I
On the following day Hercule Poirot spent some hours with a theatrical agent of his acquaintance. In the afternoon he went to Oxford. On the day after that he drove down to the country – it was late when he returned.
He had telephoned before he left to make an appointment with Mr. Alistair Blunt for that same evening.
It was half past nine when he reached the Gothic House.
Alistair Blunt was alone in his library when Poirot was shown in.
He looked an eager question at his visitor as he shook hands. He said: 'Well?'
Slowly Hercule Poirot nodded his head.
Blunt looked at him in almost incredulous appreciation.
'Have you found her?'
'Yes. Yes, I have found her.'
He sat down. And he sighed.
Alistair Blunt said: 'You are tired?'
'Yes. I am tired. And it is not pretty – what I have to tell you.'
Blunt said:
'Is she dead?'
'That depends,' said Hercule Poirot slowly, 'on how you like to look at it.'
Blunt frowned.
He said:
'My dear man, a person must be dead or alive. Miss Sainsbury Seale must be one or the other?'
'Ah, but who is Miss Sainsbury Seale?'
Alistair Blunt said:
'You don't mean that – that there isn't any such person?'
'Oh, no, no. There was such a person. She lived in Calcutta. She taught elocution. She busied herself with good works. She came to England in the Maharanah – the same boat in which Mr. Amberiotis travelled. Although they were not in the same class, he helped her over something – some fuss about her luggage. He was, it would seem, a kindly man in little ways. And sometimes, Mr. Blunt, kindness is repaid in an unexpected fashion. It was so, you know, with Mr. Amberiotis. He chanced to meet the lady again in the streets of London. He was feeling expansive, he good-naturedly invited her to lunch with him at the Savoy. An unexpected treat for her. And an unexpected windfall for Mr. Amberiotis! For his kindness was not premeditated – he had no idea that this faded, middle-aged lady was going to present him with the equivalent of a gold mine. But, nevertheless, that is what she did, though she never suspected the fact herself.
'She was never, you see, of the first order of intelligence. A good, well-meaning soul, but the brain, I should say, of a hen.'
Blunt said:
'Then it wasn't she who killed the Chapman woman?'
Poirot said slowly:
'It is difficult to know just how to present the matter. I shall begin, I think, where the matter began for me. With a shoe.'
Blunt said blankly:
'With a shoe?'
Hercule Poirot nodded.
'Yes, a buckled shoe. I came out from my seance at the dentist's and as I stood on the steps of 58 Queen Charlotte Street, a taxi stopped outside, the door opened and a woman's foot prepared to descend. I am a man who notices a woman's foot and ankle. It was a well-shaped foot, with a good ankle and an expensive stocking, but I did not like the shoe. It was a new, shining, patent leather shoe with a large ornate buckle. Not chic – not at all chic!
'And whilst I was observing this, the rest of the lady came into sight – and frankly it was a disappointment – a middle-aged lady without charm and badly dressed.'
'Miss Sainsbury Seale?'
'Precisely. As she descended a contretemps occurred – she caught the buckle of her shoe in the door and it was wrenched off. I picked it up and returned it to her. Later that same day I went with Chief Inspector Japp to talk to this lady (she had not as yet fixed the shoe). On the same evening Miss Sainsbury Seale leaves the hotel and disappears. End of the first part.
'There is a second part to it. That, we shall say, began when Inspector Japp summoned me to King Leopold Mansions. There was a fur chest, and in that fur chest there was a body. I went into the room, I look into the chest – and the first thing I saw was buckled shoe!'
'And so?'
'You have not appreciated the point. It was a shabby shoe – a well-worn shoe. But you see, Miss Sainsbury Seale had come to King Leopold Mansions on the evening of that same day – the day of Mr. Morley's murder. In the morning the shoes were new shoes – in the evening they were worn shoes. One does not wear out a pair of shoes in a day, you comprehend.'
Alistair Blunt said without much interest:
'She could have two pairs of shoes, I suppose?'
'Ah, but that was not so. For Japp and I had gone up to her room at the Glengowrie Court and had looked at all her possessions – and there was no pair of buckled shoes there. She might have had an old pair of shoes, yes. She might have changed into them after a tiring day to go out in the evening, yes? But if so, the other pair would have been at the hotel. It was curious, you will admit?'
Blunt smiled a little. He said:
'I can't see that it is important.'
'No, not important. Not at all important. But one does not like things that one cannot explain. I stood by the fur chest and I looked at the shoe – the buckle had recently been sewn on by hand. I will confess that I then had a moment of doubt – of myself. Yes, I said to myself, Hercule Poirot, you were a little light-headed perhaps this morning. You saw the world through rosy spectacles. Even the old shoes looked like new ones to you!'
'Perhaps that was the explanation?'
'But, no, it was not. My eyes do not deceive me! To continue, I studied the dead body of this woman and I did not like what I saw. Why had the face been wantonly, deliberately smashed and rendered unrecognizable?'
Alistair Blunt moved restlessly. He said:
'Must we go over that again? We know -'
Hercule Poirot said firmly:
'It is necessary. I have to take you over the steps that led me at last to the truth. I said to myself: 'Something is wrong here. Here is a dead woman in the clothes of Miss Sainsbury Seale (except, perhaps, the shoes?) and with the handbag of Miss Sainsbury Seale – but why is her face unrecognizable? Is it, Perhaps, because the face is not the face of Miss Sainsbury Seale?' And immediately I begin to put together what I have heard of the appearance of the other woman – the woman to whom the flat belongs, and I ask myself – might it not, perhaps be this other woman who lies dead here? I go then and look at the other woman's bedroom. I try to picture to myself what sort of woman she is. In superficial appearance, very different to the other. Smart, showily dressed, very much made up. But in essentials, not unlike. Hair, build, age… But there is one difference. Mrs. Albert Chapman took a five in shoes. Miss Sainsbury Seale, I knew, took a size ten stocking – that is to say she would take at least a six in shoes. Mrs. Chapman, then, had smaller feet than Miss Sainsbury Seale. I went back to the body. If my half-formed ideas were right, and the body was that of Mrs. Chapman wearing Miss Sainsbury Seale's clothes, then the shoes should be too big. I took hold of one. But it was not loose. It fitted tightly. That looked as though it were the body of Miss Sainsbury Seale after all! But in that case, why was the face disfigured? Her identity was already proved by the handbag, which could easily have been removed, but which had not been removed.
'It was a puzzle – a tangle. In desperation I seized on Mrs. Chapman's address book – a dentist was the only person who could prove definitely who the dead woman was – or was not. By a coincidence, Mrs. Chapman's
