"Good God, man, it's not a claret." The word bouquet reminded Dr. Burton of the glass at his elbow. He sipped and

savoured. "Very good wine, this. Very

sound. Yes." His head nodded in approbation.

"But this vegetable marrow

business --you're not serious ? You don't

mean" --he spoke in lively horror --"that

you're actually going to stoop" --his hands

descended m sympathetic horror on his

own plump stomach --"stoop, and fork

dung on the things, and feed 'em with

strands of wool dipped in water and all the

rest of it ?"

"You seem," Poirot said, "to be well

acquainted with the culture of the marrow

?"

"Seen gardeners doing it when I've

been staying in the country. But seriously, Poirot, what a hobby! Compare that to" --his voice sank to an appreciative purr--^an easy-chair in front of a wood fire in a long, low room lined with books --must

be a long room --not a square one. Books

all round one. A glass of port--and a

book open in your hand. Time rolls back

as you read:" he quoted sonorously:

Myrf 6 a5re KV^epvriTrf^ ev\ olvoTri ttovtw

vija OofJV IQvvel epe^Oo/A.evrJv ave^oio'i

He translated:

(c 'By skill again, the pilot on the winedark

sea straightens

The swift ship buffeted by the

winds.'

Of course you can never really get the

spirit of the original."

For the moment, in his enthusiasm, he

had forgotten Poirot. And Poirot, watching

him, felt suddenly a doubt--an uncomfortable

twinge. Was there, here, something

that he had missed ? Some richness of the

spirit? Sadness crept over him. Yes, he

should have become acquainted with the

Classics. . . . Long ago. . . . Now, alas, it

was too late. . . .

Dr. Button interrupted his melancholy.

6

"Do you mean that you really are

thinking of retiring ?33

"Yes.33

The other chuckled.

"You won't!33

"But I assure you --"

"You won't be able to do it, man.

You're too interested in your work."

"No --indeed --I make all the arrangements.

A few more cases --specially

selected ones --not, you understand, everything that presents itself--just problems that have a personal appeal.33

Dr. Burton grinned.

"That's the way of it. Just a case or

two, just one case more--and so on.

The Prima Donna's farewell performance

won't be in it with yours, Poirot!33

He chuckled and rose slowly to his feet, an amiable white-haired gnome.

"Yours aren't the Labours of Hercules,33 he said. "Yours are labours of love. You'll see if I'm not right. Bet you that

in twelve months' time you'll still be here, and vegetable marrows will still be33 --he shuddered --"merely marrows.33

Taking leave of his host. Dr. Burton left

the severe rectangular room.

LOH2 I

He passes out of these pages not to

return to them. We are concerned only

with what he left behind him, which was

an Idea.

For after his departure Hercule Poirot

sat down again slowly like a man in a

dream and murmured:

"The Labours of Hercules.... Mats out, c'est une idee, ca. ..." The following day saw Hercule Poirot