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

“You think not.”

“I’m sure about it. Occasionally patients do suffer ill effects, but that is because they are physiologically unfit subjects—their heart action isn’t normal. But I’m sure that an overdose is a very rare thing. You see practitioners get so into the habit of giving the regulation amount that it is absolutely mechanical—they’d give the right dose automatically.”

Poirot nodded approvingly. He said:

“That is what I thought myself, yes.”

“It’s so standardized, you see. It’s not like a chemist who is making up different amounts the whole time, or multiplying dosage where an error might creep in through inattention. Or a doctor who writes a great many different prescriptions. But a dentist isn’t like that at all.”

Poirot asked:

“You did not ask to be allowed to make these observations in the Coroner’s Court?”

Gladys Nevill shook her head. She twisted her fingers uncertainly.

“You see,” she broke out at last, “I was afraid of—of making things worse. Of course I know that Mr. Morley wouldn’t do such a thing—but it might make people think that he had done it deliberately.”

Poirot nodded.

Gladys Nevill said:

“That’s why I came to you, M. Poirot. Because with you it—it wouldn’t be official in any way. But I do think somebody ought to know how—how unconvincing the whole thing is!”

“Nobody wants to know,” said Poirot.

She stared at him, puzzled.

Poirot said:

“I should like to know a little more about that telegram you received, summoning you away that day.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think about that, M. Poirot. It does seem so queer. You see, it must have been sent by someone who knew all about me—and Aunt—where she lived and everything.”

“Yes, it would seem as though it must have been sent by one of your intimate friends, or by someone who lived in the house and knew all about you.”

“None of my friends would do such a thing, M. Poirot.”

“You have no ideas yourself on the subject?”

The girl hesitated. She said slowly:

“Just at first, when I realized that Mr. Morley had shot himself, I wondered if he could possibly have sent it.”

“You mean, out of consideration for you, to get you out of the way?”

The girl nodded.

“But that really seemed a fantastic idea, even if he had got the idea of suicide in his mind that morning. It’s really very odd. Frank—my friend, you know—was quite absurd at first about it. He accused me of wanting to go off for the day with somebody else—as though I would do such a thing.”

“Is there somebody else?”

“No, of course there isn’t. But Frank has been so different lately—so moody and suspicious. Really, you know, it was losing his job and not being able to get another. Just hanging about is so bad for a man. I’ve been very worried about Frank.”

“He was upset, was he not, to find you had gone away that day?”

“Yes, you see, he came round to tell me he had got a new job—a marvellous job—ten pounds a week. And he couldn’t wait. He wanted me to know right away. And I think he wanted Mr. Morley to know, too, because he’d been very hurt at the way Mr. Morley didn’t appreciate him, and he suspected Mr. Morley of trying to influence me against him.”

“Which was true, was it not?”