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FOREWORD

The flat of Hercule Poirot was furnished in a modern style. Its arm-chairs were square and gleamed with chromium.

On one of these chairs sat Hercule Poirot, neatly — in the middle of the chair. Opposite him, in another chair, sat Dr. Burton. Dr. Burton was asking a question.

"Tell me," he said. "Why Hercule?"

"You mean, my Christian name? You mean to say that in physical appearance I do not resemble a Hercules?"1

Dr. Burton glanced at Hercule Poirot, at his small neat figure in striped trousers, a black jacket and a bow tie.

"Frankly, Poirot," said Dr. Burton, "you don't! I think," he added, "that you've never had much time to study the Classics?"

"That is so."

"It's a pity. You've missed a lot. If I could I'd make everyone study the Classics. Where else can we find such richness of the spirit?"

"Alas, mon ami,2 it's too late for me now. I'm thinking of retiring."

"You won't."

"But I assure you..."

"You won't be able to do it. 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."3

Dr. Burton grinned.

"It always will be like this. Just a case or two, just one case more — and so on. Your Labours aren't the Labours

1 Hercules —Геракл (у римлян — геркулес), герой древнегреческих мифов

2 Alas, mon ami—Увы, мой друг (фр.). Эркюль Пуаро —бель­гиец и поэтому часто пересыпает свою речь французскими словами и выражениями.

3 That have a personal appeal — которые мне лично интересны

4

of Hercules.4 Yours are labours of love. You'll see that I am right. I bet that in twelve months' time you'll still be here. The Prima Donna's farewell performance is not for you, .Poirot."

When Dr. Burton left, Hercule Poirot sat down again slowly like a man in a dream and murmured:

"The Labours of Hercules... But yes, that's an idea... What had Dr. Burton said as he left: "Yours are not the Labours of Hercules..." Ah, but there he was wrong. There should be, once again, the Labours of Hercules — a mod­ern Hercules. In the period before his final retirement he would accept twelve cases, no more, no less. And those 12 cases should be selected with special reference5 to the 12 labours of ancient Hercules. Yes, that would not only be amusing, it would be artistic, it would be unique."

He would not be in a hurry. He would wait for the case that should be the first of his self-imposed Labours.

LABOUR I THE NEMEAN LION4

I

"Anything of interest this morning, Miss Lemon?" he asked as he entered the room the following morning.

He trusted Miss Lemon. She was a woman without imagination, but she had an instinct. She was a born secretary.

"Nothing much, M. Poirot.7 There is just one letter that I thought might interest you. It's from a man who wants you to investigate the disappearance of his wife's Pekinese dog."

Poirot was shocked. A Pekinese dog! And after the great idea he had last night. Reluctantly he picked up the letter from the pile on his desk.

Yes, it was exactly as Miss Lemon had said. The

4 The Labours of Hercules — подвиги Геракла. По преданию, боги предсказали Гераклу, что он получит бессмертие, если совершит 12 подвигов.

5 With special reference — по аналогии с

6 "The Nemean Lion"—«Немейский лев». По преданию, царь Эврисфей поручил Гераклу убить немейского льва, опустошавшего все окрестности. Этот лев обладал даром оставаться невидимым.

7 М. Poirot — месье Пуаро (фр.)

1

subject—the kidnapping of a Pekinese doe. One of those pets of rich women.

Nothing unusual about this. But yes, yes, in one small detail Miss Lemon was right. In one small detail there was something unusual.

"Ring up this Sir Joseph Hoggin," he ordered, "and make an appointment for me to see him at his office as he suggests."

As usual, Miss Lemon had been right.

"I'm a rich man, M. Poirot," said Sir Joseph Hoggin.

Hercule Poirot's eyes rested critically on the fat body, the small pig eyes, the bulbous nose and the close-lipped mouth.8 The whole general effect reminded him of someone or something—but he could not recollect exactly who or what it was... A long time ago... in Belgium... something, surely, to do with soap9...

Sir Joseph was continuing.

"Yes, I'm a rich man, M. Poirot, but that does not mean that I'm in the habit of throwing my money about. What I want I pay for, but I pay the market price. No more."

Hercule Poirot said: "You realize that my fees are high?"

"Yes, yes. But this is a very small matter. I made inquiries and I was told that you were the best man at this sort of thing. That's why I decided to apply to you. I want you to get to the bottom of this business and I won't grudge the expense."10

"You were fortunate," said Hercule Poirot. "Your case, Sir Joseph, is the first of the twelve cases I have decided to accept before retiring. A self-imposed 'Labours of Her­cules', if I may so describe it. I was attracted to your case," he sighed, "by its striking unimportance."

"Importance?" said Sir Joseph.

"Unimportance was what I said. I have been called in for various causes — to investigate murders, unexplained deaths, robberies, thefts of jewellery. This is the first time that I have been asked to turn my talents to the kidnap­ping of a Pekinese dog."

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