first time that I have been asked to turn my talents to elucidate the kidnapping of a Pekinese dog.’
Sir Joseph grunted. He said:
‘You surprise me! I should have said you’d have had no end of women pestering you about their pet dogs.’
‘That, certainly. But it is the first time that I am summoned by the husband in the case.’
Sir Joseph’s little eyes narrowed appreciatively.
He said:
‘I begin to see why they recommended you to me. You’re a shrewd fellow, Mr Poirot.’
Poirot murmured:
‘If you will now tell me the facts of the case. The dog disappeared, when?’
‘Exactly a week ago.’
‘And your wife is by now quite frantic, I presume?’
Sir Joseph stared. He said:
‘You don’t understand. The dog has been returned.’
‘Returned? Then, permit me to ask, where do I enter the matter?’
Sir Joseph went crimson in the face.
‘Because I’m damned if I’ll be swindled! Now then, Mr Poirot, I’m going to tell you the whole thing. The dog was stolen a week ago–nipped in Kensington Gardens where he was out with my wife’s companion. The next day my wife got a demand for two hundred pounds. I ask you–two hundred pounds! For a damned yapping little brute that’s always getting under your feet anyway!’
Poirot murmured:
‘You did not approve of paying such a sum, naturally?’
‘Of course I didn’t–or wouldn’t have if I’d known anything about it! Milly (my wife) knew that well enough. She didn’t say anything to me. Just sent off the money–in one pound notes as stipulated–to the address given.’
‘And the dog was returned?’
‘Yes. That evening the bell rang and there was the little brute sitting on the doorstep. And not a soul to be seen.’
‘Perfectly. Continue.’
‘Then, of course, Milly confessed what she’d done and I lost my temper a bit. However, I calmed down after a while–after all, the thing was done and you can’t expect a woman to behave with any sense–and I daresay I should have let the whole thing go if it hadn’t been for meeting old Samuelson at the Club.’
‘Yes?’
‘Damn it all, this thing must be a positive racket! Exactly the same thing had happened to him. Three hundred pounds they’d rooked his wife of ! Well, that was a bit too much. I decided the thing had got to be stopped. I sent for you.’
‘But surely, Sir Joseph, the proper thing (and a very much more inexpensive thing) would have been to send for the police?’
Sir Joseph rubbed his nose.
He said:
‘Are you married, Mr Poirot?’
‘Alas,’ said Poirot, ‘I have not that felicity.’
‘H’m,’ said Sir Joseph. ‘Don’t know about felicity, but if you were, you’d know that women are funny creatures. My wife went into hysterics at the mere mention of the police–she’d got it into her head that something would happen to her precious Shan Tung if I went to them. She wouldn’t hear of the idea–and I may say she doesn’t take very kindly to the idea of your being called in. But I stood firm there and at last she gave way. But, mind you, she doesn’t like it.’
Hercule Poirot murmured:
‘The position is, I perceive, a delicate one. It would be as well, perhaps, if I were to interview Madame your wife and gain further particulars from her whilst at the same time reassuring her as to the future safety of her dog?’
Sir Joseph nodded and rose to his feet. He said:
‘I’ll take you along in the car right away.’
II
In a large, hot, ornately-furnished drawing-room two women were sitting.
As Sir Joseph and Hercule Poirot entered, a small Pekinese dog rushed forward, barking furiously, and circling dangerously round Poirot’s ankles.
‘Shan–Shan, come here. Come here to mother, lovey–Pick him up, Miss Carnaby.’
The second woman hurried forward and Hercule Poirot murmured:
‘A veritable lion, indeed.’
Rather breathlessly Shan Tung’s captor agreed.
‘Yes, indeed, he’s such a good watch dog. He’s not frightened of anything or any one. There’s a lovely boy, then.’
Having performed the necessary introduction, Sir Joseph said:
‘Well, Mr Poirot, I’ll leave you to get on with it,’ and with a short nod he left the room.
Lady Hoggin was a stout, petulant-looking woman with dyed henna red hair. Her companion, the fluttering Miss Carnaby, was a plump, amiable-looking creature between forty and fifty. She treated Lady Hoggin with great deference and was clearly frightened to death of her.
Poirot said:
‘Now tell me, Lady Hoggin, the full circumstances of this abominable crime.’
Lady Hoggin flushed.
‘I’m very glad to hear you say that, Mr Poirot. For it was a crime. Pekinese are terribly sensitive–just as sensitive as children. Poor Shan Tung might have died of fright if of nothing else.’
Miss Carnaby chimed in breathlessly:
‘Yes, it was wicked–wicked!’
‘Please tell me the facts.’
‘Well, it was like this. Shan Tung was out for his walk in the Park with Miss Carnaby–’
‘Oh dear me, yes, it was all my fault,’ chimed in the companion. ‘How could I have been so stupid–so careless–’
Lady Hoggin said acidly:
‘I don’t want to reproach you, Miss Carnaby, but I do think you might have been more alert.’
Poirot transferred his gaze to the companion.
‘What happened?’
Miss Carnaby burst into voluble and slightly flustered speech.
‘Well, it was the most extraordinary thing! We had just been along the flower walk–Shan Tung was on the lead, of course–he’d had his
