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“That was I, Madame.”
“Oh dear!” Miss Sainsbury Seale peered at him. “So it was! Do forgive—so shortsighted—and very dark here, isn’t it?” She tailed off into incoherencies. “And really, you know, I flatter myself that I have a very good memory for faces. But the light here is dim, isn’t it? Do forgive my most unfortunate mistake!”
They soothed the lady down, and Japp asked:
“You are quite sure Mr. Morley didn’t say anything such as—for instance—that he was expecting a painful interview this morning? Anything of that kind?”
“No, indeed, I’m sure he didn’t.”
“He didn’t mention a patient by the name of Amberiotis?”
“No, no. He really said nothing—except, I mean, the things that dentists have to say.”
Through Poirot’s mind there ran quickly: “Rinse. Open a little wider, please. Now close gently.”
Japp had proceeded to his next step. It would possibly be necessary for Miss Sainsbury Seale to give evidence at the inquest.
After a first scream of dismay, Miss Sainsbury Seale seemed to take kindly to the idea. A tentative inquiry from Japp produced Miss Sainsbury Seale’s whole life history.
She had, it seemed, come from India to England six months ago. She had lived in various hotels and boardinghouses and had finally come to the Glengowrie Court which she liked very much because of its homely atmosphere; in India she had lived mostly in Calcutta where she had done Mission work and had also taught elocution.
“Pure, well-enunciated English—most important, Chief Inspector. You see,” Miss Sainsbury Seale simpered and bridled, “as a girl I was on the stage. Oh! only in small parts, you know. The provinces! But I had great ambitions. Repertory. Then I went on a world tour—Shakespeare, Bernard Shaw.” She sighed. “The trouble with us poor women is heart—at the mercy of our hearts. A rash impulsive marriage. Alas! we parted almost immediately. I—I had been sadly deceived. I resumed my maiden name. A friend kindly provided me with a little capital and I started my elocution school. I helped to found a very good amateur dramatic society. I must show you some of our notices.”
Chief Inspector Japp knew the dangers 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 spelt 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’ 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:
