One, two, buckle my shoe - Agatha Christie [53]
Hercule Poirot sat down. An aged clergyman with a beard intoned: ‘Here beginneth the fifteenth chapter of the First Book of Samuel,’ and began to read.
But Poirot heard nothing of the smiting of the Amalekites.
A snare cunningly laid — a net with cords — a pit open at his feet — dug carefully so that he should fall into it.
He was in a daze — a glorious daze where isolated facts spun wildly round before settling neatly into their appointed places.
It was like a kaleidoscope — shoe buckles, 10-inch stockings, a damaged face, the low tastes in literature of Alfred the page-boy, the activities of Mr Amberiotis, and the part played by the late Mr Morley, all rose up and whirled and settled themselves down into a coherent pattern.
For the first time, Hercule Poirot was looking at the case the right way up.
‘For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft and stubborness is as iniquity and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord he hath also rejected thee from being king. Here endeth the first lesson,’ quavered the aged clergyman all in one breath.
As one in a dream, Hercule Poirot rose to praise the Lord in the Te Deum.
Thirteen, Fourteen,
Maids are Courting
I
‘M. Reilly, is it not?’
The young Irishman started as the voice spoke at his elbow.
He turned.
Standing next to him at the counter of the Shipping Co. was a small man with large moustaches and an egg-shaped head.
‘You do not remember me, perhaps?’
‘You do yourself an injustice, M. Poirot. You’re not a man that’s easily forgotten.’
He turned back to speak to the clerk behind the counter who was waiting.
The voice at his elbow murmured:
‘You are going abroad for a holiday?’
‘It’s not a holiday I’m taking. And you yourself, M. Poirot? You’re not turning your back on this country, I hope?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘I return for a short while to my own country — Belgium.’
‘I’m going farther than that,’ said Reilly. ‘It’s America for me.’ He added: ‘And I don’t think I’ll be coming back, either.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Reilly. You are, then, abandoning your practice in Queen Charlotte Street.’
‘If you’d say it was abandoning me, you’d be nearer the mark.’
‘Indeed? That is very sad.’
‘It doesn’t worry me. When I think of the debts I shall leave behind me unpaid, I’m a happy man.’
He grinned engagingly.
‘It’s not I who’ll be shooting myself because of money troubles. Leave them behind you, I say, and start afresh. I’ve got my qualifications and they’re good ones if I say so myself.’
Poirot murmured:
‘I saw Miss Morley the other day.’
‘Was that a pleasure to you? I’d say it was not. A more sour-faced woman never lived. I’ve often wondered what she’d be like drunk — but that’s what no one will ever know.’
Poirot said:
‘Did you agree with the verdict of the Coroner’s Court on your partner’s death?’
‘I did not,’ said Reilly emphatically.
‘You don’t think he made a mistake in the injection?’
Reilly said:
‘If Morley injected that Greek with the amount that they say he did, he was either drunk or else he meant to kill the man. And I’ve never seen Morley drink.’
‘So you think it was deliberate?’
‘I’d not like to be saying that. It’s a grave accusation to be making. Truly now, I don’t believe it.’
‘There must be some explanation.’
‘There must indeed — but I’ve not thought of it yet.’
Poirot said:
‘When did you last actually see Mr Morley alive?’
‘Let me see now. It’s a long time after to be asking me a thing like that. It would be the night before — about a quarter to seven.’
‘You didn’t see him on the actual day of the murder?’
Reilly shook his head.
‘You are sure?’ Poirot persisted.
‘Oh, I’d not say that. But I don’t remember —’
‘You did not, for instance, go up to his room about eleven-thirty-five when he had a patient there?’
‘You’re right now. I did. There was a technical question I had to ask him about some instruments I was ordering. They’d rung me up about it. But I was only there for a minute, so it slipped