One, Two, Buckle My Shoe Part 13

VII.

j.a.pp came into Poirot's sitting-room and slammed down his bowler hat with such force that the table rocked.

He said: 'What the devil made you think of it?'

'My good j.a.pp, I do not know what you are talking about.'

j.a.pp said slowly and forcefully: 'What gave you the idea that the body wasn't Miss Sainsbury Seale's body?'

Poirot looked worried. He said: 'It was the face that worried me. Why smash up a dead woman's face?'

j.a.pp said: 'My word, I hope old Morley's somewhere where he can know about it. It's just possible, you know, that he was put out of the way on purpose-so that he couldn't give evidence.'

'It would certainly be better if he could have given evidence himself.'

'Leatheran will be all right. Morley's successor. He's a thoroughly capable man with a good manner and the evidence is unmistakable.'

The evening papers came out with a sensation the next day. The dead body found in the Battersea flat, believed to be that of Miss Sainsbury Seale, was positively identified as that of Mrs Albert Chapman. Mr Leatheran, of 58, Queen Charlotte Street, unhesitatingly p.r.o.nounced it to be Mrs Chapman on the evidence of the teeth and jaw, full particulars of which were recorded in the late Mr Morley's professional chart.

Miss Sainsbury Seale's clothes had been found on the body and Miss Sainsbury Seale's handbag with the body-but where was Miss Sainsbury Seale herself?

Nine, Ten, a Good Fat Hen

I.

As they came away from the inquest j.a.pp said jubilantly to Poirot: 'A smart piece of work, that. Gave 'em a sensation!'

Poirot nodded.

'You tumbled to it first,' said j.a.pp, 'but, you know,I wasn't happy about that body myself. After all, you don't go smashing a dead person's face and head about for nothing. It's messy, unpleasant work, and it was pretty plain there must besome reason for it. And there's only one reason there could be-to confuse the ident.i.ty.' He added generously: 'But I shouldn't have tumbled so quickly to the fact that it actually was the other woman.'

Poirot said with a smile: 'And yet, my friend, the actual descriptions of the women were not unlike as regards fundamentals. Mrs Chapman was a smart, good-looking woman, well made up and fashionably turned out. Miss Sainsbury Seale was dowdy and innocent of lipstick or rouge. But the essentials were the same. Both were women of forty odd. Both were roughly about the same height and build. Both had hair turning grey which they touched up to make it appear golden.'

'Yes, of course, when you put it likethat . One thing we've got to admit-the fair Mabelle put it over on both of us, good and proper. I'd have sworn she was the genuine article.'

'But, my friend, shewas the genuine article. We know all about her past life.'

'We didn't know she was capable of murder-and that's what it looks like now. Sylvia didn't murder Mabelle. Mabelle murdered Sylvia.'

Hercule Poirot shook his head in a worried fashion. He still found it difficult to reconcile Mabelle Sainsbury Seale with murder. Yet in his ears he heard the small, ironic voice of Mr Barnes: 'Look among the respectable people...'

Mabelle Sainsbury Seale had been eminently respectable.

j.a.pp said with emphasis: 'I'm going to get to the bottom of this case, Poirot. That woman isn't going to put it over on me.'

II.

The following day, j.a.pp rang up. His voice held a curious note.

He said: 'Poirot, do you want to hear a piece of news? It's Na Poo, my lad. Na Poo!'

'Pardon?-the line is perhaps not very clear. I did not quite catch-'

'It's off, my boy. O.F.F. Call it a day! Sit down and twiddle our thumbs!'

There was no mistaking the bitterness now. Poirot was startled.

'What is off?'

'The whole ruddy blinking thing! The hue and cry! The publicity! The whole bag of tricks!'

'But I still do not understand.'

'Well, listen. Listen carefully, because I can't mention names very well. You know our inquiry? You know we're combing the country for a performing fish?'

'Yes, yes, perfectly. I comprehend now.'

'Well, that's been calledoff . Hushed up-kept mum.Now do you understand?'

'Yes, yes. Butwhy ?'

'Orders from the ruddy Foreign Office.'

'Is not that very extraordinary?'

'Well, it does happen now and again.'

'Why should they be so forbearing to Miss-to the performing fish?'

'They're not. They don't care tuppence about her. It's the publicity-if she's brought to trial too much might come out about Mrs A. C. The corpse. That's the hush-hush side! I can only suppose that the ruddy husband-Mr A. C.-Get me?'

'Yes, yes.'

'That he's somewhere abroad in a ticklish spot and they don't want to queer his pitch.'

'Tchah!'

'What did you say?'

'I made,mon ami , an exclamation of annoyance!'

'Oh! that was it. I thought you'd caught cold. Annoyance is right! I could use a stronger word. Letting that dame get away with it makes me see red.'

Poirot said very softly: 'She will not get away with it.'

'Our hands are tied, I tell you!'

'Yours may be-mineare not!'

'Good old Poirot! Then youare going on with it?'

'Mais oui-to the death.'

'Well, don't let it be your death, old boy! If this business goes on as it has begun someone will probably send you a poisoned tarantula by post!'

As he replaced the receiver, Poirot said to himself: 'Now, why did I use that melodramatic phrase-"to the death"?Vraiment , it is absurd!'

III.

The letter came by evening post. It was typewritten except for the signature. Dear M. Poirot(it ran), I should be greatly obliged if you would call upon me some time tomorrow. I may have a commission for you. I suggest twelve-thirty, at my house in Chelsea. If this is inconvenient to you, perhaps you would telephone my secretary? I apologize for giving you such short notice. Yours sincerely, Alistair Blunt.

Poirot smoothed out the letter and read it a second time. At that moment the telephone rang. Hercule Poirot occasionally indulged in the fancy that he knew by the ring of his telephone bell what kind of message was impending.

On this occasion he was at once quite sure that the call was significant. It was not a wrong number-not one of his friends.

He got up and took down the receiver. He said in his polite, foreign voice: ' 'Allo?'

An impersonal voice said: 'What number are you, please?'

'This is Whitehall 7272.'

There was a pause, a click, and then a voice spoke. It was a woman's voice.

'M. Poirot?'

'Yes.'

'M. Hercule Poirot?'

'Yes.'

'M. Poirot, you have either already received-or will shortly receive, a letter.'

'Who is speaking?'

'It is not necessary that you should know.'

'Very well. I have received, Madame, eight letters and three bills by the evening post.'

'Then you know which letter I mean. You will be wise, M. Poirot, to refuse the commission you have been offered.'

'That, Madame, is a matter I shall decide myself.'

The voice said coldly: 'I am warning you, M. Poirot. Your interference will no longer be tolerated.Keep out of this business .'

'And if I do not keep out of it?'

'Then we shall take steps to see that your interference is no longer to be feared...'

'That is a threat, Madame!'

'We are only asking you to be sensible...It is for your own good.'

'You are very magnanimous!'

'You cannot alter the course of events and what has been arranged.So keep out of what doesn't concern you! Do you understand?'

'Oh yes, I understand. But I consider that Mr Morley's deathis my concern.'

The woman's voice said sharply: 'Morley's death was only an incident. He interfered with our plans.'

'He was a human being, Madame, and he died before his time.'

'He was of no importance.'

Poirot's voice was dangerous as he said very quietly: 'There you are wrong...'

'It was his own fault. He refused to be sensible.'

'I, too, refuse to be sensible.'

'Then you are a fool.'

There was a click the other end as the receiver was replaced.

Poirot said, 'Allo?' then put down his receiver in turn. He did not trouble to ask the Exchange to trace the number. He was fairly sure that the call had been put through from a public telephone box. What intrigued and puzzled him was the fact that he thought he had heard the voice somewhere before. He racked his brains, trying to bring the elusive memory back. Could it be the voice of Miss Sainsbury Seale?

As he remembered it, Mabelle Sainsbury Seale's voice had been high-pitched and somewhat affected, with rather overemphasized diction. This voice was not at all like that, and yet-perhaps it might be Miss Sainsbury Seale with her voice disguised. After all, she had been an actress in her time. She could alter her voice, probably, easily enough. In actual timbre, the voice was not unlike what he remembered. But he was not satisfied with that explanation. No, it was some other person that the voice brought back to him. It was not a voice he knew well-but he was still quite sure that he had heard it once, if not twice, before.

Why, he wondered, bother to ring up and threaten him? Could these people actually believe that threats would deter him? Apparently they did. It was poor psychology!

IV.

There was some sensational news in the morning papers. The Prime Minister had been shot at when leaving 10, Downing Street with a friend yesterday evening. Fortunately the bullet had gone wide. The man, an Indian, had been taken into custody.

After reading this, Poirot took a taxi to Scotland Yard where he was shown up to j.a.pp's room. The latter greeted him heartily.

'Ah, so the news has brought you along. Have any of the papers mentioned who "the friend" was with the P.M.?'