ii
it was a police constable who opened the door of 58. he said respectfully:
“m. poirot?”
“it’s i, myself.”
“the chief inspector is upstairs. second floor—you know it?”
hercule poirot said:
“i was there this morning.”
there were three men in the room. japp looked up as poirot entered.
he said:
“glad to see you, poirot. we’re just going to move him. like to see him first?”
a man with a camera who had been kneeling near the body got up.
poirot came forward. the body was lying near the fireplace.
in death mr. morley looked very much as he had looked in life. there was a little blackened
hole just below his right temple. a small pistol lay on the floor near his outflung right hand.
poirot shook his head gently.
japp said:
“all right, you can move him now.”
they took mr. morley away. japp and poirot were left alone.
japp said:
“we’re through all the routine. fingerprints, etc.”
poirot sat down. he said:
“tell me.”
japp pursed his lips. he said:
“he could have shot himself. he probably did shoot himself. there are only his fingerprints on
the gun—but i’m not quite satisfied.”
“what are your objections?”
“well, to begin with, there doesn’t seem to be any reason why he should shoot himself … he
was in good health, he was making money, he hadn’t any worries that anyone knew of. he wasn’t
mixed up with a woman—at least,” japp corrected himself cautiously, “as far as we know he
wasn’t. he hasn’t been moody or depressed or unlike himself. that’s partly why i was anxious to
hear what you said. you saw him this morning, and i wondered if you’d noticed anything.”
poirot shook his head.
“nothing at all. he was—what shall i say—normality itself.”
“then that makes it odd, doesn’t it? anyway, you wouldn’t think a man would shoot himself in
the middle of business hours, so to speak. why not wait till this evening? that would be the
natural thing to do.”
poirot agreed.
“when did the tragedy occur?”
“can’t say exactly. nobody seems to have heard the shot. but i don’t think they would. there
are two doors between here and the passage and they have baize fitted round the edges—to deaden
the noise from the victims of the dental chair, i imagine.”
“very probably. patients under gas sometimes make a lot of noise.”
“quite. and outside, in the street, there’s plenty of traffic, so you wouldn’t be likely to hear it
out there.”
“when was it discovered?”
“round about one thirty—by the page boy, alfred biggs. not a very bright specimen, by all
accounts. it seems that morley’s twelve thirty patient kicked up a bit of a row at being kept
waiting. about one ten the boy came up and knocked. there was no answer and apparently he
didn’t dare come in. he’d got in a few rows already from morley and he was nervous of doing the
wrong thing. he went down again and the patient walked out in a huff at one fifteen. i don’t blame
her. she’d been kept waiting three-quarters of an hour and she wanted her lunch.”
“who was she?”
japp grinned.
“according to the boy she was miss shirty—but from the appointment book her name was
kirby.”
“what system was there for showing up patients?”
“when morley was ready for his next patient he pressed that buzzer over there and the boy then
showed the patient up.”
“and morley pressed the buzzer last?”
“at five minutes past twelve, and the boy showed up the patient who was waiting. mr.
amberiotis, savoy hotel, according to the appointment book.”
a faint smile came to poirot’s lips. he murmured:
“i wonder what our page boy made of that name!”
“a pretty hash, i should say. we’ll ask him presently if we feel like a laugh.”
poirot said:
“and at what time did this mr. amberiotis leave?”
“the boy didn’t show him out, so he doesn’t know … a good many patients just go down the
stairs without ringing for the lift and let themselves out.”
poirot nodded.
japp went on:
“but i rang up the savoy hotel. mr. amberiotis was quite precise. he said he looked at his
watch as he closed the front door and it was then twenty-five minutes past twelve.”
“he could tell you nothing of importance?”
“no, all he could say was that the dentist had seemed perfectly normal and calm in his manner.”
“eh bien,” said poirot. “then that seems quite clear. between five and twenty past twelve and
half past one something happened—and presumably nearer the former time.”
“quite. because otherwise—”
“otherwise he would have pressed the buzzer for the next patient.”
“exactly. the medical evidence agrees with that for what it’s worth. the divisional surgeon
examined the body—at twenty past two. he wouldn’t commit himself—they never do nowadays
—too many individual idiosyncrasies, they say. but morley couldn’t have been shot later than one
o’clock, he says—probably considerably earlier—but he wouldn’t be definite.”
poirot said thoughtfully:
“then at twenty-five minutes past twelve our dentist is a normal dentist, cheerful, urbane,
competent. and after that? despair—misery—what you will—and he shoots himself?”
“it’s funny,” said japp. “you’ve got to admit, it’s funny.”
“funny,” said poirot, “is not the word.”
“i know it isn’t really—but it’s the sort of thing one says. it’s odd, then, if you like that better.”
“was it his own pistol?”
“no, it wasn’t. he hadn’t got a pistol. never had had one. according to his sister there wasn’t
such a thing in the house. there isn’t in most houses. of course he might have bought it if he’d
made up his mind to do away with himself. if so, we’ll soon know about it.”
poirot asked:
“is there anything else that worries you?”
japp rubbed his nose.
“well, there was the way he was lying. i wouldn’t say a man couldn’t fall like that—but it
wasn’t quite right somehow! and there was just a trace or two on the carpet — as though
something had been dragged along it.”
“that, then, is decidedly suggestive.”
“yes, unless it was that dratted boy. i’ve a feeling that he may have tried to move morley when
he found him. he denies it, of course, but then he was scared. he’s that kind of young ass. the
kind that’s always putting their foot in it and getting cursed, and so they come to lie about things
almost automatically.”
poirot looked thoughtfully round the room.
at the washbasin on the wall behind the door, at the tall filing cabinet on the other side of the
door. at the dental chair and surrounding apparatus near the window, then along to the fireplace
and back to where the body lay; there was a second door in the wall near the fireplace.
japp had followed his glance. “just a small office through there.” he flung open the door.
it was as he had said, a small room, with a desk, a table with a spirit lamp and tea apparatus and
some chairs. there was no other door.
“this is where his secretary worked,” explained japp. “miss nevill. it seems she’s away today.”
his eyes met poirot’s. the latter said:
“he told me, i remember. that again—might be a point against suicide?”
“you mean she was got out of the way?”
japp paused. he said:
“if it wasn’t suicide, he was murdered. but why? that solution seems almost as unlikely as the
other. he seems to have been a quiet, inoffensive sort of chap. who would want to murder him?”
poirot said:
“who could have murdered him?”
japp said:
“the answer to that is—almost anybody! his sister could have come down from their flat above
and shot him, one of the servants could have come in and shot him. his partner, reilly, could have
shot him. the boy alfred could have shot him. one of the patients could have shot him.” he
paused and said, “and amberiotis could have shot him—easiest of the lot.”
poirot nodded.
“but in that case—we have to find out why.”
“exactly. you’ve come round again to the original problem. why? amberiotis is staying at the
savoy. why does a rich greek want to come and shoot an inoffensive dentist?”
“that’s really going to be our stumbling block. motive!”
poirot shrugged his shoulders. he said:
“it would seem that death selected, most inartistically, the wrong man. the mysterious greek,
the rich banker, the famous detective — how natural that one of them should be shot! for
mysterious foreigners may be mixed up in espionage and rich bankers have connections who will
benefit by their deaths and famous detectives may be dangerous to criminals.”
“whereas poor old morley wasn’t dangerous to anybody,” observed japp gloomily.
“i wonder.”
japp whirled round on him.
“what’s up your sleeve now?”
“nothing. a chance remark.”
he repeated to japp those few casual words of mr. morley’s about recognizing faces, and his
mention of a patient.
japp looked doubtful.
“it’s possible, i suppose. but it’s a bit far-fetched. it might have been someone who wanted
their identity kept dark. you didn’t notice any of the other patients this morning?”
poirot murmured:
“i noticed in the waiting room a young man who looked exactly like a murderer!”
japp said, startled: “what’s that?”
poirot smiled:
“mon cher, it was upon my arrival here! i was nervous, fanciful—enfin, in a mood. everything
seemed sinister to me, the waiting room, the patients, the very carpet on the stairs! actually, i
think the young man had very bad toothache. that was all!”
“i know what it can be,” said japp. “however, we’ll check up on your murderer all the same.
we’ll check up on everybody, whether it’s suicide or not. i think the first thing is to have another
talk with miss morley. i’ve only had a word or two. it was a shock to her, of course, but she’s the
kind that doesn’t break down. we’ll go and see her now.”
