Ten
THE FLOCK OF GERYON
“I really do apologize for
intruding1 like this, M. Poirot.”
Miss Carnaby clasped her hands
fervently2 round her handbag and leaned forward, peering
anxiously into Poirot’s face. As usual, she sounded breathless.
She said anxiously:
“You do remember me, don’t you?”
Hercule Poirot’s eyes twinkled. He said:
“I remember you as one of the most successful criminals I have ever encountered!”
“Oh dear me, M. Poirot, must you really say such things? You were so kind to me. Emily and
I often talk about you, and if we see anything about you in the paper we cut it out at once and
paste it in a book. As for Augustus, we have taught him a new trick. We say, ‘Die for Sherlock
Holmes, die for Mr. Fortune, die for Sir Henry Merrivale, and then die for M. Hercule Poirot’ and
he goes down and lies like a log—lies absolutely still without moving until we say the word!”
“I am gratified,” said Poirot. “And how is ce cher Auguste?”
Miss Carnaby clasped her hands and became
eloquent4 in praise of her Pekinese.
“Oh, M. Poirot, he’s cleverer than ever. He knows everything. Do you know, the other day I
was just admiring a baby in a
pram5 and suddenly I felt a
tug6 and there was Augustus trying his
hardest to bite through his lead. Wasn’t that clever?”
Poirot’s eyes twinkled. He said:
“It looks to me as though Augustus shared these criminal tendencies we were speaking of just
now!”
Miss Carnaby did not laugh. Instead, her nice plump face grew worried and sad. She said in a
“Oh, M. Poirot, I’m so worried.”
“What is it?”
“Do you know, M. Poirot, I’m afraid—I really am afraid—that I must be a hardened criminal
—if I may use such a term. Ideas come to me!”
“What kind of ideas?”
“The most extraordinary ideas! For instance, yesterday, a really most practical scheme for
robbing a post office came into my head. I wasn’t thinking about it—it just came! And another
very ingenious way for
evading9 custom duties . . . I feel convinced—quite convinced—that it
would work.”
“It probably would,” said Poirot drily. “That is the danger of your ideas.”
“It has worried me, M. Poirot, very much. Having been brought up with strict principles, as I
have been, it is most disturbing that such lawless—such really wicked—ideas should come to me.
The trouble is partly, I think, that I have a good deal of leisure time now. I have left Lady Hoggin
and I am engaged by an old lady to read to her and write her letters every day. The letters are soon
done and the moment I begin reading she goes to sleep, so I am left just sitting there—with an idle
mind—and we all know the use the devil has for idleness.”
“Tcha, tcha,” said Poirot.
“Recently I have read a book—a very modern book, translated from the German. It throws a
most interesting light on criminal tendencies. One must, so I understand,
sublimate10 one’s
impulses! That, really, is why I came to you.”
“Yes?” said Poirot.
“You see, M. Poirot. I think that it is really not so much wickedness as a
craving11 for
excitement! My life has unfortunately been very
humdrum12. The—er—campaign of the Pekinese
dogs, I sometimes feel, was the only time I really lived. Very
reprehensible13, of course, but, as my
book says, one must not turn one’s back on the truth. I came to you, M. Poirot, because I hoped it
might be possible to—to sublimate that craving for excitement by employing it, if I may put it that
way, on the side of the angels.”
“Aha,” said Poirot. “It is then as a colleague that you present yourself?”
Miss Carnaby blushed.
She stopped. Her eyes, faded blue eyes, had something in them of the pleading of a dog who
hopes against hope that you will take him for a walk.
“It is an idea,” said Hercule Poirot slowly.
“I am, of course, not at all clever,” explained Miss Carnaby. “But my powers of—of
dissimulation15 are good. They have to be—otherwise one would be discharged from the post of
companion immediately. And I have always found that to appear even stupider than one is,
occasionally has good results.”
Hercule Poirot laughed. He said:
“Oh dear, M. Poirot, what a very kind man you are. Then you do encourage me to hope? As
it happens, I have just received a small
legacy17—a very small one, but it enables my sister and
myself to keep and feed ourselves in a
frugal18 manner so that I am not absolutely dependent on
what I earn.”
“I must consider,” said Poirot, “where your talents may best be employed. You have no idea
yourself, I suppose?”
“You know, you must really be a thought reader, M. Poirot. I have been anxious lately about
a friend of mine. I was going to consult you. Of course you may say it is all an old maid’s fancy—
just imagination. One is
prone19, perhaps, to exaggerate, and to see design where there may be only
coincidence.”
“I do not think you would exaggerate, Miss Carnaby. Tell me what is on your mind.”
“Well, I have a friend, a very dear friend, though I have not seen very much of her of late
years. Her name is Emmeline Clegg. She married a man in the North of England and he died a few
years ago leaving her very comfortably off. She was unhappy and lonely after his death and I am
afraid she is in some ways a rather foolish and perhaps
credulous20 woman. Religion, M. Poirot, can
be a great help and sustenance—but by that I mean orthodox religion.”
“You refer to the Greek Church?” asked Poirot.
Miss Carnaby looked shocked.
“Oh no, indeed. Church of England. And though I do not approve of Roman Catholics, they
are at least recognized. And the Wesleyans and Congregationalists—they are all well-known
respectable bodies. What I am talking about are these odd
sects21. They just spring up. They have a
kind of emotional appeal but sometimes I have very grave doubts as to whether there is any true
religious feeling behind them at all.”
“You think your friend is being victimized by a
sect22 of this kind?”
“I do. Oh! I certainly do. The Flock of the Shepherd, they call themselves. Their headquarters
is in Devonshire—a very lovely estate by the sea. The
adherents23 go there for what they term a
Retreat. That is a period of a fortnight—with religious services and rituals. And there are three big
Festivals in the year, the Coming of the Pasture, the Full Pasture, and the Reaping of the Pasture.”
“Which last is stupid,” said Poirot. “Because one does not reap pasture.”
“The whole thing is stupid,” said Miss Carnaby with warmth. “The whole sect centres round
the head of the movement, the Great Shepherd, he is called. A Dr. Andersen. A very handsome-
looking man, I believe, with a presence.”
“Which is attractive to the women, yes?”
“I am afraid so,” Miss Carnaby sighed. “My father was a very handsome man. Sometimes, it
church work. . . .”
She shook her head reminiscently.
“Are the members of the Great Flock mostly women?”
“At least three quarters of them, I gather. What men there are, are mostly cranks! It is upon
the women that the success of the movement depends and—and on the funds they supply.”
“Ah,” said Poirot. “Now we come to it.
Frankly26, you think the whole thing is a
ramp27?”
“Frankly, M. Poirot, I do. And another thing worries me. I happen to know that my poor
friend is so bound up in this religion that she has recently made a will leaving all her property to
the movement.”
Poirot said sharply:
“Was that—suggested to her?”
“In all fairness, no. It was
entirely28 her own idea. The Great Shepherd had shown her a new
way of life—so all that she had was to go on her death to the Great Cause. What really worries
me is—”
“Yes—go on—”
“Several wealthy women have been among the devotees. In the last year three of them, no
less, have died.”
“Leaving all their money to this sect?”
“Yes.”
“Their relations have made no protest? I should have thought it likely that there might have
been litigation.”
“You see, M. Poirot, it is usually lonely women who belong to this
gathering29. People who
have no very near relations or friends.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Miss Carnaby hurried on:
“Of course I’ve no right to suggest anything at all. From what I have been able to find out,
there was nothing wrong about any of these deaths. One, I believe, was
pneumonia30 following
circumstances, if you know what I mean, and the deaths did not take place at Green Hills
Sanctuary34, but at their own homes. I’ve no doubt it is quite all right, but all the same I—well—I
shouldn’t like anything to happen to Emmie.”
She clasped her hands, her eyes appealed to Poirot.
Poirot himself was silent for some minutes. When he
spoke35 there was a change in his voice. It
was grave and deep.
He said:
“Will you give me, or will you find out for me, the names and addresses of these members of
the sect who have recently died?”
“Yes indeed, M. Poirot.”
Poirot said slowly:
“Mademoiselle, I think you are a woman of great courage and determination. You have good
histrionic powers. Would you be willing to undertake a piece of work that may be attended with
considerable danger?”
“I should like nothing better,” said the
adventurous36 Miss Carnaby.
Poirot said warningly:
“If there is a risk at all, it will be a grave one. You comprehend—either this is a mare’s nest
or it is serious. To find out which it is, it will be necessary for you yourself to become a member
of the Great Flock. I would suggest that you exaggerate the amount of the legacy that you recently
inherited. You are now a well-to-do woman with no very definite aim in life. You argue with your
friend Emmeline about this religion she has adopted—assure her that it is all nonsense. She is
eager to convert you. You allow yourself to be persuaded to go down to Green Hills Sanctuary.
And there you fall a victim to the
persuasive37 powers and magnetic influence of Dr. Andersen. I
think I can safely leave that part to you?”
Miss Carnaby smiled modestly. She murmured:
“I think I can manage that all right!”
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