"Send this back to the Convent."

There was a pause. Then Emery Power

said:

"Are you quite mad ?"

Hercule Poirot shook his head.

"No, I am not mad. See, I will show you

something."

He picked up the goblet. With his

finger-nail, he pressed hard into the open

jaws of the snake that was coiled round the

tree. Inside the cup a tiny portion of the

gold chased interior slid aside leaving an

aperture into the hollow handle.

Poirot said:

"You see ? This was the drinking cup of

the Borgia Pope. Through this little hole

the poison passed into the drink. You have

said yourself that the history of this cup is

evil. Violence and blood and evil passions

have accompanied its possession. Evil will

perhaps come to you in turn."

"Superstition!"

"Possibly. But why were you so anxious

to possess this thing? Not for its beauty.

Not for its value. You have a hundred —

a thousand perhaps — beautiful and rare

things. You wanted it to sustain your

pride. You were determined not to be

415

beaten. Eh bien, you are not beaten. You

win! The goblet is in your possession.

But now, why not make a great — a

supreme gesture ? Send it back to where it

has dwelt in peace for nearly ten years. Let

the evil of it be purified there. It belonged

to the Church once — let it return to the

Church. Let it stand once more on the

altar, purified and absolved as we hope

that the souls of men shall be also purified

and absolved from their sins."

He leaned forward.

"Let me describe for you the place

where I found it — the Garden of Peace,

looking out over the Western Sea towards

a forgotten Paradise of Youth and Eternal

Beauty."

He spoke on, describing in simple words

the remote charm of Inishgowlan.

Emery Power sat back, one hand over

his eyes. He said at last:

"I was born on the west coast of Ireland.

I left there as a boy to go to America."

Poirot said gently:

cc! heard that."

The financier sat up. His eyes were

shrewd again. He said, and there was a

faint smile on his lips:

416

"You are a strange man, M. Poirot.

You shall have your way. Take the goblet

to the Convent as a gift in my name. A

pretty costly gift. Thirty thousand pounds

— and what shall I get in exchange ?"

Poirot said gravely:

"The nuns will say Masses for your

soul."

The rich man's smile widened — a

rapacious, hungry smile. He said:

"So, after all, it may be an investment!

Perhaps, the best one I ever made. ..."

IX

In the little parlour of the Convent,

Hercule Poirot told his story and restored

the chalice to the Mother Superior.

She murmured:

"Tell him we thank him and we will

pray for him."

Hercule Poirot said gently:

"He needs your prayers."

"Is he then an unhappy man ?"