One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (Hercule Poirot 23)

V

Alfred was divided between nervousness, enjoyment, and a morbid fear of being blamed for everything that had occurred! He had only been a fortnight in Mr. Morley’s employment, and during that fortnight he had consistently and unvaryingly done everything wrong. Persistent blame had sapped his self-confidence.

“He was a bit rattier than usual, perhaps,” said Alfred in answer to a question, “nothing else as I can remember. I’d never have thought he was going to do himself in.”

Poirot interposed.

“You must tell us,” he said, “everything that you can remember about this morning. You are a very important witness, and your recollections may be of immense service to us.”

Alfred’s face was suffused by vivid crimson and his chest swelled. He had already given Japp a brief account of the morning’s happenings. He proposed now to spread himself. A comforting sense of importance oozed into him.

“I can tell you orl right,” he said. “Just you ask me.”

“To begin with, did anything out of the way happen this morning?”

Alfred reflected a minute and then said rather sadly: “Can’t say as it did. It was orl just as usual.”

“Did any strangers come to the house?”

“No, sir.”

“Not even among the patients?”

“I didn’t know as you meant the patients. Nobody come what hadn’t got an appointment, if that’s what you mean. They were all down in the book.”

Japp nodded. Poirot asked:

“Could anybody have walked in from outside?”

“No, they couldn’t. They’d have to have a key, see?”

“But it was quite easy to leave the house?”

“Oh, yes, just turn the handle and go out and pull the door to after you. As I was saying most of ’em do. They often come down the stairs while I’m taking up the next party in the lift, see?”

“I see. Now just tell us who came first this morning and so on. Describe them if you can’t remember their names.”

Alfred reflected a minute. Then he said: “Lady with a little girl, that was for Mr. Reilly and a Mrs. Soap or some such name for Mr. Morley.”

Poirot said:

“Quite right. Go on.”

“Then another elderly lady—bit of a toff she was—come in a Daimler. As she went out a tall military gent come in, and just after him, you came,” he nodded to Poirot.

“Right.”

“Then the American gent came—”

Japp said sharply:

“American?”

“Yes, sir. Young fellow. He was American all right—you could tell by his voice. Come early, he did. His appointment wasn’t till eleven thirty—and what’s more he didn’t keep it—neither.”

Japp said sharply:

“What’s that?”