One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

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.

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Chapter 3
    FIVE, SIX, PICK UP STICKS
    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.