One, Two, Buckle My Shoe, Page 3

  “Yes.”

  “What used she to do for him?”

  “She did all his correspondence, of course, and kept the appointment book, and filed all the charts. She also saw to the sterilizing of the instruments and ground up his fillings and handed them to him when he was working.”

  “Had she been with him long?”

  “Three years. She is a very reliable girl and we are—were both very fond of her.”

  Poirot said:

  “She was called away owing to the illness of a relative, so your brother told me.”

  “Yes, she got a telegram to say her aunt had had a stroke. She went off to Somerset by an early train.”

  “And that was what annoyed your brother so much?”

  “Ye-es.” There was a faint hesitation in Miss Morley’s answer. She went on rather hurriedly. “You—you mustn’t think my brother unfeeling. It was only that he thought—just for a moment—”

  “Yes, Miss Morley?”

  “Well, that she might have played truant on purpose. Oh! Please don’t misunderstand me—I’m quite certain that Gladys would never do such a thing. I told Henry so. But the fact of the matter is, that she has got herself engaged to rather an unsuitable young man—Henry was very vexed about it—and it occurred to him that this young man might have persuaded her to take a day off.”

  “Was that likely?”

  “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. Gladys is a very conscientious girl.”

  “But it is the sort of thing the young man might have suggested?”

  Miss Morley sniffed.

  “Quite likely, I should say.”

  “What does he do, this young fellow—what is his name, by the way?”

  “Carter, Frank Carter. He is—or was—an insurance clerk, I believe. He lost his job some weeks ago and doesn’t seem able to get another. Henry said—and I daresay he was right—that he is a complete rotter. Gladys had actually lent him some of her savings and Henry was very annoyed about it.”

  Japp said sharply:

  “Did your brother try to persuade her to break her engagement?”

  “Yes, he did, I know.”

  “Then this Frank Carter would, quite possibly, have a grudge against your brother.”

  The Grenadier said robustly:

  “Nonsense—that is if you are suggesting that Frank Carter shot Henry. Henry advised the girl against young Carter, certainly; but she didn’t take his advice—she is foolishly devoted to Frank.”

  “Is there anyone else you can think of who had a grudge against your brother?”

  Miss Morley shook her head.

  “Did he get on well with his partner, Mr. Reilly?”

  Miss Morley replied acidly:

  “As well as you can ever hope to get on with an Irishman!”

  “What do you mean by that, Miss Morley?”

  “Well, Irishmen have hot tempers and they thoroughly enjoy a row of any kind. Mr. Reilly liked arguing about politics.”

  “That was all?”

  “That was all. Mr. Reilly is unsatisfactory in many ways, but he was very skilled in his profession—or so my brother said.”

  Japp persisted:

  “How is he unsatisfactory?”

  Miss Morley hesitated, then said acidly:

  “He drinks too much—but please don’t let that go any further.”

  “Was there any trouble between him and your brother on that subject?”

  “Henry gave him one or two hints. In dentistry,” continued Miss Morley didactically, “a steady hand is needed, and an alcoholic breath does not inspire confidence.”

  Japp bowed his head in agreement. Then he said:

  “Can you tell us anything of your brother’s financial position?”

  “Henry was making a good income and he had a certain amount put by. We each had a small private income of our own left to us by our father.”

  Japp murmured with a slight cough:

  “You don’t know, I suppose, if your brother left a will?”

  “He did—and I can tell you its contents. He left a hundred pounds to Gladys Nevill, otherwise everything comes to me.”

  “I see. Now—”

  There was a fierce thump on the door. Alfred’s face then appeared round it. His goggling eyes took in each detail of the two visitors as he ejaculated:

  “It’s Miss Nevill. She’s back—and in a rare taking. Shall she come in, she wants to know?”

  Japp nodded and Miss Morley said:

  “Tell her to come here, Alfred.”

  “O.K.,” said Alfred, and disappeared. Miss Morley said with a sigh and in obvious capital letters:

  “That Boy is a Sad Trial.”

  IV

  Gladys Nevill was a tall, fair, somewhat anemic girl of about twenty-eight. Though obviously very upset, she at once showed that she was capable and intelligent.

  Under the pretext of looking through Mr. Morley’s papers, Japp got her away from Miss Morley down to the little office next door to the surgery.

  She repeated more than once:

  “I simply cannot believe it! It seems quite incredible that Mr. Morley should do such a thing!”

  She was emphatic that he had not seemed troubled or worried in any way.

  Then Japp began:

  “You were called away today, Miss Nevill—”

  She interrupted him.

  “Yes, and the whole thing was a wicked practical joke! I do think it’s awful of people to do things like that. I really do.”

  “What do you mean, Miss Nevill?”

  “Why, there wasn’t anything the matter with Aunt at all. She’d never been better. She couldn’t understand it when I suddenly turned up. Of course I was ever so glad—but it did make me mad. Sending a telegram like that and upsetting me and everything.”

  “Have you got that telegram, Miss Nevill?”

  “I threw it away, I think, at the station. It just said, Your aunt had a stroke last night. Please come at once.”

  “You are quite sure—well—” Japp coughed delicately—“that it wasn’t your friend, Mr. Carter, who sent that telegram?”

  “Frank? Whatever for? Oh! I see, you mean—a put-up job between us? No, indeed, Inspector—neither of us would do such a thing.”

  Her indignation seemed genuine enough and Japp had a little trouble in soothing her down. But a question as to the patients on this particular morning restored her to her competent self.

  “They are all here in the book. I daresay you have seen it already. I know about most of them. Ten o’clock, Mrs. Soames—that was about her new plate. Ten thirty, Lady Grant—she’s an elderly lady—lives in Lowndes Square. Eleven o’clock, M. Hercule Poirot, he comes regularly—oh, of course this is him—sorry, M. Poirot, but I really am so upset! Eleven thirty, Mr. Alistair Blunt—that’s the banker, you know—a short appointment, because Mr. Morley had prepared the filling last time. Then Miss Sainsbury Seale—she rang up specially—had toothache and so Mr. Morley fitted her in. A terrible talker, she is, never stops—the fussy kind, too. Then twelve o’clock, Mr. Amberiotis—he was a new patient—made an appointment from the Savoy Hotel. Mr. Morley gets quite a lot of foreigners and Americans. Then twelve thirty, Miss Kirby. She comes up from Worthing.”

  Poirot asked:

  “There was here when I arrived a tall military gentleman. Who would he be?”

  “One of Mr. Reilly’s patients, I expect. I’ll just get his list for you, shall I?”

  “Thank you, Miss Nevill.”

  She was absent only a few minutes. She returned with a similar book to that of Mr. Morley.

  She read out:

  “Ten o’clock, Betty Heath (that’s a little girl of nine). Eleven o’clock, Colonel Abercrombie.”

  “Abercrombie!” murmured Poirot. “C’etait ça!”

  “Eleven thirty, Mr. Howard Raikes. Twelve o’clock, Mr. Barnes. That was all the patients this morning. Mr. Reilly isn’t so booked up as Mr. Morley, of course.”

  “C
an you tell us anything about any of these patients of Mr. Reilly’s?”

  “Colonel Abercrombie has been a patient for a long time, and all Mrs. Heath’s children come to Mr. Reilly. I can’t tell you anything about Mr. Raikes or Mr. Barnes, though I fancy I have heard their names. I take all the telephone calls, you see—”

  Japp said:

  “We can ask Mr. Reilly ourselves. I should like to see him as soon as possible.”

  Miss Nevill went out. Japp said to Poirot:

  “All old patients of Mr. Morley’s except Amberiotis. I’m going to have an interesting talk with Mr. Amberiotis presently. He’s the last person, as it stands, to see Morley alive, and we’ve got to make quite sure that when he last saw him, Morley was alive.”

  Poirot said slowly, shaking his head:

  “You have still to prove motive.”

  “I know. That’s what is going to be the teaser. But we may have something about Amberiotis at the Yard.” He added sharply: “You’re very thoughtful, Poirot!”

  “I was wondering about something.”

  “What was it?”

  Poirot said with a faint smile:

  “Why Chief Inspector Japp?”

  “Eh?”

  “I said, ‘Why Chief Inspector Japp?’ An officer of your eminence—is he usually called in to a case of suicide?”

  “As a matter of fact, I happened to be nearby at the time. At Lavenham’s—in Wigmore Street. Rather an ingenious system of frauds they’ve had there. They telephoned me there to come on here.”

  “But why did they telephone you?”

  “Oh, that—that’s simple enough. Alistair Blunt. As soon as the Divisional Inspector heard he’d been here this morning, he got on to the Yard. Mr. Blunt is the kind of person we take care of in this country.”

  “You mean that there are people who would like him—out of the way?”

  “You bet there are. The Reds, to begin with—and our Black-shirted friends, too. It’s Blunt and his group who are standing solid behind the present Government. Good sound Conservative finance. That’s why, if there were the least chance that there was any funny stuff intended against him this morning, they wanted a thorough investigation.”

  Poirot nodded.

  “That is what I more or less guessed. And that is the feeling I have”—he waved his hands expressively—“that there was, perhaps—a hitch of some kind. The proper victim was—should have been—Alistair Blunt. Or is this only a beginning—the beginning of a campaign of some kind? I smell—I smell—” he sniffed the air, “—big money in this business!”

  Japp said:

  “You’re assuming a lot, you know.”

  “I am suggesting that ce pauvre Morley was only a pawn in the game. Perhaps he knew something—perhaps he told Blunt something—or they feared he would tell Blunt something—”

  He stopped as Gladys Nevill entered the room.

  “Mr. Reilly is busy on an extraction case,” she said. “He will be free in about ten minutes if that will be all right?”

  Japp said that it would. In the meantime, he said, he would have another talk to the boy Alfred.

  V

  Alfred was divided between nervousness, enjoyment, and a morbid fear of being blamed for everything that had occurred! He had only been a fortnight in Mr. Morley’s employment, and during that fortnight he had consistently and unvaryingly done everything wrong. Persistent blame had sapped his self-confidence.

  “He was a bit rattier than usual, perhaps,” said Alfred in answer to a question, “nothing else as I can remember. I’d never have thought he was going to do himself in.”

  Poirot interposed.

  “You must tell us,” he said, “everything that you can remember about this morning. You are a very important witness, and your recollections may be of immense service to us.”

  Alfred’s face was suffused by vivid crimson and his chest swelled. He had already given Japp a brief account of the morning’s happenings. He proposed now to spread himself. A comforting sense of importance oozed into him.

  “I can tell you orl right,” he said. “Just you ask me.”

  “To begin with, did anything out of the way happen this morning?”

  Alfred reflected a minute and then said rather sadly: “Can’t say as it did. It was orl just as usual.”

  “Did any strangers come to the house?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Not even among the patients?”

  “I didn’t know as you meant the patients. Nobody come what hadn’t got an appointment, if that’s what you mean. They were all down in the book.”

  Japp nodded. Poirot asked:

  “Could anybody have walked in from outside?”

  “No, they couldn’t. They’d have to have a key, see?”

  “But it was quite easy to leave the house?”

  “Oh, yes, just turn the handle and go out and pull the door to after you. As I was saying most of ’em do. They often come down the stairs while I’m taking up the next party in the lift, see?”

  “I see. Now just tell us who came first this morning and so on. Describe them if you can’t remember their names.”

  Alfred reflected a minute. Then he said: “Lady with a little girl, that was for Mr. Reilly and a Mrs. Soap or some such name for Mr. Morley.”

  Poirot said:

  “Quite right. Go on.”

  “Then another elderly lady—bit of a toff she was—come in a Daimler. As she went out a tall military gent come in, and just after him, you came,” he nodded to Poirot.

  “Right.”

  “Then the American gent came—”

  Japp said sharply:

  “American?”

  “Yes, sir. Young fellow. He was American all right—you could tell by his voice. Come early, he did. His appointment wasn’t till eleven thirty—and what’s more he didn’t keep it—neither.”

  Japp said sharply:

  “What’s that?”

  “Not him. Come in for him when Mr. Reilly’s buzzer went at eleven thirty—a bit later it was, as a matter of fact, might have been twenty to twelve—and he wasn’t there. Must have funked it and gone away.” He added with a knowledgeable air, “They do sometimes.”

  Poirot said:

  “Then he must have gone out soon after me?”

  “That’s right, sir. You went out after I’d taken up a toff what come in a Rolls. Coo—it was a loverly car, Mr. Blunt—eleven thirty. Then I come down and let you out, and a lady in. Miss Some Berry Seal, or something like that—and then I—well, as a matter of fact I just nipped down to the kitchen to get my elevenses, and when I was down there the buzzer went—Mr. Reilly’s buzzer—so I come up and, as I say, the American gentleman had hooked it. I went and told Mr. Reilly and he swore a bit, as is his way.”

  Poirot said:

  “Continue.”

  “Lemme see, what happened next? Oh, yes, Mr. Morley’s buzzer went for that Miss Seal, and the toff came down and went out as I took Miss Whatsername up in the lift. Then I come down again and two gentlemen came—one a little man with a funny squeaky voice—I can’t remember his name. For Mr. Reilly, he was. And a fat foreign gentleman for Mr. Morley.

  “Miss Seal wasn’t very long—not above a quarter of an hour. I let her out and then I took up the foreign gentleman. I’d already taken the other gent into Mr. Reilly right away as soon as he came.”

  Japp said:

  “And you didn’t see Mr. Amberiotis, the foreign gentleman, leave?”

  “No, sir, I can’t say as I did. He must have let himself out. I didn’t see either of those two gentlemen go.”

  “Where were you from twelve o’clock onwards?”

  “I always sit in the lift, sir, waiting until the front doorbell or one of the buzzers goes.”

  Poirot said:

  “And you were perhaps reading?”

  Alfred blushed again.

  “There ain’t no harm in that, sir. It’s not as though I could be doing anything else.
”

  “Quite so. What were you reading?”

  “Death at Eleven-Forty-Five, sir. It’s an American detective story. It’s a corker, sir, it really is! All about gunmen.”

  Poirot smiled faintly. He said:

  “Would you hear the front door close from where you were?”

  “You mean anyone going out? I don’t think I should, sir. What I mean is, I shouldn’t notice it! You see, the lift is right at the back of the hall and a little round the corner. The bell rings just behind it, and the buzzers too. You can’t miss them.”

  Poirot nodded and Japp asked:

  “What happened next?”

  Alfred frowned in a supreme effort of memory.

  “Only the last lady, Miss Shirty. I waited for Mr. Morley’s buzzer to go, but nothing happened and at one o’clock the lady who was waiting, she got rather ratty.”

  “It did not occur to you to go up before and see if Mr. Morley was ready?”

  Alfred shook his head very positively.

  “Not me, sir. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it. For all I knew the last gentleman was still up there. I’d got to wait for the buzzer. Of course if I’d knowed as Mr. Morley had done himself in—”

  Alfred shook his head with morbid relish.

  Poirot asked:

  “Did the buzzer usually go before the patient came down, or the other way about?”

  “Depends. Usually the patient would come down the stairs and then the buzzer would go. If they rang for the lift, that buzzer would go perhaps as I was bringing them down. But it wasn’t fixed in any way. Sometimes Mr. Morley would be a few minutes before he rang for the next patient. If he was in a hurry, he’d ring as soon as they were out of the room.”

  “I see—” Poirot paused and then went on:

  “Were you surprised at Mr. Morley’s suicide, Alfred?”

  “Knocked all of a heap, I was. He hadn’t no call to go doing himself in as far as I can see—oh!” Alfred’s eyes grew large and round. “Oo—er—he wasn’t murdered, was he?”

  Poirot cut in before Japp could speak.

  “Supposing he were, would it surprise you less?”

  “Well, I don’t know, sir, I’m sure. I can’t see who’d want to murder Mr. Morley. He was—well, he was a very ordinary gentleman, sir. Was he really murdered, sir?”

  Poirot said gravely:

  “We have to take every possibility into account. That is why I told you you would be a very important witness and that you must try and recollect everything that happened this morning.”