamily:
“That is always successful with Englishmen.”
Harold Waring drew a deep breath. He said crisply:
“I’m going to set to work and learn every European language there is! Nobody’s going to make a fool of me a second time!”
Seven
THE CRETAN BULL
Hercule Poirot looked thoughtfully at his visitor.
He saw a pale face with a determined looking chin, eyes that were more grey than blue, and hair that was of that real blue-black shade so seldom seen—the hyacinthine locks of ancient Greece.
He noted the well-cut, but also well-worn, country tweeds, the shabby handbag, and the unconscious arrogance of manner that lay behind the girl’s obvious nervousness. He thought to himself:
“Ah yes, she is ‘the County’—but no money! And it must be something quite out of the way that would bring her to me.”
Diana Maberly said, and her voice shook a little:
“I—I don’t know whether you can help me or not, M. Poirot. It’s—it’s a very extraordinary position.”
Poirot said:
“But yes? Tell me?”
Diana Maberly said:
“I’ve come to you because I don’t know what to do! I don’t even know if there is anything to do!”
“Will you let me be the judge of that?”
The colour surged suddenly into the girl’s face. She said rapidly and breathlessly:
“I’ve come to you because the man I’ve been engaged to for over a year has broken off our engagement.”
She stopped and eyed him defiantly.
“You must think,” she said, “that I’m completely mental.”
Slowly, Hercule Poirot shook his head.
“On the contrary, Mademoiselle, I have no doubt whatever but that you are extremely intelligent. It is certainly not my métier in life to patch up the lovers’ quarrels, and I know very well that you are quite aware of that. It is, therefore, that there is something unusual about the breaking of this engagement. That is so, is it not?”
The girl nodded. She said in a clear, precise voice:
“Hugh broke off our engagement because he thinks he is going mad. He thinks people who are mad should not marry.”
Hercule Poirot’s eyebrows rose a little.
“And do you not agree?”
“I don’t know . . . What is being mad, after all? Everyone is a little mad.”
“It has been said so,” Poirot agreed cautiously.
“It’s only when you begin thinking you’re a poached egg or something that they have to shut you up.”
“And your fiancé has not reached that stage?”
Diana Maberly said:
“I can’t see that there’s anything wrong with Hugh at all. He’s, oh, he’s the sanest person I know. Sound—dependable—”
“Then why does he think he is going mad?”
Poirot paused a moment before going on.
“Is there, perhaps, madness in his family?”
Reluctantly Diana jerked her head in assent. She said:
“His grandfather was mental, I believe—and some great-aunt or other. But what I say is, that every family has got someone queer in it. You know, a bit half-witted or extra clever or something!”
Her eyes were appealing.
Hercule Poirot shook his head sadly. He said:
“I am very sorry for you, Mademoiselle.”
Her chin shot out. She cried:
“I don’t want you to be sorry for me! I want you to do something!”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know—but there’s something wrong.”
“Will you tell me, Mademoiselle, all about your fiancé?”
Diana spoke rapidly:
“His name is Hugh Chandler. He’s twenty-four. His father is Admiral Chandler. They live at Lyde Manor. It’s been in the Chandler family