One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

‘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!’