Hercule Poirot's Casebook

'Mademoiselle,' said Poirot, and his voice was abrupt. 'I do

not like all this!'

'Don't you? Nor do I. No, let's be honest, I suppose I do.like it really. There is a horrid side of one that enjoys accidents and

public calamities and unpleasant things that happen to one's

friends.'

Poirot asked:

'Where is Commander Chantry?'

'On the beach being dissected by Pamela (she's enjoying

herself if you like!) and not being improved in temper by the

proceeding. He was looking like a thunder cloud when I came

up. There are squalls ahead, believe me.'

Poirot murmured:

'There is something I do not understand '

'It's not easy to understand,' said Sarah. 'But what's going to happen that's the question.'

Poirot shook his head and murmured:

'As you say, mademoiselle - it is the future that causes one

inquietude.'

'What a nice way of putting it,' said Sarah and went into the

hotel.

In the doorway she almost collided with Douglas Gold. The

young man came out looking rather pleased with himself but at

the same time slightly guilty. He said:

'Hallo, M. Poirot,' and added rather self-consciously, 'Been

showing Mrs Chantry the Crusaders' walls. Marjorie didn't

feel up to going.'

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Poirot's eyebrows rose slightly, but even had he wished he

would have had no time to make a comment for Valentine

Chantry came sweeping out, crying in her high voice:

'Douglas - a pink gin - positively I must have a pink gin.'

Douglas Gold went off to order the drink. Valentine sank

into a chair by Poirot. She was looking radiant this morning.

She saw her husband and Pamela coming up towards them

and waved a hand, crying out:

'Have a nice bathe, Tony darling? Isn't it a divine morning?'

Commander Chantry did not answer. He swung up the

steps, passed her without a word or a look and vanished into the

bar.

His hands were clenched by his sides and that faint likeness

to a gorilla was accentuated.

Valentine Chantry's perfect but rather foolish mouth fell

open.

She said, 'Oh,' rather blankly.

Pamela Lyall's face expressed keen enjoyment of the

situation. Masking it as far as was possible to one of her

ingenuous disposition she sat down by Valentine Chantry and

inquired:

'Have you had a nice morning?'

As Valentine began, 'Simply marvellous. We -' Poirot got

up and in his turn strolled gently towards the bar. He found

young Gold waiting for the pink gin with a flushed face. He

looked disturbed and angry.

He said to Poirot, 'That man's a brute!' And he nodded his

head in the direction of the retreating figure of Commander

Chantry.

'It is possible,' said Poirot. 'Yes, it is quite possible. But les

femmes, they like brutes, remember that!'

Douglas muttered:

'I shouldn't be surprised if he ill-treats her?

'She probably likes that too.'

Douglas Gold looked at him in a puzzled way, took up the

pink gin and went out with it.

Hercule Poirot sat on a stool and ordered a drop de ca. sds.

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Whilst he was sipping it with long sighs of enjoyment, Chantry

came in and drank several pink gins in rapid succession.

He said suddenly and violently to the world at large rather

than to Poirot:

'If Valentine thinks she can get rid of me like she's got rid of

a lot of other damned fools, she's mistaken! I've got her and I

mean to keep her. No other fellow's going to get her except over

my dead body.'

He flung down some money, turned on his heel and went

out.

CHAPTER 3

It was three days later that Hercule Poirot went to the Mount

of the Prophet. It was a cool, agreeable drive through the

golden green fir trees, winding higher and higher, far above the

petty wrangling and squabbling of human beings. The car

stopped at the restaurant. Poirot got out and wandered into the

woods. He came out at last on a spot that seemed truly on top

of the world. Far below, deeply and dazzlingly blue, was the

sea.

Here at last he was at peace - removed from cares - above the

world. Carefully placing his folded overcoat on a tree stump,

Hercule Poirot sat down.

'Doubtless le bon Dieu knows what he does. But it is odd that

he should have permitted himself to fashion certain human

beings. Eh tnb, n, here for awhile at least I am away from these

vexing problems.' Thus he mused.

He looked up with a start. A little wotmm in a brown coat and

skirt was hurrying towards him. It was Marjorie Gold and this

time she had abandoned all pretence. Her face was wet with

tears.

Poirot could not escape. She was upon him.

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'M. Poirot. You've got to help me. I'm so miserable I don't

know what to do! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?'

She looked up at him with a distracted face. Her fingers

fastened on his coat sleeve.. Then, as something she saw in his

face alarmed her, she drew back a little.

'What - what is it?' she faltered.

'You want my advice, madame? It is that you ask?'

She stammered, 'Yes ... Yes ...'

'Eh tnn - here it is.' He spoke curtly - trenchantly. 'Leave

this place at once - before it is too late.'

'What?' She stared at him.

'You heard me. Leave this island.'

'Leave the island?'

She stared at him stupefied.

'That is what I say.'

'But why - why?'

'It is my advice to you - if you valueyour life.'