Labours Of Hercules By Agatha Christie

It was at that 134 moment that he caught sight of a

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Unformatted text preview: eatly -- dovetail too obviously ? Hercule Poirot sighed. He must take one more journey to put things beyond any possible doubt. He must go to Vagray les Alpes. VIII Here, he thought, really was the world's end. This shelf of snow -- these scattered huts and shelters in each of which lay 126 a motionless human being fighting an insidious death. So he came at last to Katrina Samoushenka. When he saw her, lying there with hollow cheeks in each of which was a vivid red stain, and long thin emaciated hands stretched out on the coverlet, a memory stirred in him. He had not remembered her name, but he had seen her dance--had been carried away and fascinated by the supreme art that can make you forget art. He remembered Michael Novgin, the Hunter, leaping and twirling in that outrageous and fantastic forest that the brain of Ambrose Vandel had conceived. And he remembered the lovely flying Hind, eternally pursued, eternally desirable--a golden beautiful creature with horns on her head and twinkling bronze feet. He remembered her final collapse, shot and wounded, and Michael Novgin standing bewildered, with the body of the slain Deer in his arms. Katrina Samoushenka was looking at him with faint curiosity. She said: cc! have never seen you before, have I ? What is it you want of me ?" Hercule Poirot made her a little bow. 127 "First, Madame, I wish to thank you -for your art which made for me once an evening of beauty." She smiled faintly. "But also I am here on a matter of business. I have been looking, Madame, for a long time for a certain maid of yours -- her name was Nita." "Nita ?" She stared at him. Her eyes were large and startled. She said: "What do you know about -- Nita ? "I will tell you." He told her of the evening when his car had broken down and of Ted Williamson standing there twisting his cap between his fingers and stammering out his love and his pain. She listened with close attention. She said when he had finished: "It is touching, that -- yes, it is touching. ..." Hercule Poirot nodded. "Yes," he said. "It is a tale of Arcady, is it not ? What can you tell me, Madame, of this girl ?" Katrina Samoushenka sighed. "I had a maid--Juanita. She was lovely, yes -- gay, light of heart. It hap128 pened to her what happens so often to those the gods favour. She died young." They had been Poirot's own words -final words -- irrevocable words-- Now he heard them again--and yet he persisted. He asked: "She is dead ?" "Yes, she is dead." Hercule Poirot was silent a minute, then he said: "Yet there is one thing I do not quite understand. I asked Sir George Sanderfield about this maid of yours and he seemed afraid. Why was that ?" There was a faint expression of disgust on the dancer's face. "You just said a maid of mine. He thought you meant Marie -- the girl who came to me after Juanita left. She tried to blackmail him, I believe, over something that she found...
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This note was uploaded on 07/28/2011 for the course LITERATURE 101 taught by Professor Agathachristie during the Spring '11 term at Heritage.

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