Agatha Christie - One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

"So it was! Do forgive – so short-sighted – and very dark here, isn't it?"

She trailed off into incoherencies.

"And really, you know, I flatter myself that I have a very good memory for faces. But the light here is dim, isn't it? Do forgive my most unfortunate mistake!"

They soothed the lady down, and Japp asked:

"You are quite sure Mr. Morley didn't say anything such as – for instance – that he was expecting a painful interview this morning? Anything of that kind?"

"No, indeed, I'm sure he didn't."

"He didn't mention a patient by the name of Amberiotis?"

"No, no. He really said nothing – except, I mean, the things that dentists have to say."

Through Poirot's mind there ran quickly: "Rinse. Open a little wider, please. Now close gently."

Japp had proceeded to his next step. It would possibly be necessary for Miss Sainsbury Seale to give evidence at the inquest.

After a first scream of dismay, Miss Sainsbury Seale seemed to take kindly to the idea. A tentative inquiry from Japp produced Miss Sainsbury Seale's whole life history.

She had, it seemed, come from India to England six months ago. She had lived in various hotels and boarding houses and had finally come to the Glengowrie Court which she liked very much because of its homely atmosphere; in India she had lived mostly in Calcutta where she had done mission work and had also taught elocution.

"Pure, well enunciated English – most important, Chief Inspector. You see -" Miss Sainsbury Seale simpered and bridled – "as a girl I was on the stage. Oh! only in small parts, you know. The provinces! But I had great ambitions. Repertory. Then I went on a world tour – Shakespeare, Bernard Shaw." She sighed. "The trouble with us poor women is heart – at the mercy of our hearts. A rash, impulsive marriage. Alas! we parted almost immediately. I had been sadly deceived. I resumed my maiden name. A friend kindly provided me with a little capital and I started my elocution school. I helped to found a very good amateur dramatic society. I must show you some of our notices."

Chief Inspector Japp knew the dangers of that! He escaped, Miss Sainsbury Seale's last words being, "and if, by any chance, my name should be in the papers – as a witness at the inquest, I mean – you will be sure that it is spelled right? Mabelle Sainsbury Seale – Mabelle spelt M.A.B.E.L.L.E., and Seale S.E.A.L.E. And of course, if they did care to mention that I appeared in As You like It at the Oxford Repertory Theatre -"

"Of course, of course." Chief Inspector Japp fairly fled.

In the taxi, he sighed and wiped his forehead.

"If it's ever necessary, we ought to be able to check up on her all right," he observed, "unless it was all lies – but that I don't believe!"

Poirot shook his head.

"Liars," he said, "are neither so circumstantial nor so inconsequential."

Japp went on:

"I was afraid she'd jib at the inquest – most middle-aged spinsters do, but her having been an actress accounts for her being eager. Bit of limelight for her!"

Poirot said:

"Do you really want her at the inquest?"

"Probably not. It depends." He paused and then said: "I'm more than ever convinced, Poirot. This wasn't suicide."

"And the motive?"

"Has us beat for the moment. Suppose Morley once seduced Amberiotis's daughter?"

Poirot was silent. He tried to visualize Mr. Morley in the role of seducer to a luscious-eyed Greek maiden, but failed lamentably.

He reminded Japp that Mr. Reilly had said his partner had had no joy of living.

Japp said vaguely:

"Oh, well, you never know what may happen on a cruise!"

And he added with satisfaction, "We shall know better where we stand when we've talked to this fellow."

They paid off the taxi and entered the Savoy.

Japp asked for Mr. Amberiotis.

The clerk looked at them rather oddly. He said:

"Mr. Amberiotis? I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid you can't see him."

"Oh, yes, I can, my lad," Japp said grimly. He drew the other a little aside and showed him his credentials.

The clerk said:

"You don't understand, sir. Mr. Amberiotis died half an hour ago."

To Hercule Poirot it was as though a door had gently but firmly shut.

Twenty-four hours later Japp rang Poirot up. His tone was bitter.

"Washout! The whole thing!"

"What do you mean, my friend?"

"Morley committed suicide all right. We've got the motive."

"What was it?"

"I've just had the doctor's report on Amberiotis' death. I won't give you the official jargon but in plain English he died as the result of an overdose of adrenaline and procaine. It acted on his heart, I understand, and he collapsed. When the wretched devil said he was feeling bad yesterday afternoon, he was just speaking the truth. Well, there you are! Adrenaline and procaine is the mixture dentists inject into your gums – local anaesthetic. Morley made an error, injected an overdose, and then after Amberiotis left, he realized what he had done, couldn't face the music and shot himself."

"With a pistol he was not known to possess?" queried Poirot.

"He may have possessed it all the same. Relations don't know everything. You'd be surprised sometimes, the things they don't know!"

"That is true, yes."

Japp said:

"Well, there you are. It's a perfectly logical explanation of the whole thing."

Poirot said:

"You know, my friend, it does not quite satisfy me. It is true that patients have been known to react unfavorably to these local anaesthetics. Adrenaline idiosyncrasy is well known. In combination with procaine toxic effects have followed quite small doses. But the doctor or dentist who employed the drug does not usually carry his concern as far as killing himself!"

"Yes, but you're talking of cases where the employment of the anaesthetic was normal. In that case no particular blame attaches to the surgeon concerned. It is the idiosyncrasy of the patient that has caused death. But in this case it's pretty clear that there was a definite overdose. They haven't got the exact amount yet – these quantitive analyses seem to take a month of Sundays – but it was definitely more than the normal dose. That means that Morley must have made a mistake."

"Even then," said Poirot, "it was a mistake. It would not be a criminal matter."

"No, but it wouldn't do him any good in his profession. In fact, it would pretty well ruin him. Nobody's going to go to a dentist who's likely to shoot lethal doses of poison into you just because he happens to be a bit absent-minded."

"It was a curious thing to do, I admit."

"These things happen – they happen to doctors – they happen to chemists. Careful and reliable for years, and then – one moment's inattention – and the mischief's done and the poor devils are for it. Morley was a sensitive man. In the case of a doctor, there's usually a chemist or a dispenser to share the blame – or to shoulder it altogether. In this case Morley was solely responsible."

Poirot demurred.

"Would he not have left some message behind him? Saying what he had done? And that he could not face the consequences? Something of that kind? Just a word for his sister?"

"No, as I see it, he suddenly realized what had happened – and just lost his nerve and took the quickest way out."

Poirot did not answer.

Japp said:

"I know you, old boy. Once you've got your teeth into a case of murder, you like it to be a case of murder! I admit I'm responsible for setting you on the track this time. Well, I made a mistake. I admit it freely."

Poirot said:

"I still think, you know, that there might be another explanation."

"Plenty of other explanations, I daresay. I've thought of them – but they're all too fantastic. Let's say that Amberiotis shot Morley, went home, was filled with remorse and committed suicide, using some stuff he'd pinched from Morley's surgery. If you think that's likely, I think it's damned unlikely. We've got a record of Amberiotis at the Yard. Quite interesting. Started as a little hotelkeeper in Greece, then he mixed himself up in politics. He's done espionage work in Germany and in France – and made very pretty little sums of money. But he wasn't getting rich quick enough that way, and he's believed to have done a spot or two of blackmail. Not a nice man, our Mr. Amberiotis. He was out in India last year and is believed to have bled one of the native princes rather freely. The difficult thing has been ever to prove anything against him. Slippery as an eel! Then there is another possibility. He might have been blackmailing Morley over something or other. Morley, having a golden opportunity, plugs an overdose of adrenaline and procaine into him, hoping that the verdict will be an unfortunate accident – adrenaline idiosyncrasy – something of that sort. Then, after the man's gone away Morley gets a fit of remorse and does himself in. That's possible, of course, but I can't somehow see Morley as a deliberate murderer. No, I'm pretty sure it was what I first said – a genuine mistake, made on a morning when he was overworked. We'll have to leave it at that, Poirot. I've talked to the A.C. and he's quite clear on it."