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Japp went on:
“But I rang up the Savoy Hotel. Mr. Amberiotis was quite precise. He said he looked at his watch as he closed the front door and it was then twenty-five minutes past twelve.”
“He could tell you nothing of importance?”
“No, all he could say was that the dentist had seemed perfectly normal and calm in his manner.”
“Eh bien,” said Poirot. “Then that seems quite clear. Between five and twenty past twelve and half past one something happened—and presumably nearer the former time.”
“Quite. Because otherwise—”
“Otherwise he would have pressed the buzzer for the next patient.”
“Exactly. The medical evidence agrees with that for what it’s worth. The divisional surgeon examined the body—at twenty past two. He wouldn’t commit himself—they never do nowadays—too many individual idiosyncrasies, they say. But Morley couldn’t have been shot later than one o’clock, he says—probably considerably earlier—but he wouldn’t be definite.”
Poirot said thoughtfully:
“Then at twenty-five minutes past twelve our dentist is a normal dentist, cheerful, urbane, competent. And after that? Despair—misery—what you will—and he shoots himself?”
“It’s funny,” said Japp. “You’ve got to admit, it’s funny.”
“Funny,” said Poirot, “is not the word.”
“I know it isn’t really—but it’s the sort of thing one says. It’s odd, then, if you like that better.”
“Was it his own pistol?”
“No, it wasn’t. He hadn’t got a pistol. Never had had one. According to his sister there wasn’t such a thing in the house. There isn’t in most houses. Of course he might have bought it if he’d made up his mind to do away with himself. If so, we’ll soon know about it.”
Poirot asked:
“Is there anything else that worries you?”
Japp rubbed his nose.
“Well, there was the way he was lying. I wouldn’t say a man couldn’t fall like that—but it wasn’t quite right somehow! And there was just a trace or two on the carpet—as though something had been dragged along it.”
“That, then, is decidedly suggestive.”
“Yes, unless it was that dratted boy. I’ve a feeling that he may have tried to move Morley when he found him. He denies it, of course, but then he was scared. He’s that kind of young ass. The kind that’s always putting their foot in it and getting cursed, and so they come to lie about things almost automatically.”
Poirot looked thoughtfully round the room.
At the washbasin on the wall behind the door, at the tall filing cabinet on the other side of the door. At the dental chair and surrounding apparatus near the window, then along to the fireplace and back to where the body lay; there was a second door in the wall near the fireplace.
Japp had followed his glance. “Just a small office through there.” He flung open the door.
It was as he had said, a small room, with a desk, a table with a spirit lamp and tea apparatus and some chairs. There was no other door.
“This is where his secretary worked,” explained Japp. “Miss Nevill. It seems she’s away today.”
His eyes met Poirot’s. The latter said:
“He told me, I remember. That again—might be a point against suicide?”
“You mean she was got out of the way?”
Japp paused. He said:
