brought across the channel--no one is

looking for a sick, half-doped child being

brought from England to France --and is

349

quietly deposited from a car by the side of

the main road. If she has been doped all

along with scopolamine, she will remember

very little of what has occurred.w

Miss Pope was staring at Poirot. She

demanded:

"But why ? What would be the reason of

such a senseless masquerade ?"

Poirot replied gravely:

"Winnie's luggage! These people wanted

to smuggle something from England into

France--something that every Customs

man was on the look-out for--in fact, stolen goods. But what place is safer than a schoolgirl's trunk ? You are well-known, Miss Pope, your establishment is justly famous. At the Gare du Nord the trunks

of Mesdemoiselles the little Pensionnaires

are passed en bloc. It is the well-known

English school of Miss Pope! And then,

after the kidnapping, what more natural

than to send and collect the child's

luggage --ostensibly from the Prefecture

?"

Hercule Poirot smiled.

"But fortunately, there was the school

routine of unpacking trunks on arrival - and a present for you from Winnie --but 350

not the same present that Winnie packed at

Cranchester"

He came towards her.

"You have given this picture to me.

Observe now, you must admit that it is

not suitable for your select school!"

He held out the canvas.

As though by magic Cranchester Bridge

had disappeared. Instead was a classical

scene in rich, dim colourings.

Poirot said softly:

"The Girdle of Hyppolita. Hyppolita

gives her girdle to Hercules — painted by

Rubens. A great work of art — mais tout de

meme not quite suitable for your drawing

room."

Miss

Pope blushed slightly.

Hyppolita^s hand was on her girdle—

she was wearing nothing else. . . . Hercules

had a lion skin thrown lightly over one

shoulder. The flesh of Rubens is rich,

voluptuous flesh. . . .

Miss Pope said, regaining her poise:

"A fine work of art. ... All the same —

as you say — after all, one must consider

the susceptibilities of parents. Some of

them are inclined to be narrow ... if you

know what I mean. ..."

351

v

It was just as Poirot was leaving the house

that the onslaught took place. He was

surrounded, hemmed-in, overwhelmed by

a crowd of girls, thick, thin, dark and fair.

"Mon Dieu!" he murmured. "Here

indeed is the attack by the Amazons!"

A tall fair girl was crying out:

"A rumour has gone round — "

They surged closer. Hercule Poirot was

surrounded. He disappeared in a wave of

young, vigorous femininity.

Twenty-five voices arose, pitched in

various keys but all uttering the same

momentous phrase.

"M. Poirot, will you write your name in

my autograph book. . . . ?"

352

10

THE FLOCK OF GERYON

ly.'

I

"T" REALLY do apologise for intruding

| like this, M. Poirot."

A. Miss Camaby clasped her hands

fervently round her handbag and leaned

forward, peering anxiously into Poirot's