Labours Of Hercules By Agatha Christie

It is your evidence and your evidence alone that will

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Unformatted text preview: n. But apparently rolling in money. He comes down here to hunt — and he gives parties — very lavish parties — and rather peculiar parties, too, if one is to believe all one is told — not that I ever do, because I do think people are so ill-natured. They always believe the worst. You know, it's become quite a fashion to say a person drinks or takes drugs. Somebody said to me the other day that young girls were natural inebriates, and I really don't think that was a nice thing to say at all. And if anyone's at all peculiar or vague in their manner, everyone says "drugs' and that's unfair, too. They say it about Mrs. Larkin and though I don't care for the woman, I do really think it's nothing more than absent-mindedness. She's a great friend of your Anthony Hawker, and that's why, if you ask me, she's so down on the Grant girls — says they're man-eaters! I dare say they do run after men a bit, but why not? It's natural, after all. And they're 304 good-looking pieces, every one of them." Poirot interjected a question. "Mrs. Larkin? My dear man, it's no good asking me who she is. Who's anybody nowadays? They say she rides well and she's obviously well off. Husband was something in the city. He's dead, not divorced. She's not been here very long, came here just after the Grants did. I've always thought she — " Old Lady Carmichael stopped. Her mouth opened, her eyes bulged. Leaning forward she struck Poirot a sharp blow across the knuckles with a paper-cutter she was holding. Disregarding his wince of pain she exclaimed excitedly: "Why, of course! So that's why you're down here! You nasty, deceitful creature, I insist on your telling me all about it." "But what is it I am to tell you all about?" Lady Carmichael aimed another playful blow which Poirot avoided deftly. "Don't be an oyster, Hercule Poirot! I can see your moustaches quivering. Of course, it's crime brings you down here — and you're just pumping me shamelessly! Now let me see, can it be murder ? Who's 305 died lately ? Only old Louisa Gilmore and she was eighty-five and had dropsy too. Can't be her. Poor Leo Staverton broke his neck in the hunting-field and he's all done up in plaster -- that can't be it. Perhaps it isn't murder. What a pity! I can't remember any special jewel robberies lately.... Perhaps it's just a criminal you're tracking down. ... Is it Beryl Larkin? Did she poison her husband ? Perhaps it's remorse that makes her so vague." "Madame, Madame," cried Hercule Poirot. "You go too fast." "Nonsense. You're up to something, Hercule Poirot." "Are you acquainted with the classics, Madame ?" "What have the classics to do with it ?" "They have this to do with it. I emulate my great predecessor Hercules. One of the Labours of Hercules was the taming of the wild horses ofDiomedes." "Don't tell me you came down here to train horses -- at your age -- and always wearing patent-leather shoes! You don't look t...
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