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

Dentist. Mr. Morley, 58, Queen Charlotte Street.

There was a green light in Poirot’s eyes. He said:

“There will be no difficulty, I imagine, in positively identifying the body.”

Japp looked at him curiously. He said:

“Surely—you don’t imagine—?”

Poirot said with vehemence:

“I want to be sure.”

V

Miss Morley had moved to the country. She was living in a small country cottage near Hertford.

The Grenadier greeted Poirot amicably. Since her brother’s death her face had perhaps grown slightly grimmer, her carriage more upright, her general attitude towards life more unyielding. She resented bitterly the slur cast upon her brother’s professional name by the findings of the inquest.

Poirot, she had reason to believe, shared the view that the verdict of the Coroner’s inquest was untrue. Hence the Grenadier unbent a little.

She answered his questions readily enough and with competence. All Mr. Morley’s professional papers had been carefully filed by Miss Nevill and had been handed over by her to Mr. Morley’s successor. Some of the patients had transferred themselves to Mr. Reilly, others had accepted the new partner, others again had gone to other dentists elsewhere.

Miss Morley, after she had given what information she could, said:

“So you have found that woman who was Henry’s patient—Miss Sainsbury Seale—and she was murdered too.”

The “too” was a little defiant. She stressed the word.

Poirot said:

“Your brother never mentioned Miss Sainsbury Seale particularly to you?”

“No, I don’t remember his doing so. He would tell me if he had had a particularly trying patient, or if one of his patients had said something amusing he would pass it on to me, but we didn’t usually talk about his work much. He was glad to forget it when the day was over. He was very tired sometimes.”

“Do you remember hearing of a Mrs. Chapman amongst your brother’s patients?”

“Chapman? No, I don’t think so. Miss Nevill is really the person to help you over all this.”

“I am anxious to get in touch with her. Where is she now?”

“She has taken a post with a dentist in Ramsgate, I believe.”

“She has not married that young man Frank Carter yet?”

“No. I rather hope that will never come off. I don’t like that young man, M. Poirot. I really don’t. There is something wrong about him. I still feel that he hasn’t really any proper moral sense.”

Poirot said:

“Do you think it is possible that he could have shot your brother?”

Miss Morley said slowly:

“I do feel perhaps that he would be capable of it—he has a very uncontrollable temper. But I don’t really see that he had any motive—nor opportunity for that matter. You see, it wasn’t as though Henry had succeeded in persuading Gladys to give him up. She was sticking to him in the most faithful way.”

“Could he have been bribed, do you think?”

“Bribed? To kill my brother? What an extraordinary idea!”