Hercule Poirots casebook. Agatha Christie
clothesbrush in his pocket and waged an unceasing war on the dust which accumulated on his dark apparel.
“And my boots,” he wailed. “Regard them,Hastings. My boots,of the neat patent leather, usually so smart and shining. See, the sand is inside them, which is painful, and outside them, which outrages the eyesight. Also the heat, it causes my mustaches to become limp— but limp!”
“Look at the Sphinx,” I urged. “Even I can feel the mystery and the charm it exhales.”
Poirot looked at it discontentedly.
“It has not the air happy,” he declared. “How could it, half-buried in sand in that untidy fashion. Ah, this cursed sand!"
“Come, now, there’s a lot of sand in Belgium,” I reminded him, mindful of a holiday spent at Knocke-sur-mer in the midst of t9les dunes impeccables" as the guidebook had phrased it.
“Not in Brussels” declared Poirot. He gazed at the Pyramids thoughtfully. “It is true that they, at least, are of a shape solid and geometrical, but their surface is of an unevenness most unpieasing. And the palm trees I like them not. Not even do they plant them in rows!”
I cut short his lamentations, by suggesting that we should start for the camp. We were to ride there on camels, and the beasts were patiently kneeling, waiting for us to mount, in charge of several picturesque boys headed by a voluble dragoman.
I pass over the spectacle of Poirot on a camel. He started by groans and lamentations and ended by shrieks, gesticulations and invocations to the Virgin Mary and every saint in the calendar. In the end, he descended ignominiously and finished the journey on a diminutI have donkey. I must admit that a trotting camel is no joke for the amateur. I was stiff for several days.
At last we neared the scene of the excavations. A sunburnt man with a gray beard, in white clothes and wearing a helmet, came to meet us.
“Monsieur Poirot and Captain Hastings? We received your cable. I m sorry that there was no one to meet you in Cairo. An unforeseen event occurred which completely disorganized our plans”
Poirot paled. His hand, which had stolen to his clothesbrush, stayed its course.
“Not another death?” he breathed.
“Yes.”
“Sir Guy Willard?” I cried.
“No, Captain Hastings. My American colleague,Mr. Schneider.”
“And the cause?” demanded Poirot.
“Tetanus”’
I blanched. All around me I seemed to feel an atmosphere of evil, subtle and menacing. A horrible thought flashed across me. Supposing I were the next?
“Mon Dieu9 y9 said Poirot, in a very low voice, “I do not understand this. It is horrible. Tell me, monsieur, there is no doubt that it was tetanus?”
“I believe not. But Dr. Ames will tell you more than I can do.” “Ah,of course,you are not the doctor.”
“My name is Tosswill.”
This, then, was the British expert described by Lady Willard as being a minor official at the British Museum. There was something at once grave and steadfast about him that took my fancy.
“If you will come with me,” continued Dr. Tosswill,“I u ill take you to Sir Guy Willard. He was most anxious to be informed as soon as you should arrI have.”
We were taken across the camp to a large tent. Dr. Tosswill lifted up the flap and we entered. Three men were siting inside.
Monsieur Poirot and Captain Hastings have arrived, Sir Guy,-” said Tosswill.
The youngest of the three men jumped up and came forward to greet us. There was a certain impulsI haveness in his manner which reminded me of his mother. He was not nearly so sunburnt as the others, and that fact, coupled with a certain haggardness round the eyes, made him look older than his twenty-two years. He was clearly endeavoring to bear up under a severe mental strain.
He introduced his two companions, Dr. Ames, a capable-looking man of thirty-odd, with a touch of graying hair at the temples, and Mr. Harper, the secretary, a pleasant, lean young man wearing the national insignia of horn-rimmed spectacles.
After a few minutes, desultory conversation the latter went out, and Dr. Tosswill followed him. We were left alone with Sir Guy and Dr. Ames.
“Please ask any questions you want to ask,Monsieur Poirot,” said Willard.”We are utterly dumfounded at this strange series of disasters, but it isn’t—it can’t be,anything but coincidence.”
There was a nervousness about his manner which rather belied the words. I saw that Poirot was studying him keenly.
“Your heart is really in this work, Sir Guy?”
4”Rather. No matter what happens, or what comes of it, the work is going on. Make up your mind to that.”
Poirot wheeled round on the other.
“What have you to say to that, monsieur le docteur?pp “Well,” drawled the doctor, “I’m not for quiting myself.”
Poirot made one of those expressI have grimaces of his.
“Then, evidemmetit, we must find out just how we stand. When did Mr. Schneider’s death take place?”
“Three days ago. “
“You are sure it was tetanus?"
,-Dead sure.”
“t couldn't have been a case of strychnine poisoning, for instance?" ‘No, Monsieur Poirot. I see what you're getting at. But it was a clear case of tetanus.”
“Did you not inject antiserum?"
“Certainly we did,” said the doctor dryly. “Every conceivable thing that could be done was tried.”
“Had you the antiserum with you?”
“No. We procured it from Cairo.”
“Have there been any other cases of tetanus in the camp?”
“No, not one.”
“Are you certain that the death of Mr. Bleibner was not due to tetanus?”
“Absolutely plumb certain. He had a scratch upon his thumb which became poisoned, and septicemia set m. It sounds pretty much the same to a layman, I dare say, but the two things are entirely different” “Then we have four deaths—all totally dissimilar, one heart failure, one blood poisoning, one suicide,and one tetanus.”
“Exactly, Monsieur Poirot.”
‘4Are you certain that there is nothing which might link the four together?’
“I don’t quite understand you?”
will put it plainly. Was any act commited by those four men which might seem to denote disrespect to the spirit of Men-her-Ra?” The doctor gazed at Poirot in astonishment.
“You’re talking through your hat, Monsieur Poirot. Surely you’ve not been guyed into believing all that fool talk?”
“Absolute nonsense,” muttered Willard angrily.
Poirot remained placidly immovable, blinking a little out of his green cat's eyes.
‘4So you do not believe it, monsieur le docteur?’9 “No, sir,I do not,” declared the doctor emphatically. “I am a scientific man, and I believe only what science teaches.”
“Was there no science then in Ancient Egypt?” asked Poirot softly. He did not wait for a reply, and indeed Dr. Ames seemed rather at a loss for the moment. no, do not answer me, but tell me this. What do the natI have workmen think?”
“I guess,” said Dr. Ames, “that, where white folk lose their heads, natI haves aren't going to be far behind. Til admit that they're getting what you might