One, two, buckle my shoe - Agatha Christie [18]
‘Yes, but you’re talking of cases where the employment of the anæsthetic 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. They haven’t got the exact amount yet — these quantitive analyses seem to take a month of Sundays — but it was definitely more than the normal dose. That means that Morley must have made a mistake.’
‘Even then,’ said Poirot, ‘it was a mistake. It would not be a criminal matter.’
‘No, but it wouldn’t do him any good in his profession. In fact, it would pretty well ruin him. Nobody’s going to go to a dentist who’s likely to shoot lethal doses of poison into you just because he happens to be a bit absent-minded.’
‘It was a curious thing to do, I admit.’
‘These things happen — they happen to doctors — they happen to chemists…Careful and reliable for years, and then — one moment’s inattention — and the mischief’s done and the poor devils are for it. Morley was a sensitive man. In the case of a doctor, there’s usually a chemist or a dispenser to share the blame — or to shoulder it altogether. In this case Morley was solely responsible.’
Poirot demurred.
‘Would he not have left some message behind him? Saying what he had done? And that he could not face the consequences? Something of that kind? Just a word for his sister?’
‘No, as I see it, he suddenly realized what had happened — and just lost his nerve and took the quickest way out.’
Poirot did not answer.
Japp said:
‘I know you, old boy. Once you’ve got your teeth into a case of murder, you like it to be a case of murder! I admit I’m responsible for setting you on the track this time. Well, I made a mistake. I admit it freely.’
Poirot said:
‘I still think, you know, that there might be another explanation.’
‘Plenty of other explanations, I dare say. I’ve thought of them — but they’re all too fantastic. Let’s say that Amberiotis shot Morley, went home, was filled with remorse and committed suicide, using some stuff he’d pinched from Morley’s surgery. If you think that’s likely, I think it’s damned un likely. We’ve got a record of Amberiotis at the Yard. Quite interesting. Started as a little hotel-keeper in Greece, then he mixed himself up in politics. He’s done espionage work in Germany and in France — and made very pretty little sums of money. But he wasn’t getting rich quick enough that way, and he’s believed to have done a spot or two of blackmail. Not a nice man, our Mr Amberiotis. He was out in India last year and is believed to have bled one of the native princes rather freely. The difficult thing has been ever to prove anything against him. Slippery as an eel! There is another possibility. He might have been blackmailing Morley over something or other. Morley, having a golden opportunity, plugs an overdose of adrenaline and novocaine into him, hoping that the verdict will be an unfortunate accident — adrenaline idiosyncrasy — something of that sort. Then, after the man’s gone away Morley gets a fit of remorse and does himself in. That’s possible, of course, but I can’t somehow see Morley as a deliberate murderer. No, I’m pretty sure it was what I first said — a genuine mistake, made on a morning when he was overworked. We’ll have to leave it at that, Poirot. I’ve talked to the A.C. and he’s quite clear on it.’
‘I see,’ said Poirot, with a sigh. ‘I see…’
Japp said kindly:
‘I know what you feel, old boy. But you can’t have a nice juicy murder every time! So long. All I can say by way of apology is the old phrase: “Sorry you have been troubled!”’
He rang off.
II
Hercule Poirot sat at his handsome modern desk. He liked