One, two, buckle my shoe - Agatha Christie [25]
Poirot sighed and rose. He said:
‘I see, Mr Raikes, that you are an idealist.’
‘What if I am?’
‘Too much of an idealist to care about the death of a dentist.’
Mr Raikes said scornfully:
‘What does the death of one miserable dentist matter?’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘It does not matter to you. It matters to me. That is the difference between us.’
VII
Poirot arrived home to be informed by George that a lady was waiting to see him.
‘She is — ahem — a little nervous, sir,’ said George.
Since the lady had given no name Poirot was at liberty to guess. He guessed wrong, for the young woman who rose agitatedly from the sofa as he entered was the late Mr Morley’s secretary, Miss Gladys Nevill.
‘Oh, dear, M. Poirot. I am so sorry to worry you like this — and really I don’t know how I had the courage to come — I’m afraid you’ll think it very bold of me — and I’m sure I don’t want to take up your time — I know what time means to a busy professional man — but really I have been so unhappy — only I dare say you will think it all a waste of time —’
Profiting by a long experience of the English people, Poirot suggested a cup of tea. Miss Nevill’s reaction was all that could be hoped for.
‘Well, really, M. Poirot, that’s very kind of you. Not that it’s so very long since breakfast, but one can always do with a cup of tea, can’t one?’
Poirot, who could always do without one, assented mendaciously. George was instructed to this effect, and in a miraculously short time Poirot and his visitor faced each other across a tea-tray.
‘I must apologize to you,’ said Miss Nevill, regaining her aplomb under the influence of the beverage, ‘but as a matter of fact the inquest yesterday upset me a good deal.’
‘I’m sure it must have done,’ said Poirot kindly.
‘There was no question of my giving evidence, or anything like that. But I felt somebody ought to go with Miss Morley. Mr Reilly was there, of course — but I meant a woman. Besides, Miss Morley doesn’t like Mr Reilly. So I thought it was my duty to go.’
‘That was very kind of you,’ said Poirot encouragingly.
‘Oh, no, I just felt I had to. You see, I have worked for Mr Morley for quite a number of years now — and the whole thing was a great shock to me — and of course the inquest made it worse —’
‘I’m afraid it must have done.’
Miss Nevill leaned forward earnestly.
‘But it’s all wrong, M. Poirot. It really is all wrong.’
‘What is wrong, Mademoiselle?’
‘Well, it just couldn’t have happened — not the way they make out — giving a patient an overdose in injecting the gum, I mean.’
‘You think not.’
‘I’m sure about it. Occasionally patients do suffer ill effects, but that is because they are physiologically unfit subjects — their heart action isn’t normal. But I’m sure that an overdose is a very rare thing. You see practitioners get so into the habit of giving the regulation amount that it is absolutely mechanical — they’d give the right dose automatically.’
Poirot nodded approvingly. He said:
‘That is what I thought myself, yes.’
‘It’s so standardized, you see. It’s not like a chemist who is making up different amounts the whole time, or multiplying dosage where an error might creep in through inattention. Or a doctor who writes a great many different prescriptions. But a dentist isn’t like that at all.’
Poirot asked:
‘You did not ask to be allowed to make these observations in the Coroner’s Court?’
Gladys Nevill shook her head. She twisted her fingers uncertainly.
‘You see,’ she broke out at last, ‘I was afraid of — of making things worse. Of course I know that Mr Morley wouldn’t do such a thing — but it might make people think that