THREE, FOUR, SHUT THE DOOR
I
It was a quarter to three when the telephone rang.
Hercule Poirot was sitting in an easy chair happily digesting an excellent lunch.
He did not move when the bell rang but waited for the faithful George to come and take the call.
“Eh bien?” he said, as George, with a “Just a minute, sir,” lowered the receiver.
“It’s Chief Inspector¹ Japp, sir.”
“Aha?”
Poirot lifted the receiver to his ear.
“Eh bien, mon vieux,” he said. “How goes it?”
“That you, Poirot?”
“Naturally.”
“I hear you went to the dentist this morning? Is that so?”
Poirot murmured:
“Scotland Yard knows everything!”
“Man of the name of Morley. 58, Queen Charlotte Street?”
“Yes.” Poirot’s voice had changed. “Why?”
“It was a genuine visit, was it? I mean you didn’t go to put the wind up him or anything of that
sort?”
“Certainly not. I had three teeth filled if you want to know.”
“What did he seem like to you—manner much as usual?”
“I should say so, yes. Why?”
Japp’s voice was rigidly² unemotional.
“Because not very much later he shot himself.”
“What?”
Japp said sharply³:
“That surprises you?”
“Frankly, it does.”
Japp said:
“I’m not too happy about it myself … I’d like to have a talk with you. I suppose you wouldn’t
like to come round?”
“Where are you?”
“Queen Charlotte Street.”
Poirot said:
“I will join you immediately.”
下一页  尾页