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

Poirot was silent a moment, then he said:

“I have had Reilly in mind from the first.”

“Irish? I.R.A.?”

“Not that so much, but there was a mark, you see, on the carpet, as though the body had been dragged along it. But if Morley had been shot by a patient he would be shot in the surgery and there would be no need to move the body. That is why, from the first, I suspected that he had been shot, not in the surgery, but in his office—next door. That would mean that it was not a patient who shot him, but some member of his own household.”

“Neat,” said Mr. Barnes appreciatively.

Hercule Poirot got up and held out a hand.

“Thank you,” he said. “You have helped me a great deal.”

IV

On his way home, Poirot called in at the Glengowrie Court Hotel.

As a result of that visit he rang Japp up very early the following morning.

“Bonjour, mon ami. The inquest is today, is it not?”

“It is. Are you going to attend?”

“I do not think so.”

“It won’t really be worth your while, I expect.”

“Are you calling Miss Sainsbury Seale as a witness?”

“The lovely Mabelle—why can’t she just spell it plain Mabel. These women get my goat! No, I’m not calling her. There’s no need.”

“You have heard nothing from her?”

“No, why should I?”

Hercule Poirot said:

“I wondered, that was all. Perhaps it may interest you to learn that Miss Sainsbury Seale walked out of the Glengowrie Court Hotel just before dinner the night before last—and did not come back.”

“What? She’s hooked it?”

“That is a possible explanation.”

“But why should she? She’s quite all right, you know. Perfectly genuine and aboveboard. I cabled Calcutta about her—that was before I knew the reason for Amberiotis’ death, otherwise I shouldn’t have bothered—and I got the reply last night. Everything O.K. She’s been known there for years, and her whole account of herself is true—except that she’s slurred over her marriage a bit. Married a Hindu student and then found he’d got a few attachments already. So she resumed her maiden name and took to good works. She’s hand and glove with the missionaries—teaches elocution, and helps in amateur dramatic shows. In fact, what I call a terrible woman—but definitely above suspicion of being mixed up in a murder. And now you say she’s walked out on us! I can’t understand it.” He paused a minute and then went on doubtfully: “Perhaps she just got fed up with that hotel? I could have easily.”

Poirot said:

“Her luggage is still there. She took nothing with her.”

Japp swore.

“When did she go?”

“About a quarter to seven.”

“What about the hotel people?”

“They’re very upset. Manageress looked quite distraught.”