"Came out of the fur chest."
Poirot nodded.
He was handling a grey squirrel coat. He remarked appreciatively: "First class skins."
He went on into the bathroom.
There was a lavish display of cosmetics. Poirot looked at them with interest. Powder, rouge, vanishing cream, skin food, two bottles of hair application.
Japp said:
"Not one of our natural platinum blondes, I gather."
Poirot murmured:
"At forty, mon ami, the hair of most women has begun to go grey but Mrs. Chapman was not one to yield to nature."
"She's probably gone henna red by now for a change."
"I wonder?"
Japp said:
"There's something worrying you, Poirot. What is it?"
Poirot said:
"But yes, I am worried. I am very seriously worried. There is here, you see, for me an insoluble problem."
Resolutely he went once more into the box room.
He took hold of the shoe on the dead woman's foot. It resisted and came off with difficulty.
He examined the buckle. It had been clumsily sewn on by hand.
Hercule Poirot sighed.
He said: "It is that I am dreaming!"
Japp said curiously:
"What are you trying to do - make the thing more difficult?"
"Exactly that."
Japp said:
"One patent leather shoe, complete with buckle. What's wrong with that?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"Nothing - absolutely nothing. But all the same - I do not understand."
III
Mrs. Merton of 82 King Leopold Mansions had been designated by the porter as Mrs. Chapman's closest friend in the Mansions.
It was, therefore, to 82 that Japp and Poirot betook themselves next.
Mrs. Merton was a loquacious lady, with snapping black eyes, and an elaborate coiffure.
It needed no pressure to make her talk. She was only too ready to rise to a dramatic situation.
"Sylvia Chapman - well, of course, I don't know her really well - not intimately, so to speak. We had a few bridge evenings occasionally and we went to the pictures together, and, of course, shopping sometimes. But, oh, do tell me - she isn't dead, is she?"
Japp reassured her.
"Well, I'm sure I'm thankful to hear it! But the postman just now was all agog about a body having been found in one of the flats - but then one really can't believe half one hears, can one? I never do."
Japp asked a further question.
"No, I haven't heard anything of Mrs. Chapman - not since she went away. She must have gone away rather suddenly, because we had spoken about going to see the new Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire the following week, and she said nothing about going away then."
Mrs. Merton had never heard a Miss Sainsbury Seale mentioned. Mrs. Chapman had never spoken of anyone of that name.
"And yet, you know, the name is familiar to me, distinctly familiar. I seem to have seen it somewhere quite lately."
Japp said drily:
"It's been in all the papers for some weeks -"
"Of course - some missing person, wasn't it? And you thought Mrs. Chapman might have known her? No, I'm sure I've never heard Sylvia mention that name."
"Can you tell me anything about Mr. Chapman, Mrs. Merton?"
A rather curious expression came over Mrs. Merton's face. She said:
"He was a commercial traveller, I believe, so Mrs. Chapman told me. He travelled abroad for his firm - armaments, I believe. He went all over Europe."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"No, never. He was at home so seldom, and when he was at home, he and Mrs. Chapman didn't want to bother with outsiders. Very naturally."
"Do you know if Mrs. Chapman had any near relations or friends?"
"I don't know about friends. I don't think she had any near relations. She never spoke of any."
"Was she ever in India?"
"Not that I know of."
Mrs. Merton paused, and then broke out:
"But please tell me - why are you asking all these questions? I quite understand that you come from Scotland Yard and all that, but there must be some special reason?"
"Well, Mrs. Merton, you are bound to know some time. As a matter of fact, a dead body has been found in Mrs. Chapman's flat."
"Oh -!" Mrs. Merton looked for a moment like the dog whose eyes were as big as saucers.
"A dead body! It wasn't Mr. Chapman, was it? Or perhaps some foreigner?"
Japp said:
"It wasn't a man at all - it was a woman."
"A woman?" Mrs. Merton seemed even more surprised.
Poirot said gently:
"Why should you think it was a man?"
"Oh, I don't know. It seemed more likely somehow."
"But why? Was it because Mrs. Chapman was in the habit of receiving gentlemen visitors?"
"Oh, no - oh, no, indeed." Mrs. Merton was indignant. "I never meant anything of that kind. Sylvia Chapman wasn't in the least that kind of a woman - not at all! It was just that, with Mr. Chapman - I mean -"
She came to a stop.
Poirot said:
"I think, Madame, that you know a little more than you have told us."
Mrs. Morton said uncertainly:
"I don't know, I'm sure - what I ought to do! I mean, I don't exactly want to betray a confidence and of course I never have repeated what Sylvia told me - except just to one or two intimates whom I knew were really safe -"
Mrs. Morton paused to draw breath.
Japp said:
"What did Mrs. Chapman tell you?"
Mrs. Morton leaned forward and lowered her voice:
"It just - slipped out, as it were, one day. When we were seeing a film - about the Secret Service and Mrs. Chapman said you could see that whoever had written it didn't know much about their subject, and then it came out - only she swore me to secrecy. Mr. Chapman was in the Secret Service, I mean. That was the real reason he had to go abroad so much. The armament firm was only a blind. And it was terribly worrying for Mrs. Chapman because she couldn't write to him or get letters from him while he was away. And of course it was terribly dangerous!"
IV
As they went down the stairs again to Number 42, Japp ejaculated with feeling:
"Shades of Phillips Oppenheim, Valentine Williams and William le Quex! I think I'm going mad!"
That smart young man, Sergeant Beddoes, was awaiting them. He said respectfully:
"Haven't been able to get anything helpful from the maid, sir. Mrs. Chapman changed maids pretty often, it seems. This one had only worked for her a month or two. She says Mrs. Chapman was a nice lady, fond of the radio and pleasant spoken. Girl was of opinion the husband was a gay deceiver but that Mrs. Chapman didn't suspect it. She got letters from abroad sometimes, some from Germany, two from America, one from Italy and one from Russia. The girl's young man collects stamps, and Mrs. Chapman used to give them to her off the letters."
"Anything among Mrs. Chapman's papers?"
"Absolutely nothing, sir. She didn't keep much. A few bills and receipted accounts - all local. Some old theatre programmes, one or two cookery recipes cut out of the papers, and a pamphlet about zenana missions."
"And we can guess who brought that here. She doesn't sound like a murderess, does she? And yet that's what it seems to be. She's bound to be an accomplice anyway. No strange men seen about that evening?"
"The porter doesn't remember any - but then I don't suppose he would by now, and anyway it's a big block of flats - people always going in and out. He can only fix the date of Miss Sainsbury Seale's visit because he was taken off to the hospital the next day and was actually feeling rather bad that evening."
"Anybody in the other flats hear anything out of the way?"
The younger man shook his head.
"I've inquired at the flat above this and the one below. Nobody can remember hearing anything unusual. Both of them had their radios on, I gather."
The divisional surgeon came out of the bathroom where he had been washing his hands.
"Most unsavory corpse," he said cheerfully. "Send her along when you're ready and we'll get down to brass tacks."
"No idea of the cause of death, doctor?"
"Impossible to say until I've done the autopsy. Those face injuries were definitely inflicted after death, I should say. But I shall know better when I've got her at the mortuary. Middle-aged woman, quite healthy - grey hair at the roots but tinted blonde. There may be distinguishing marks on the body - if there aren't, it may be a job to identify her - oh, you know who she is? That's splendid. What? Missing woman there's been all the fuss about? Well, you know, I never read the papers. Just do the crosswords."
Japp said bitterly:
"And that's publicity for you!" as the doctor went out.
Poirot was hovering over the desk. He picked up a small brown address book.
The indefatigable Beddoes said:
"Nothing of special interest there - mostly hairdressers, dressmakers, etc. I've noted down any private names and addresses."
Poirot opened the book at the letter D.
He read Dr. Davis, 17 Prince Albert Road; Drake and Pomponetti, Fishmongers. And below it: 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 her view that the verdict of the coroner's court 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 much about his work. He was glad to forget it when the day was over. He was very tired sometimes."
"Do you remember hearing of a Mrs. Chapman among 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!"
A nice looking dark-haired girl brought in the tea at this moment. As she closed the door behind her again, Poirot said:
"That girl was with you in London, was she not?"
"Agnes? Yes, she was house-parlormaid. I let the cook go - she didn't want to come to the country anyway - and Agnes does everything for me. She is turning into quite a nice little cook."
Poirot nodded.
He knew very accurately the domestic arrangements of 58 Queen Charlotte Street. They had been thoroughly gone into at the time of the tragedy. Mr. Morley and his sister had occupied the two top floors of the house as a maisonette. The basement had been shut up altogether, except for a narrow passage leading from the area to the back yard where a wire cage ran up to the top floor with the tradesmen's deliveries and where a speaking tube was installed. Therefore the only entrance to the house was by the front door which it was Alfred's business to answer. This had enabled the police to be sure that no outsider could have entered the house on that particular morning.
Both cook and house-parlormaid had been with the Morleys for some years and bore good characters.
So, although it was theoretically possible that one or other of them might have crept down to the second floor and shot her master, the possibility had never been taken seriously into account. Neither of the two had appeared unduly flustered or upset at being questioned, and there certainly seemed no possible reason for connecting either of them with his death.
Nevertheless, as Agnes handed Poirot his hat and stick on leaving, she asked him with an unusually nervous abruptness:
"Does - does anyone know anything more about the master's death, sir?"
Poirot turned to look at her. He said:
"Nothing fresh has come to light."
"They're still quite sure as he did shoot himself because he'd made a mistake with that drug?"
