houses in Devon and on the beach at Ramsgate! My men have spent their time patiently investigating all these reports – and one and all they've led nowhere, except to getting us in wrong with a number of perfectly respectable middle-aged ladies.'
Poirot clicked his tongue sympathetically.
'And yet,' went on Japp, 'she's a real person all right. I mean sometimes you come across a dummy, so to speak – someone who just comes to a place and poses as a Miss Spinks – when all the time there isn't a Miss Spinks. But this woman's genuine – she's got a past, a background! We know all about her from her childhood upwards! She's led a perfectly normal reasonable life – and suddenly, hey, presto! – vanished!'
'There must be a reason,' said Poirot.
'She didn't shoot Morley, if that's what you mean. Amberiotis saw him alive after she left – and we've checked up on her movements after she left Queen Charlotte Street that morning.'
Poirot said impatiently:
'I am not suggesting for a moment that she shot Morley. Of course she did not. But all the same -'
Japp said:
'If you are right about Morley, then it's far more likely that he told her something which, although she doesn't suspect it, gives a clue to his murderer. In that case, she might have been deliberately put out of the way.'
Poirot said:
'All this involves an organization, some big concern quite out of proportion to the death of a quiet dentist in Queen Charlotte Street.'
'Don't you believe everything Reginald Barnes tells you. He's a funny old bird – got spies and communists on the brain.'
Japp got up and Poirot said:
'Let me know if you have news.'
When Japp had gone out, Poirot sat frowning down at the table in front of him.
He had definitely the feeling of waiting for something.
What was it?
He remembered how he had sat before, jotting down various unrelated facts and a series of names.
A bird had flown past the window with a twig in its mouth.
He too, had been collecting twigs. Five, six, pick up sticks…
He had the sticks – quite a number of them now.
They were all there, neatly pigeonholed in his orderly mind – but he had not as yet attempted to set them in order. That was the next step – lay them straight.
What was holding him up? He knew the answer.
He was waiting for something.
Something inevitable, foreordained, the next link in the chain. When it came – then – then he could go on.
II
It was late evening a week later when the summons came.
Japp's voice was brusque over the telephone.
'That you, Poirot? We've found her. You'd better come round. King Leopold Mansions. Battersea Park. Number 45.'
A quarter of an hour later a taxi deposited Poirot outside King Leopold Mansions.
It was a big block of mansion flats looking out over Battersea Park. Number 45 was on the second floor. Japp himself opened the door.
His face was set in grim lines.
'Come in,' he said. 'It's not particularly pleasant, but I expect you'll want to see for yourself.'
Poirot said – but it was hardly a question:
'Dead?'
'What you might describe as very dead!'
Poirot cocked his head at a familiar sound coming from a door on his right.
'That's the porter,' said Japp. 'Being sick in the scullery sink! I had to get him up here to see if he could identify her.'
He led the way down the passage and Poirot followed him. His nose wrinkled.
'Not nice,' said Japp. 'But what can you expect? She's been dead well over a month.'
The room they went into was a small lumber and box room. In the middle of it was a big metal chest of the kind used for storing furs. The lid was open.
Poirot stepped forward and looked inside.
He saw the foot first, with the shabby shoe on it and the ornate buckle. His first sight of Miss Sainsbury Seale had been, he remembered, a shoe buckle.
His gaze travelled up, over the green wool coat and skirt till it reached the head.
He made an inarticulate noise.
'I know,' said Japp. 'It's pretty horrible.'
The face had been battered out of all recognizable shape. Add to that the natural processes of decomposition, and it was no wonder that both men looked a shade pea green as they turned away.
'Oh, well,' said Japp. 'It's all in the day's work. Our day's work. No doubt about it, ours is a lousy job sometimes. There's a spot of brandy in the other room. You'd better have some.'
The living room was smartly furnished in an up to date style – a good deal of chromium and some large, square looking easy chairs upholstered in a pale fawn geometric fabric.
Poirot found the decanter and helped himself to some brandy. As he finished drinking, he said:
'It was not pretty, that! Now tell me, my friend, all about it.'
Japp said:
'This flat belongs to a Mrs. Albert Chapman. Mrs. Chapman is, I gather, a well-upholstered smart blonde of forty-odd. Pays her bills, fond of an occasional game of bridge with her neighbors but keeps to herself more or less. No children. Mr. Chapman is a commercial traveller.
'Sainsbury Seale came here on the evening of our interview with her. About 7:15. So she probably came straight here from the Glengowrie Court. She'd been here once before, so the porter says. You see, all perfectly clear and above-board – nice friendly call. The porter took Miss Sainsbury Seale up in the elevator to this flat. The last he saw of her she was standing on the mat pressing the bell.'
Poirot commented:
'He has taken his time to remember this!'
'He's had gastric trouble, it seems, been away in hospital while another man took on temporarily for him. It wasn't until about a week ago that he happened to notice in an old paper the description of a 'wanted woman' and he said to his wife, 'Sounds quite like that old cup of tea who came to see Mrs. Chapman on the second floor. She had on a green wool dress and buckles on her shoes.' And after about another hour he registered again. 'Believe she had a name, too, something like that. Blimey, it was – Miss Something or other Seale.'
'After that,' continued Japp, 'it took him about four days to overcome his natural distrust of getting mixed up with the police and come along with his information.
'We didn't really think it would lead to anything. You've no idea of how many of these false alarms we've had. However, I sent Sergeant Beddoes along – he's a bright young fellow. A bit too much of this high class education but he can't help that. It's fashionable now.
'Well, Beddoes got a hunch at once that we were on to something at last. For one thing, this Mrs. Chapman hadn't been seen about for over a month. She'd gone away without leaving any address. That was a bit odd. In fact, everything he could learn about Mr. and Mrs. Chapman seemed odd.
'He found out the porter hadn't seen Miss Sainsbury Seale leave again. That in itself wasn't unusual. She might easily have come down the stairs and gone out without his seeing her. But then the porter told him that Mrs.
