II
In a large, hot, ornately furnished drawing room two women were sitting.
As Sir Joseph and Hercule Poirot entered, a small Pekinese dog rushed forward, barking
furiously, and circling dangerously round Poirot’s ankles.
“Shan—Shan, come here. Come here to mother, lovey—Pick him up, Miss Carnaby.”
The second woman hurried forward and Hercule Poirot murmured:
“A veritable lion, indeed.”
Rather breathlessly Shan Tung’s captor agreed.
“Yes, indeed, he’s such a good watch dog. He’s not frightened of anything or any one.
There’s a lovely boy, then.”
Having performed the necessary introduction, Sir Joseph said:
“Well, Mr. Poirot, I’ll leave you to get on with it,” and with a short nod he left the room.
Lady Hoggin was a
stout1, petulant-looking woman with dyed henna red hair. Her companion,
the fluttering Miss Carnaby, was a plump, amiable-looking creature between forty and fifty. She
treated Lady Hoggin with great
deference2 and was clearly frightened to death of her.
Poirot said:
“Now tell me, Lady Hoggin, the full circumstances of this
abominable3 crime.”
Lady Hoggin flushed.
“I’m very glad to hear you say that, Mr. Poirot. For it was a crime. Pekinese are terribly
sensitive—just as sensitive as children. Poor Shan Tung might have died of fright if of nothing
else.”
Miss Carnaby chimed in breathlessly:
“Yes, it was wicked—wicked!”
“Please tell me the facts.”
“Well, it was like this. Shan Tung was out for his walk in the Park with Miss Carnaby—”
“Oh dear me, yes, it was all my fault,” chimed in the companion. “How could I have been so
stupid—so careless—”
Lady Hoggin said acidly:
“I don’t want to reproach you, Miss Carnaby, but I do think you might have been more
alert.”
Poirot transferred his gaze to the companion.
“What happened?”
Miss Carnaby burst into voluble and slightly
flustered4 speech.
“Well, it was the most extraordinary thing! We had just been along the flower walk—Shan
Tung was on the lead, of course—he’d had his little run on the grass—and I was just about to turn
and go home when my attention was caught by a baby in a pram—such a lovely baby—it smiled
at me—lovely
rosy5 cheeks and such curls. I couldn’t just resist speaking to the nurse in charge and
asking how old it was—seventeen months, she said—and I’m sure I was only speaking to her for
about a minute or two, and then suddenly I looked down and Shan wasn’t there any more. The
lead had been cut right through—”
Lady Hoggin said:
“If you’d been paying proper attention to your duties, nobody could have
sneaked6 up and cut
that lead.”
Miss Carnaby seemed inclined to burst into tears. Poirot said hastily:
“And what happened next?”
“Well, of course I looked everywhere. And called! And I asked the Park attendant if he’d
seen a man carrying a Pekinese dog but he hadn’t noticed anything of the kind—and I didn’t know
what to do—and I went on searching, but at last, of course, I had to come home—”
Miss Carnaby stopped dead. Poirot could imagine the scene that followed well enough. He
asked:
“And then you received a letter?”
Lady Hoggin took up the tale.
“By the first post the following morning. It said that if I wanted to see Shan Tung alive I was
to send £200 in one pound notes in an unregistered packet to Captain Curtis, 38 Bloomsbury Road
Square. It said that if the money were marked or the police informed then—then—Shan Tung’s
ears and tail would be—cut off!”
“So awful,” she murmured. “How people can be such fiends!”
Lady Hoggin went on:
“It said that if I sent the money at once, Shan Tung would be returned the same evening alive
and well, but that if—if afterwards I went to the police, it would be Shan Tung who would suffer
for it—”
Miss Carnaby murmured tearfully:
“Oh dear, I’m so afraid that even now—of course, M. Poirot isn’t exactly the police—”
Lady Hoggin said anxiously:
“So you see, Mr. Poirot, you will have to be very careful.”
Hercule Poirot was quick to
allay8 her anxiety.
quietly. You can be assured, Lady Hoggin, that Shan Tung will be
perfectly11 safe. That I will
guarantee.”
Both ladies seemed relieved by the magic word. Poirot went on: “You have here the letter?”
Lady Hoggin shook her head.
“No, I was instructed to enclose it with the money.”
“And you did so?”
“Yes.”
“H’m, that is a pity.”
Miss Carnaby said brightly:
“But I have the dog lead still. Shall I get it?”
She left the room. Hercule Poirot profited by her absence to ask a few
pertinent12 questions.
“Amy Carnaby? Oh! she’s quite all right. A good soul, though foolish, of course. I have had
several companions and they have all been complete fools. But Amy was
devoted13 to Shan Tung
and she was terribly upset over the whole thing—as well she might be—hanging over
perambulators and neglecting my little sweetheart! These old maids are all the same,
idiotic14 over
babies! No, I’m quite sure she had nothing whatever to do with it.”
“It does not seem likely,” Poirot agreed. “But as the dog disappeared when in her charge one
must make quite certain of her honesty. She has been with you long?”
“Nearly a year. I had excellent references with her. She was with old Lady Hartingfield until
she died—ten years, I believe. After that she looked after an
invalid15 sister for a while. She really is
an excellent creature—but a complete fool, as I said.”
Amy Carnaby returned at this minute, slightly more out of breath, and produced the cut dog
lead which she handed to Poirot with the utmost solemnity, looking at him with hopeful
Poirot surveyed it carefully.
The two women waited expectantly. He said:
“I will keep this.”
Solemnly he put it in his pocket. The two women breathed a sigh of relief. He had clearly
done what was expected of him.
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