May has been ‘short story month’ and yet, ironically, this piece is a long one. I am a huge advocate for the short story in general; this was the form that began my writing career, when I was fortunate enough to get the very first story I wrote (in a serious capacity) published as the winner of a competition. As a lifelong Agatha Christie reader, it has been an immense joy, therefore, to choose and once again devour one of her short story collections for the Read Christie challenge during May. The Christie team chose, very appropriately, ‘my choice for best short story collection’ as the theme for this month.
What constitutes ‘best’, though? Judging any book necessarily involves a huge amount of subjectivity, as what one reader might like another does not enjoy so much, even if they are both readers of that author’s work generally. Over the years, I have really enjoyed reading The Mysterious Mr Quinn, a collection with a slightly speculative edge in which we find Mr Satterthwaite (also a lead character in Three Act Tragedy) assisted by the rather strange character of Mr Quinn. On a different and generally more lighthearted note, my first connection with Tommy and Tuppence Beresford was through the collection of stories, Partners in Crime, in which the duo open a detective agency. To satisfy my dark little soul, I have poured over the stories in Hound of Death numerous times. This is just three of the numerous Christie collections I have enjoyed. However, being the Poirot addict that I am, and also a reader who always wished that he would, one day, find his happy ending with Dame Vera Rossakoff, the unrequited love of his life (and equivalent to ‘the woman’ for Sherlock Holmes or, more particularly the BBC’s Sherlock), I have chosen The Labours of Hercules. This collection houses a story which reunites Poirot with Rossakoff. If you have seen the TV filmic adaptation of the same name starring David Suchet, then maybe you lost your heart to the tragedy of their love story. While the adaptation is a very different animal to the original collection of stories, it it with pure indulgence to this unfulfilled love story that I pick The Labours of Hercules. And that is about as subjective as I could get in deciding what I constitute as ‘best’!
The Labours of Hercules is set up in a very particular way, with a ‘Foreword’, part narrative fiction and part intervention by the author, which I found intriguing. At a plot level, we discover that Poirot is set to retire soon and indulge his wish to grow vegetable marrows (which, indeed, he does in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd). After a conversation with a man named Dr Burton, who calls into question why Poirot should ever have been called Hercule to the point of being derisory as to the detective’s lack of comparison with the Ancient Greek ‘hero’, Christie dismisses the doctor, but not the idea that he leaves behind him. Poirot now considers the notion of Hercules, himself representing a ‘new age’ hero, yet one who will, before retirement, set himself twelve labours of high importance, cases chosen specifically to fit this remit.
I shall, then, take each of Poirot’s self-induced ‘labours’ in the order they appear in the collection.
The Nemean Lion
It is, therefore, quite ironically comical that the first case saved for him by Miss Lemon in his pile of letters is one of complete unimportance. It frustrates and irritates Poirot – until he realises there is something not quite ordinary about the case of a ransomed Pekinese dog. It is the owner’s husband who has communicated with him, and this seems strange. Even stranger is that the dog has already been returned, and the wife paid the ransom money. When questioned by Poirot, Lady Hoggin states that her companion help, a real dog lover who had been granted care of a previous employer’s Pekinese on her death, had been walking the dog and had stopped to admire a nurse’s child in a pram, when the dog lead had been cut. This was not the first case, either.
Of course, Poirot has ideas: who the perpetrator might be, where to find them, how the crimes against little dogs are being committed, and why. It is this ‘why’ which brings us to a Poirot who shows himself to have extreme empathy with the plight of ordinary people. If you have read many Poirot books, you may have noticed that, despite being a strongly verbal proponent of justice, he is sometimes seen to bend the rules of justice for certain individuals. This is one of those cases.
This is a tale with many twists and turns, all seemingly disparate but all fitting together in actuality to make Poirot’s plan and pathway of detection perfect. And so, who is the Nemean Lion in this story? Sir Joseph Hoggin? Not at all. But I’ll leave you to discover this beautiful nugget in the story.
The Lernean Hydra
This story deals with a premise which features heavily in Golden Age mysteries, and historical cosies in general: did the living, breathing husband/wife poison their spouse because they wanted to marry someone else? Rumours about in a village that a doctor has killed his wife in order to marry his young dispenser. The doctor himself is devastated by these rumours and feels they are slowly destroying his life entirely.
In a microcosmic world of ‘guilty regardless’, how is Poirot supposed to do battle against all the rumour and deliberate false trails placed before him? As he always does: with order, method, and an acute sense of those things that ‘feel’ right, psychologically. Poirot sees the mythical Hydra as his problem to overcome in his labour here. For, every time he goes to chop off one of its nine heads (or reduce the possibilities, or crack the clue), another two grow up in its place. This story is littered with a myriad of tittle-tattle and bit-parts of eyewitness accounts, surmises and suspicious actions, both useful and red herrings.
I really did feel that I was in the thick of it with Poirot here, and that there were so many rumours and falsities (if only I could figure out which they were), that I felt that I had become ravelled in those tangled balls of wool which Miss Marple so often mentions in the TV adaptations (incidentally, if you want to watch a Marple adaptation which references tangled wool as her allusive process for solving a crime, look no further that The Blue Geranium). Yet, as things seemed to get more and more complicated, they actually began to lead to one place – the true murderer. I found this a very adeptly handled story, with some strong characterisation.
The Arcadian Deer
If you have seen the TV adaptation of The Labours of Hercules, starring David Suchet as Poirot, you will immediately recognise this story as the subplot storyline which enables Poirot to visit the Swiss Alps for the purposes of finding a missing maid, and thus attempting to rectify a love story gone wrong. In the adaptation, this also places Poirot in the right place to be able to solve the main plot: to catch the killer, Marrascaud. It is, perhaps, my favourite Poirot TV film due to the ‘love interest’ reasons I mentioned at the beginning of this piece. If you have not seen it, I – and my soft heart – very much recommend it.
‘The Arcadian deer’ sees Poirot stranded in a hotel in the middle of nowhere, with the onset of snow and a broken down car. A mechanic comes to him to give him an update but there is more to this man’s twisting of his cap in his hands. He is anxious, heart-broken. The maid of a famous Russian dancer has vanished, not replied to his letter, and he is concerned for her safety. Indeed, he admits he wants to marry the maid, no matter what Poirot discovers about her circumstances. And so begins Poirot’s third labour.
This is such a simple yet intriguing case, made so by so many open threads that become dead ends. To my mind, it seems that, the more dead ends close up, the more Poirot’s intuition leads him to the only conclusion that there could be regarding this missing maid, and her whereabouts. (of course, I am not going to spoil that here). And only Poirot, with his immense capacity for seeing the possibilities in every forlorn love affair, could find a way out of the dark for the poor unfortunates here. I very much like this story, and am delighted that the TV adaptation gave it life on the screen.
The Erymanthian Boar
It is to my eternal delight that I have had the opportunity to re-read ‘The Erymanthian Boar’. There is much in this particular tale which has been utilised in the filming of the David Suchet adaptation, although not all plot points are the same, or carry equal weight, but it is enough to make me extremely excited about this one.
This story takes Poirot to an isolated Alpine setting, where he is contacted by his old friend, Lementeuil, Commissaire of Police, who tells him that the killer, Marrascaud, is believed to be planning a meeting with his gang in this strange choice of location, presumably to split their ill-gotten gains. It is in this story that Poirot is able to finally come face-to-face with Marrascaud. But it certainly takes plenty of ingenuity on Poirot’s part.
Not everyone is who they seem. And not everyone is on the side of right or wrong that we believe they are. Everyone becomes a suspect as the guests at the hotel remain cut off by a landslide in the funicular, and danger mounts as the hours tick by. Poirot is able to use all his former professional knowledge as a policeman in this case of constant misdirection, which I find really interesting, and it is, of course, set up wonderfully by Christie. If you are at all a fan of the TV adaptation, then this is a must-read.
The Augean Stables
This is very much a political tale on the surface, layered with a private one once Poirot is involved. Poirot is approached by the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary to salvage the reputation of the ‘People’s Party’ from the underhanded tactics of a scurrilous newspaper. To save the Party, prevent disruption to the country (and it falling into a possible Dictatorship), Poirot can either try to discredit the stories the newspaper is spreading – or he can opt for something wider-reaching and much more permanent: the discrediting of the newspaper itself. And what he does is, to my mind, brilliant.
The story focuses very heavily on the reference to the particular Herculean task Christie has allotted Poirot here, namely the cleaning of the Augean Stables, bringing in a force large enough to wash away the dirt completely. Christie explains the task as the story progresses, for those unfamiliar with it, or maybe to focus the reader on the way everyone, from politicians to Poirot, believe that this kind of washing away the filth is imperative to preventing political catastrophe.
Poirot is particularly inventive here, modernising the ancient task and swapping the water of a huge river for the tidal wave of people and their penchant for gossiping about the sex scandal that seems to have invaded the private life of the new Prime Minister. Although I don’t want to spoil the story for you, I will say that Poirot’s manipulation of this ‘tidal wave’ is superbly effective, and also places him firmly in the grey areas of morality. He is certainly not against employing intrigue and bending the moral rules in order to achieve success in this case. It is a very well-plotted and impressive story.
The Stymphalean Birds
We return to a story which makes up yet another element of the TV adaptation starring David Suchet. If you have seen it (and once again, I do wholeheartedly recommend it if you haven’t), parts of this form the sub-plot in which Harold Waring, politician and man who has kept a very clean political and private sheet, becomes embroiled with two ladies who cause him a great deal of problems.
The women, mother and daughter, are on holiday in the same isolated location as Waring. He has become friendly with them, while simultaneously taking a strong dislike to two other women of bird-like appearance and wearing black cloaks, whom he believes would gleefully do evil if given the opportunity. Waring develops the beginning of an emotional attachment to the daughter, Elsie Clayton, whose husband is a jealous man – and who arrives, threatens her, and who finds himself dead at hands of his wife in self-defence. The women beg Waring for financial help in covering up the death, and again when the mother tells Waring she is now being blackmailed by the two bird-like women.
This is a story of not judging a book by its cover. I shall say no more. You have probably already figured out how it progresses, and how it ends.
The Cretan Bull
As you are, no doubt, very aware by now, I have a particular fondness in this collection for the stories which make up the TV adaptation of the same name. ‘The Cretan Bull’ is not one of those, yet is is one of the stories I particularly like and found thoroughly interesting to read. The entire plot centres around hereditary madness in the family of Admiral Chandler. Diana Maberley, engaged to Admiral Chandler’s son, Hugh, pleads for help from Poirot. It appears that madness has begun to define itself in Hugh, which would explain the strange way he left the Navy without full explanation, and recent other dreadful occurrences which have caused death to animals and which are being attributed to Hugh, also. Yet Diana does not believe for one moment that Hugh is mad, but that something else is going on.
Is Hugh mad? Or is someone deliberately trying to get him out of the way by any means necessary so they can inherit his money – maybe Diana, who is named in his will? Or is there something – or someone – much more malign at work? Poirot goes to stay at the home of the Chandlers so that he can discover the truth. And that truth is bitter, twisted, and cruel.
This is one of the stories in this collection that threw me both onto the scent and off it simultaneously. I was so right about what I thought – and so wrong about how it all comes together as a tragically macabre tale of what happens when visceral hatred binds itself to intelligent planning. For me, this story is absolutely worth the read.
The Horses of Diomedes
Poirot acts for love in this ‘labour’. Not his own, but on behalf of a friend, Doctor Michael Stoddart, who has formed an attachment to a woman whom he fears has become unwittingly embroiled in parties at which drugs are not only being taken but are being dealt. Poirot, of course, investigates.
For me, this is one of the more disappointing stories in this collection. I didn’t quite connect with it in the way I have done with many of the others. I am struggling to pinpoint exactly why, and it could be that, for me, it falls a bit flat in the characterisation. There are many levels of superficiality in this story, and it seems to rub off on me, leaving me with an overall feeling that I would have liked very much to have been able to delve further into the murky depths of the villain and their manipulation of people in their power, and that I should, in its absence, move onto the next story. Please understand that this is my subjective view of this particular narrative, and the way it affects me as a reader. You may love it.
The Girdle of Hyppolita
Aha, a story full of intrigue, a stolen painting, and a schoolgirl missing from a train! There is a pace to this story that sweeps you through it as you read. A Reubens (in which a semi-clad Hyppolita gives her girdle to Hercules) has been stolen and is likely being fenced somewhere in Europe. The link to Poirot’s ‘labours’ is, then, obvious. At the same time, a very respectable girls’ school has a new student go missing on a train where she is travelling with other students and a member of staff who has never met her before, on their way to the school. This is a fabulous romp through the clever and simultaneously devious handling of a stolen painting, which relies upon the complete an unwitting participation of the innocent.
It is extremely difficult to discuss this story without giving away the development of the two plot lines, which become wonderfully interlinked, so I am not going to try. If you have read Christie’s Cat Among the Pigeons, set in a girls’ school, you will notice at least some resemblance in the way certain parts of the deception here is pulled off. If not, then I offer you another recommendation for a Poirot novel! It may be that Christie was, indeed, experimenting with an idea which she later used in a full-length work, just as she did when she expanded the essence of the short story, ‘Yellow iris’ into the intricate workings of the novel, Sparkling Cyanide.
The Flock of Geryon
We see the return of a previous character in the collection here: the companion to Lady Hoggin in ‘The Nemean Lion’. Instead of being embroiled as a suspect, this time Miss Carnaby comes to Poirot for help, and becomes his assistant. Her friend has become entranced by a religious sect, one seemingly all about sheep and pastures – all very peaceful and idyllic – and one which captures the interest of lonely, wealthy women. And, as it turns out, some of these woman have died of various causes, all leaving their legacies to the Flock of Geryon.
I have to say that I particularly enjoyed the narrative insight into the thoughts of Miss Carnaby as she goes about her undercover work. There are times when she is vulnerable, or in danger, or has to completely use her ingenuity and quick-wittedness. And all the time, we experience her thinking these through, counter-balancing emotional susceptibility with detached intelligence. This story is very much as testament to the strength of character of the female. Miss Carnaby puts her life at risk to assist Poirot by going undercover and to ensure her friend escapes the clutches of the leader of the sect where she could quite easily have been murdered for her money.
It also throws light on the position of womanhood in domesticity at the time. The collection was written in 1947, two years after World War II. Despite the true and undeniable horrors of war, the capability of women in action had been proven, just as it had in World War I, yet women were expected to return to domesticity. Miss Carnaby, for me, represents the woman who has within her the capacity for action and is desperate to be able to put it to good use. Her elongated time undercover on this assignment, the danger she risks, and the level of intuition and intelligence combined that she uses throughout gives her this opportunity. She does a great job. And yet, I find the situation unsatisfying. What does she have beyond the story? She has had her moment of adventure, and now she returns to her domestic life. Will that be enough for her?
The Apples of the Hesperides
Poirot is approached by an exceedingly wealthy art collector, Emery Power, to recapture the lethal drinking cup of the Borgias, which he bought at auction, and which disappeared and has never reappeared in the last ten years. This golden cup, favourite drinking vessel used by Pope Alexander VI – Roderigo Borgia – and given to visitors who invariably died, depicts a tree, a serpent, and emeralds which represent apples. The object brings together Poirot’s Catholicism (which, in this collection, is mentioned as being his birth religion) and the Ancient ‘labour’, and they remain intertwined throughout the story as Poirot searches for the cup in various places, including those which have religious significance.
While I do not want to spoil the story for you, I will say that it is the notion of ‘good’, of sacrifice, that plays out against the backdrop of the Ancient Herculean ‘labour’ as Poirot draws this case to its conclusion. It very much portrays a Poirot who, while the ever-proud and determined detective who refuses to be beaten, is also the benevolent Christian man who is on the side of the angels in trying to help a rich man gain the Kingdom of Heaven. This is a story full to the brim with religious symbolism and narrative, and there is much to be absorbed here. Just do not drink from the cup!
The Capture of Cerberus
And so, to the final story in the collection, and the last of Poirot’s ‘labours’. It was the story I was waiting for throughout the entire collection, soft-hearted creature that I am, as this story sees the return to Poirot’s life of the Russian ‘sometimes’ jewel thief, Countess Vera Rosakoff. Poirot’s admiration for her is long-standing, and the moment he recognises her as she is going down the escalator in the London Underground and he is going the opposite way, he turns tail and tries to find her. She calls to him that he can find her ‘in Hell’.
Hell, as it transpires, is a nightclub, replete with a giant black hound (if ever Poirot needed a nudge towards this being an excuse for Cerberus, this is it!). The Countess owns the place, and is accompanied by a young, bespectacled psychiatrist, Alice Cunningham, the partner of her son who is working in America. All is not as it seems at the nightclub, as the police are convinced that it is the headquarters of a drugs ring. There is even a detective planted among the customers, gathering intelligence.
Poirot neither wants the Countess to be mixed up in this, nor does he want her being framed for the drugs racket. In typically brilliant Poirot style, and employing the assistance of various slightly unscrupulous helpers reminiscent of the tactics of Sherlock Holmes, he brings this case to a conclusion most satisfying to him. There are elements of this story which make up the main love interest and villain threads of the TV adaptation of The Labours of Hercules, yet the treatments of both are vastly different. If you have watched the adaptation and not read the story yet, then I would urge you to read this for a completely different story and thematic experience. I adore this story.
There you have it: all the ‘labours’ of Hercule Poirot. As with any short story collection, I have my favourite tales (as I think you may well have gathered!). The Ancient and the Modern combine continuously throughout, giving Poirot a mythological tale on which to base his final group of cases before retirement – and if you believe he is going to retire, then definitely think again. It is absolutely not at all necessary to wait until Short Story Month to read this collection, as I have done, but it has been a fabulous excuse for me to re-read it. If you have not yet experienced these stories, or the TV adaptation, which I have referenced incessantly and unapologetically, then I recommend both. If you can read ‘The Arcadian Deer’, ‘The Erymanthian Boar’, ‘The Stymphalean Birds’ and ‘The Capture of Cerberus’ in close succession to each other and to watching the film, so much the better. I hope you enjoy The Labours of Hercules.
You might also like:
‘Joy is a bubble’ (complete short story) written by me and included in my collection, The Reason for Everything
‘Instinct’ (complete short story) written by me and included in my collection, The Reason for Everything
Short story month: I’m addicted to short stories (as relevant now as it was when I wrote this post in 2021)
