II
“Well, my friend, what have you got for me?”
Chief
Inspector1 Japp looked thoughtfully at the little man who asked the question. He said
ruefully:
“Not at all what I’d like to have, Poirot. I hate these long-haired, religious cranks like poison.
Filling up women with a lot of mumbo jumbo. But this fellow’s being careful. There’s nothing one
can get hold of. All sounds a bit batty but harmless.”
“Have you learned anything about this Dr. Andersen?”
“I’ve looked up his past history. He was a
promising2 chemist and got chucked out of some
German University. Seems his mother was Jewish. He was always keen on the study of Oriental
Myths and Religions, spent all his spare time on that and has written various articles on the subject
—some of the articles sound pretty crazy to me.”
“So it is possible that he is a genuine
fanatic3?”
“I’m bound to say it seems quite likely!”
“What about those names and addresses I gave you?”
“Nothing doing there. Miss Everitt died of ulcerative colitis. Doctor quite positive there was
no hanky-panky. Mrs. Lloyd died of bronchopneumonia. Lady Western died of
tuberculosis4. Had
suffered from it many years ago—before she even met this bunch. Miss Lee died of typhoid—
attributed to some salad 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
Devonshire. Must be pure coincidence. All absolutely O.K. and according to Cocker.”
Hercule Poirot sighed. He said:
“And yet, mon cher, I have a feeling that this is the tenth
Labor5 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
creed6: ‘There is no one so
clever as Hercule Poirot, Amen, D.C. Repeat ad lib.’!”
III
“It is the peace here that I find so wonderful,” said Miss Carnaby, 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 lovely blue sea.
The grass was vivid green, the earth and the cliffs a deep, glowing red. The little estate now known
land joined it to the mainland so that it was almost an island.
“The red land—the land of glow and promise—where threefold destiny is to be
Miss Carnaby 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 Carnaby had arrived at Green Hills Sanctuary a week
previously11. 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
conscientiously12 made her position
quite clear.
“I don’t want to feel that I am here under false
pretences13, 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
The big, golden-haired man had smiled at her—a very sweet and understanding smile. He
had looked indulgently at the plump, rather
belligerent15 figure sitting so squarely in her chair.
“Dear Miss Carnaby,” 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.”
“Then they shouldn’t be,” said the staunch daughter of the late Reverend Thomas Carnaby.
Leaning back in his chair, the Master murmured in his rich voice: “In my Father’s House are
many
mansions16 . . . Remember that, Miss Carnaby.”
As they left the presence, Miss Carnaby murmured to her friend: “He really is a very
handsome man.”
“Yes,” said Emmeline Clegg. “And so wonderfully spiritual.”
Miss Carnaby agreed. It was true—she had felt it—an aura of unworldliness—of spirituality.
. . .
She took a grip upon herself. She was not here to fall a
prey17 to the
fascination18, spiritual or
otherwise, of the Great Shepherd. She
conjured19 up a vision of Hercule Poirot. He seemed very far
“Amy,” said Miss Carnaby to herself. “Take a grip upon yourself. Remember what you are
here for. . . .”
But as the days went on, she found herself surrendering only too easily to the spell of Green
Hills. The peace, the
simplicity22, the delicious though simple food, the beauty of the services with
their chants of Love and Worship, the simple moving words of the Master, appealing to all that
was best and highest in humanity—here all the
strife23 and ugliness of the world was shut out. Here
was only Peace and Love. . . .
And tonight was the great summer Festival, the Festival of the Full Pasture. And at it, she,
Amy Carnaby, was to become initiated—to become one of the Flock.
The Festival took place in the white, glittering, concrete building, called by the
Initiates24 the
Sacred Fold. Here the devotees assembled just before the setting of the sun. They wore sheepskin
cloaks and had sandals on their feet. Their arms were bare. In the centre of the Fold on a raised
platform stood Dr. Andersen. The big man, golden-haired and blue-eyed, with his fair beard and
his handsome profile had never seemed more compelling. He was dressed in a green robe and
carried a shepherd’s
crook25 of gold.
He raised this aloft and a deathly silence fell on the assembly.
“Where are my sheep?”
The answer came from the crowd.
“We are here, O Shepherd.”
“Lift up your hearts with joy and thanksgiving. This is the Feast of Joy.”
“There shall be no more sorrow for you, no more pain. All is joy!”
“All is joy . . .”
“How many heads has the Shepherd?”
“Three heads, a head of gold, a head of silver, a head of sounding
brass27.”
“How many bodies have the Sheep?”
“Three bodies, a body of flesh, a body of
corruption28, and a body of light.”
“How shall you be sealed in the Flock?”
“By the Sacrament of Blood.”
“Are you prepared for that Sacrament?”
“We are.”
“Bind your eyes and hold
forth29 your right arm.”
The crowd obediently bound their eyes with the green scarves provided for the purpose.
Miss Carnaby, like the rest, held her arm out in front of her.
The Great Shepherd moved along the lines of his Flock. There were little cries, moans of
Miss Carnaby, to herself, said fiercely:
remain absolutely calm and observe the reactions of other people. I will not be carried away—I
will not. . . .”
The Great Shepherd had come to her. She felt her arm taken, held, there was a sharp, stinging
pain like the
prick33 of a needle. The Shepherd’s voice murmured:
“The Sacrament of Blood that brings joy . . .”
He passed on.
Presently there came a command.
“Unveil and enjoy the pleasures of the spirit!”
The sun was just sinking. Miss Carnaby looked round her. At one with the others, she moved
slowly out of the Fold. She felt suddenly uplifted, happy. She sank down on a soft,
grassy34 bank.
Why had she ever thought she was a lonely, unwanted,
middle-aged35 woman? Life was wonderful
—she herself was wonderful! She had the power of thought—of dreaming. There was nothing that
she could not accomplish!
A great rush of exhilaration surged through her. She observed her fellow devotees round her
—they seemed suddenly to have grown to an immense
stature36.
“Like trees walking . . .” said Miss Carnaby to herself
reverently37.
She lifted her hand. It was a purposeful gesture—with it she could command the earth.
Cæsar, Napoleon, Hitler—poor,
miserable38, little fellows! They knew nothing of what she, Amy
Carnaby, could do! Tomorrow she would arrange for world peace, for International
Brotherhood39.
There should be no more Wars—no more Poverty—no more Disease. She, Amy Carnaby, would
design a New World.
But there need be no hurry. Time was infinite . . . Minute succeeded minute, hour succeeded
hour! Miss Carnaby’s limbs felt heavy, but her mind was
delightfully40 free. It could roam at will
over the whole universe. She slept—but even as she slept she dreamt . . . Great spaces . . . vast
buildings . . . a new and wonderful world. . . .
Gradually the world shrank, Miss Carnaby yawned. She moved her stiff limbs. What had
happened since yesterday? Last night she had dreamt. . . .
There was a moon. By it, Miss Carnaby could just distinguish the figures on her watch. To
her stupefaction the hands
pointed41 to a quarter to ten. The sun, as she knew, had set at eight-ten.
Only an hour and thirty-five minutes ago? Impossible. And yet—
“Very remarkable,” said Miss Carnaby to herself.
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