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 wash-basin 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
