Unformatted text preview: Chandler saw it. Saw it years ago—and
learnt the truth from his wife. I think
she was afraid of him—he'd begun to
show her the mad streak — that was what
drove her into your arms — you whom she
had always loved. Charles Chandler
planned his revenge. His wife died in a
boating accident. He and she were out in
the boat alone and he knows how that
accident came about. Then he settled
down to feed his concentrated hatred
against the boy who bore his name but who
was not his son. Your Indian stories put
the idea of datura poisoning into his head.
Hugh should be slowly driven mad.
Driven to the stage where he would take
his own life in despair. The blood lust was
Admiral Chandler's, not Hugh's. It was
Charles Chandler who was driven to cut
the throats of sheep in lonely fields. But it was Hugh who was to pay the penalty!
"Do you know when I suspected?
When Admiral Chandler was so averse to
his son seeing a doctor. For Hugh to
object was natural enough. But the father!
There might be treatment which would
save his son — there were a hundred
reasons why he should seek to have a
doctor's opinion. But no, a doctor must
not be allowed to see Hugh Chandler — in
case a doctor should discover that Hugh
Hugh said very quietly:
"Sane . . . I am sane?33
He took a step towards Diana. Frobisher
said in a gruff voice:
"You're sane enough. There's no taint
in our family."
Admiral Chandler picked up Hugh's
gun. He said:
"All a lot of nonsense! Think I'll go
and see if I can get a rabbit — "
Frobisher started forward, but the hand of Hercule Poirot restrained him. Poirot
"You said yourself — just now — that
it was the best way. ..."
Hugh and Diana had gone from the
The two men, the Englishman and the
Belgian, watched the last of the Chandlers
cross the Park and go up into the woods.
Presently, they heard a shot. . . .
THE HORSES OF DIOMEDES
THE telephone rang. "Hallo, Poirot, is that you ?" Hercule Poirot recognised the
voice as that of young Dr. Stoddart. He
liked Michael Stoddart, liked the shy
friendliness of his grin, was amused by his
naive interest in crime, and respected him
as a hard-working and shrewd man in his
"I don't like bothering you --" the
voice went on and hesitated.
"But something is bothering you^ suggested Hercule Poirot acutely.
"Exactly." Michael Stoddart's voice
sounded relieved. "Hit it in one!" "Eh bien, what can I do for you, my
Stoddart sounded diffident. He stammered
a little when he answered.
"I suppose it would be awful c-c-cheek if
I asked you to come round at this time of
night.... B-b-but I'm in a bit of a jj-jam."
"Certainly I will come. To your house ?"
"No -- as a matter of fact I'm at the
Mews that runs along behind. Conningby
Mews. The number is 17. Could you really
come? Pd be no end grateful."
"I arrive immediately," replied Hercule
Hercule Poirot walked along the da...
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