Labours Of Hercules By Agatha Christie

There was only one person sitting near esnough to

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Unformatted text preview: she ate somewhere in the north of England. Three of them got ill and died in their own homes, and Mrs. Lloyd died in a hotel in the south of France. As far as those deaths go, there's nothing to connect them with the Great Flock or with Andersen's place down in 364 Devonshire. Must be pure coincidence. All absolutely OK and according to Cocker." Hercule Poirot sighed. He said: "And yet, mon cher, 1 have a feeling that this is the tenth Labour of Hercules, and that this Dr. Andersen is the Monster Geryon whom it is my mission to destroy." Japp looked at him anxiously. "Look here, Poirot, you haven't been reading any queer literature yourself lately, have you ?" Poirot said with dignity: "My remarks are, as always, apt, sound, and to the point." "You might start a new religion yourself," said Japp, "with the creed: 'There is no one so clever as Hercule Poirot, Amen, DC. Repeat adiib;^ III "It is the peace here that I find so wonderful," said Miss Camaby, breathing heavily and ecstatically. "I told you so, Amy," said Emmeline Clegg. The two friends were sitting on the slope of a hillside overlooking a deep and 365 lovely blue sea. The grass was vivid green, the earths and the cliffs a deep, glowing red. The little estate now known as Green Hills Sanctuary was a promontory comprising about six acres. Only a narrow neck of land joined it to the mainland so that it was almost an island. Mrs. Clegg murmured sentimentally: "The red land -- the land of glow and promise--where three-fold destiny is to be accomplished." Miss Camaby sighed deeply and said: "I thought the Master put it all so beautifully at the service last night." "Wait," said her friend, "for the festival tonight. The Full Growth of the Pasture!" "I'm looking forward to it," said Miss Carnaby. "You will find it a wonderful spiritual experience," her friend promised her. Miss Camaby had arrived at Green Hills Sanctuary a week previously. Her attitude on arrival had been: "Now what's all this nonsense? Really, Emmie, a sensible woman like you -- etc., etc." At a preliminary interview with Dr. Andersen, she had conscientiously made her position quite clear. 366 "I don't want to feel that I am here under false pretences. Dr. Andersen. My father was a clergyman of the Church of England and I have never wavered in my faith. I don't hold with heathen doctrines." The big, golden-haired man had smiled at her—a very sweet and understanding smile. He had looked indulgently at the plump, rather belligerent figure sitting so squarely in her chair. "Dear Miss Camaby," he said. "You are Mrs. Clegg's friend, and as such welcome. And believe me, our doctrines are not heathen. Here all religions are welcomed, and all honoured equally.33 "Then they shouldn't be," said the staunch daughter of the late Reverend Thomas Camaby. Leaning back in his chair, the Master murmured in his rich vo...
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