in my mouth — dust and blood. . . . And

then I was a dog — a great slavering dog.

I had hydrophobia—children scattered

and fled as I came—men tried to shoot

me — someone set down a great bowl of

water for me and I couldn't drink. I

couldn't drink. ..."

He paused. "I woke up. And I knew it

was true. I went over to the washstand.

My mouth was parched—horribly

266

parched--and dry. I was thirsty. But I

couldn't drink, M. Poirot. ... I couldn't

swallow. . . . Oh, my God, / wasn't able

to drink. ..."

Hercule Poirot made a gentle murmur.

Hugh Chandler went on. His hands were

clenched on his knees. His face was thrust

forward, his eyes were half closed as though

he saw something coming towards him.

"And there are things that aren't dreams.

Things that I see when I'm wide awake.

Spectres, frightful shapes. They leer at me.

And sometimes I'm able to fly, to leave my

bed, and fly through the air, to ride the

winds --and fiends bear me company!" "Tcha, tcha," said Hercule Poirot. It was a gentle, deprecating little noise.

Hugh Chandler turned to him.

"Oh, there isn't any doubt. It's in my

blood. It's my family heritage. I can't

escape. Thank God I found it out in time!

Before I'd married Diana. Suppose we'd

had a child and handed on this frightful

thing to him!" He laid a hand on Poirot's arm. "You must make her understand. You must tell her. She's got to forget. She's got to. There will be someone else some267

day. There's young Steve Graham — he's

crazy about her and he's an awfully good

chap. She'd be happy with him — and safe.

I want her — to be happy. Graham's hard

up, of course, and so are her people, but

when I'm gone they'll be all right.5'

Hercule's voice interrupted him.

"Why will they be ^11 right' when you

are gone ?"

Hugh Chandler smiled. It was a gentle,

lovable smile. He said:

"There's my mother's money. She was

an heiress, you know. It came to me. I've

left it all to Diana."

Hercule Poirot sat back in his chair.

He said: "Ah!"

Then he said:

"But you may live to be quite an old

man, Mr. Chandler."

Hugh Chandler shook his head. He

said sharply:

"No, M. Poirot. I am not going to live

to be an old man.35

Then he drew back with a sudden

shudder.

"My God! Look!" He stared over

Poirot's shoulder. c<'There—standing by

you . . . it's a skeleton— its bones are

268

shaking. It's calling to me--beckoning-"

His eyes, the pupils widely dilated,

stared into the sunshine. He leaned suddenly

sideways as though collapsing.

Then, turning to Poirot, he said in an

almost childlike voice:

"You didn't see --anything ?3' Slowly, Hercule Poirot shook his head. Hugh Chandler said hoarsely:

"I don't mind this so much --seeing

things. It's the blood Pm frightened of. The blood in my room --on my clothes.