being shown out. Not at all a bad looking man, Poirot reflected mellowly. Probably a fine shot who had killed many a tiger. A useful man – a regular outpost of Empire.
He went into the waiting room to fetch his hat and stick which he had left there. The restless young man was still there somewhat to Poirot's surprise. Another patient, a man, was reading the Field.
Poirot studied the young man in his newborn spirit of kindliness. He still looked very fierce – and as though he wanted to do a murder – but not really a murderer – thought Poirot kindly. Doubtless, presently, this young man would come tripping down the stairs, his ordeal over, happy and smiling and wishing no ill to anyone.
The page boy entered and said firmly and distinctly:
'Mr. Blunt.'
The man at the table laid down the Field and got up. A man of middle height, of middle age, neither fat nor thin. Well dressed, quiet.
He went out after the boy.
One of the richest and most powerful men in England – but he still had to go to the dentist just like anybody else, and no doubt felt just the same as anybody else about it!
These reflections passing through his mind, Hercule Poirot picked up his hat and stick and went to the door. He glanced back as he did so, and the startled thought went through his mind that that young man must have a very bad toothache indeed.
In the hall Poirot paused before the mirror there to adjust his moustaches, slightly disarranged as the result of Mr. Morley's ministrations.
He had just completed their arrangement to his satisfaction when the elevator came down again and the page boy emerged from the back of the hall whistling discordantly. He broke off abruptly at the sight of Poirot and came to open the front door for him.
A taxi had just drawn up before the house and a foot was protruding from it. Poirot surveyed the foot with gallant interest.
A neat ankle, quite a good quality stocking. Not a bad foot. But he didn't like the shoe. A brand new patent leather shoe with a large gleaming buckle. He shook his head.
Not chic – very provincial!
The lady got out of the taxi, but in doing so she caught her other foot in the door and the buckle was wrenched off. It fell tinkling to the pavement. Gallantly Poirot sprang forward and picked it up, restoring it with a bow.
Alas! Nearer fifty than forty. Pince-nez. Untidy yellow-grey hair – unbecoming clothes – those depressing art greens! She thanked him, again dropping her pince-nez, then her handbag.
Poirot, polite if no longer gallant, picked them up for her.
She went up the steps of 58 Queen Charlotte Street, and Poirot interrupted the taxi driver's disgusted contemplation of a meager tip.
'You are free, hein?'
The taxi driver said gloomily:
'Oh, I'm free.'
'So am I,' said Hercule Poirot. 'Free of care!'
He saw the taxi man's air of deep suspicion.
'No, my friend, I am not drunk. It is that I have been to the dentist and I need not go again for six months. It is a beautiful thought.'
Chapter 2
THREE, FOUR, SHUT THE DOOR
I
It was a quarter to three when the telephone rang.
Hercule Poirot was sitting in an easy chair, happily digesting an excellent lunch.
He did not move when the bell rang but waited for the faithful George to come and take the call.
'Eh bien,' he said, as George, with a 'Just a minute, sir,' lowered the receiver.
'It's Chief Inspector Japp, sir.'
'Aha!'
Poirot lifted the receiver to his ear.
'Eh bien, mon vieux,' he said. 'How goes it?'
'That you, Poirot?'
'Naturally.'
'I hear you went to the dentist this morning? Is that so?'
Poirot murmured,
'Scotland Yard knows everything!'
'Man by the name of Morley. 58 Queen Charlotte Street.'
'Yes.' Poirot's voice had changed. 'Why?'
'It was a genuine visit, was it? I mean you didn't go to stir him up or anything of that sort?'
'Certainly not. I had three teeth filled if you want to know.'
'What did he seem like to you – manner much as usual?'
'I should say so, yes. Why?'
Japp's voice was rigidly unemotional.
'Because not so very much later he shot himself.'
'What?'
Japp said sharply,
'That surprises you?'
'Frankly, it does.'
Japp said,
'I'm not too happy about it myself, I'd like to have a talk with you. I suppose you wouldn't like to come round?'
'Where are you?'
' Queen Charlotte Street.'
Poirot said,
'I will join you immediately.'
II
It was a police constable who opened the door of Number 58. He said respectfully:
'M. Poirot?'
'It's I, myself.'
'The Chief Inspector is upstairs. Second floor – you know it?'
Hercule Poirot said:
'I was there this morning.'
There were three men in the room. Japp looked up as Poirot entered.
He said:
'Glad to see you, Poirot. We're just going to move him. Like to see him first?'
