VI
When Alfred had gone out of the room, Japp said sharply:
“D’you think it wise to suggest murder to that lad?”
Poirot shrugged¹ his shoulders.
“I think so—yes. Anything suggestive that he may have seen or heard will come back to him
under the stimulus², and he will be keenly alert to everything that goes on here.”
“All the same, we don’t want it to get about too soon.”
“Mon cher, it will not. Alfred reads detective stories—Alfred is enamoured of crime. Whatever
Alfred lets slip will be put down to Alfred’s morbid³ criminal imagination.”
“Well, perhaps you are right, Poirot. Now we’ve got to hear what Reilly has to say.”
Mr. Reilly’s surgery and office were on the first floor. They were as spacious⁴ as the ones above
but had less light in them, and were not quite so richly appointed.
Mr. Morley’s partner was a tall, dark young man, with a plume⁵ of hair that fell untidily over his
forehead. He had an attractive voice and a very shrewd eye.
“We’re hoping, Mr. Reilly,” said Japp, after introducing himself, “that you can throw some light
on this matter.”
“You’re wrong then, because I can’t,” replied the other. “I’d say this—that Henry Morley was
the last person to go taking his own life. I might have done it—but he wouldn’t.”
“Why might you have done it?” asked Poirot.
“Because I’ve oceans of worries,” replied the other. “Money troubles, for one! I’ve never yet
been able to suit my expenditure⁶ to my income. But Morley was a careful man. You’ll find no
debts, nor money troubles, I’m sure of that.”
“Love affairs?” suggested Japp.
“Is it Morley you mean? He had no joy of living at all! Right under his sister’s thumb he was,
poor man.”
Japp went on to ask Reilly details about the patients he had seen that morning.

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