The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [87]
He was thinking furiously.
VII
Once again the Sheep were assembled in the Great Fold. The Ritual Questions and Answers had been chanted.
“Are you prepared for the Sacrament?”
“We are.”
“Bind your eyes and hold out your right arm.”
The Great Shepherd, magnificent in his green robe, moved along the waiting lines. The cabbage-eating, vision-seeing Mr. Cole, next to Miss Carnaby, gave a gulp of painful ecstasy as the needle pierced his flesh.
The Great Shepherd stood by Miss Carnaby. His hands touched her arm. . . .
“No, you don’t. None of that . . .”
Words incredible—unprecedented. A scuffle, a roar of anger. Green veils were torn from eyes—to see an unbelievable sight—the Great Shepherd struggling in the grasp of the sheep-skinned Mr. Cole aided by another devotee.
In rapid professional tones, the erstwhile Mr. Cole was
saying:
“—and I have here a warrant for your arrest. I must warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence at your trial.”
There were other figures now at the door of the Sheep Fold—blue uniformed figures.
Someone cried: “It’s the police. They’re taking the Master away. They’re taking the Master. . . .”
Everyone was shocked—horrified . . . to them the Great Shepherd was a martyr; suffering, as all great teachers suffer, from the ignorance and persecution of the outside world. . . .
Meanwhile Detective Inspector Cole was carefully packing up the hypodermic syringe that had fallen from the Great Shepherd’s hand.
VIII
“My brave colleague!”
Poirot shook Miss Carnaby warmly by the hand and introduced her to Chief Inspector Japp.
“First class work, Miss Carnaby,” said Chief Inspector Japp. “We couldn’t have done it without you and that’s a fact.”
“Oh dear!” Miss Carnaby was flattered. “It’s so kind of you to say so. And I’m afraid, you know, that I’ve really enjoyed it all. The excitement, you know, and playing my part. I got quite carried away sometimes. I really felt I was one of those foolish women.”
“That’s where your success lay,” said Japp. “You were the genuine article. Nothing less would have taken that gentleman in! He’s a pretty astute scoundrel.”
Miss Carnaby turned to Poirot.
“That was a terrible moment in the teashop. I didn’t know what to do. I just had to act on the spur of the moment.”
“You were magnificent,” said Poirot warmly. “For a moment I thought that either you or I had taken leave of our senses. I thought for one little minute that you meant it.”
“It was such a shock,” said Miss Carnaby. “Just when we had been talking confidentially. I saw in the glass that Lipscomb, who keeps the Lodge of the Sanctuary, was sitting at the table behind me. I don’t know now if it was an accident or if he had actually followed me. As I say, I had to do the best I could on the spur of the minute and trust that you would understand.”
Poirot smiled.
“I did understand. There was only one person sitting near enough to overhear anything we said and as soon as I left the teashop I arranged to have him followed when he came out. When he went straight back to the Sanctuary I understood that I could rely on you and that you would not let me down—but I was afraid because it increased the danger for you.”
“Was—was there really danger? What was there in the syringe?”
Japp said:
“Will you explain, or shall I?”
Poirot said gravely:
“Mademoiselle, this Dr. Andersen had perfected a scheme of exploitation and murder—scientific murder. Most of his life has been spent in bacteriological research. Under a different name he has a chemical laboratory in Sheffield. There he makes cultures of various bacilli. It was his practice, at the Festivals, to inject into his followers a small but sufficient dose of Cannabis Indica—which is also known by the names of Hashish or Bhang. This gives delusions of grandeur and pleasurable enjoyment. It bound his devotees to him. These were the Spiritual Joys that he promised them.”
“Most remarkable,” said Miss Carnaby. “Really a most remarkable sensation.”
Hercule Poirot