ix
poirot walked home through the deserted streets in a thoughtful frame of mind.
when he got in, he rang up japp.
“forgive my troubling you, my friend, but did you ever do anything in the matter of tracing that
telegram that was sent to gladys nevill?”
“still harping on the subject? yes, we did, as a matter of fact. there was a telegram and—rather
clever—the aunt lives at richbourne in somerset. the telegram was handed in at richbarn—you
know, the london suburb.”
hercule poirot said appreciatively:
“that was clever — yes, that was clever. if the recipient happened to glance at where the
telegram was handed in, the word would look sufficiently like richbourne to carry conviction.”
he paused.
“do you know what i think, japp?”
“well?”
“there are signs of brains in this business.”
“hercule poirot wants it to be murder, so it’s got to be murder.”
“how do you explain that telegram?”
“coincidence. someone was hoaxing the girl.”
“why should they?”
“oh, my goodness, poirot, why do people do things? practical jokes, hoaxes. misplaced sense
of humour, that’s all.”
“and somebody felt like being funny just on the day that morley was going to make a mistake
over an injection.”
“there may have been a certain amount of cause and effect. because miss nevill was away,
morley was more rushed than usual and consequently was more likely to make a mistake.”
“i am still not satisfied.”
“i daresay—but don’t you see where your view is leading you? if anybody got la nevill out of
the way, it was probably morley himself. making his killing of amberiotis deliberate and not an
accident.”
poirot was silent. japp said:
“you see?”
poirot said:
“amberiotis might have been killed in some other way.”
“not he. nobody came to see him at the savoy. he lunched up in his room. and the doctors say
the stuff was definitely injected, not taken by mouth—it wasn’t in the stomach. so there you are.
it’s a clear case.”
“that is what we are meant to think.”
“the a.c. is satisfied anyway.”
“and he is satisfied with the disappearing lady?”
“the case of the vanishing seal? no, i can tell you, we’re still working on that. that woman’s
got to be somewhere. you just can’t walk out into the street and disappear.”
“she seems to have done so.”
“for the moment. but she must be somewhere, alive or dead, and i don’t think she is dead.”
“why not?”
“because we’d have found her body by now.”
“oh, my japp, do bodies always come to light so soon?”
“i suppose you’re hinting that she’s been murdered now and that we’ll find her in a quarry, cut
up in little pieces like mrs. ruxton?”
“after all, mon ami, you do have missing persons who are not found.”
“very seldom, old boy. lots of women disappear, yes, but we usually find ’em, all right. nine
times out of ten it’s a case of good old sex. they’re somewhere with a man. but i don’t think it
could be that with our mabelle, do you?”
“one never knows,” said poirot cautiously. “but i do not think it likely. so you are sure of
finding her?”
“we’ll find her all right. we’re publishing a description of her to the press and we’re roping in
the b.b.c.”
“ah,” said poirot, “i fancy that may bring developments.”
“don’t worry, old boy. we’ll find your missing beauty for you—woollen underwear and all.”
he rang off.
george entered the room with his usual noiseless tread. he set down on a little table a steaming
pot of chocolate and some sugar biscuits.
“will there be anything else, sir?”
“i am in great perplexity of mind, georges.”
“indeed, sir? i am sorry to hear it.”
hercule poirot poured himself out some chocolate and stirred his cup thoughtfully.
george stood deferentially waiting, recognizing the signs. there were moments when hercule
poirot discussed his cases with his valet. he always said that he found george’s comments
singularly helpful.
“you are aware, no doubt, georges, of the death of my dentist?”
“mr. morley, sir? yes, sir. very distressing, sir. he shot himself, i understand.”
“that is the general understanding. if he did not shoot himself, he was murdered.”
“yes, sir.”
“the question is, if he was murdered, who murdered him?”
“quite so, sir.”
“there are only a certain number of people, georges, who could have murdered him. that is to
say the people who were actually in, or could have been in, the house at the time.”
“quite so, sir.”
“those people are: a cook and housemaid, amiable domestics and highly unlikely to do
anything of the kind. a devoted sister, also highly unlikely, but who does inherit her brother’s
money such as it was—and one can never entirely neglect the financial aspect. an able and
efficient partner—no motive known. a somewhat boneheaded page boy addicted to cheap crime
stories. and lastly, a greek gentleman of somewhat doubtful antecedents.”
george coughed.
“these foreigners, sir—”
“exactly. i agree perfectly. the greek gentleman is decidedly indicated. but you see, georges,
the greek gentleman also died and apparently it was mr. morley who killed him—whether by
intention or as the result of an unfortunate error we cannot be sure.”
“it might be, sir, that they killed each other. i mean, sir, each gentleman had formed the idea of
doing the other gentleman in, though of course each gentleman was unaware of the other
gentleman’s intention.”
hercule poirot purred approvingly.
“very ingenious, georges. the dentist murders the unfortunate gentleman who sits in the chair,
not realizing that the said victim is at that moment meditating exactly at what moment to whip out
his pistol. it could, of course, be so but it seems to me, georges, extremely unlikely. and we have
not come to the end of our list yet. there are still two other people who might possibly have been
in the house at the given moment. every patient, before mr. amberiotis, was actually seen to leave
the house with the exception of one—a young american gentleman. he left the waiting room at
about twenty minutes to twelve, but no one actually saw him leave the house. we must therefore
count him as a possibility. the other possibility is a certain mr. frank carter (not a patient) who
came to the house at a little after twelve with the intention of seeing mr. morley. nobody saw him
leave, either. those, my good georges, are the facts; what do you think of them?”
“at what time was the murder committed, sir?”
“if the murder was committed by mr. amberiotis, it was committed at any time between twelve
and five-and-twenty past. if by somebody else, it was committed after twenty-five minutes past
twelve, as otherwise mr. amberiotis would have noticed the corpse.”
he looked encouragingly at george.
“now, my good georges, what have you to say about the matter?”
george pondered. he said:
“it strikes me, sir—”
“yes, georges?”
“you will have to find another dentist to attend to your teeth in future, sir.”
hercule poirot said:
“you surpass yourself, georges. that aspect of the matter had not as yet occurred to me!”
looking gratified, george left the room.
hercule poirot remained sipping his chocolate and going over the facts he had just outlined. he
felt satisfied that they were as he had stated them. within that circle of persons was the hand that
had actually done the deed—no matter whose the inspiration had been.
then his eyebrows shot up as he realized that the list was incomplete. he had left out one name.
and no one must be left out—not even the most unlikely person.
there had been one other person in the house at the time of the murder.
he wrote down:
“mr. barnes.”
