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‘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.’
Gladys Nevill was a tall, fair, somewhat anaemic 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 dare say 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.’
‘Can 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 Blackshirted 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.
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:
