VI
There are certain humiliating moments in the lives of the greatest of men. It has been said that noman is a hero to his valet. To that may be added that few men are heroes to themselves at themoment of visiting their dentist.
Hercule Poirot was
morbidly1 conscious of this fact.
He was a man who was accustomed to have a good opinion of himself. He was Hercule Poirot,superior in most ways to other men. But in this moment he was unable to feel superior in any waywhatever. His
morale2 was down to zero. He was just that ordinary, craven figure, a man afraid ofthe dentist’s chair.
Mr. Morley had finished his professional ablutions. He was speaking now in his encouragingprofessional manner.
“Hardly as warm as it should be, is it, for the time of year?”
Gently he led the way to the appointed spot—to The Chair!
Deftly3 he played with its head rest,running it up and down.
Hercule Poirot took a deep breath, stepped up, sat down and relaxed his head to Mr. Morley’sprofessional fiddlings.
“There,” said Mr. Morley with
hideous4 cheerfulness. “That quite comfortable? Sure?”
In
sepulchral5 tones Poirot said that it was quite comfortable.
Mr. Morley swung his little table nearer, picked up his little mirror, seized an instrument andprepared to get on with the job.
Hercule Poirot grasped the arms of the chair, shut his eyes and opened his mouth.
“Any special trouble?” Mr. Morley inquired.
Slightly indistinctly, owing to the difficulty of forming
consonants6 while keeping the mouthopen, Hercule Poirot was understood to say that there was no special trouble. This was, indeed, thetwice yearly
overhaul7 that his sense of order and neatness demanded. It was, of course, possiblethat there might be nothing to do … Mr. Morley might, perhaps, overlook that second tooth fromthe back from which those twinges had come … He might—but it was unlikely—for Mr. Morleywas a very good dentist.
Mr. Morley passed slowly from tooth to tooth, tapping and probing, murmuring little commentsas he did so.
“That filling is wearing down a little — nothing serious, though. Gums are in pretty goodcondition, I’m glad to see.” A pause at a suspect, a twist of the probe—no, on again, false alarm.
He passed to the lower side. One, two—on to three?—No—“The dog,” Hercule Poirot thought inconfused idiom, “has seen the rabbit!”
“A little trouble here. Not been giving you any pain? Hm, I’m surprised.” The probe went on.
Finally Mr. Morley drew back, satisfied.
“Nothing very serious. Just a couple of fillings—and a trace of decay on that upper molar. Wecan get it all done, I think, this morning.”
He turned on a switch and there was a hum. Mr. Morley un-hooked the drill and fitted a needleto it with loving care.
It was not necessary for Poirot to avail himself of this permission, to raise a hand, to
wince10, oreven to yell. At exactly the right moment, Mr. Morley stopped the drill, gave the brief command“
Rinse11,”
applied12 a little
dressing13, selected a new needle and continued. The
ordeal14 of the drill wasterror rather than pain.
Presently, while Mr. Morley was preparing the filling, conversation was resumed.
“Have to do this myself this morning,” he explained. “Miss Nevill has been called away. Youremember Miss Nevill?”
“Called away to the country by the illness of a relative. Sort of thing that does happen on a busyday. I’m behindhand already this morning. The patient before you was late. Very
vexing16 when thathappens. It throws the whole morning out. Then I have to fit in an extra patient because she is inpain. I always allow a quarter of an hour in the morning in case that happens. Still, it adds to therush.”
“I’ll tell you something that I’ve always noticed, M. Poirot. The big people—the importantpeople—they’re always on time—never keep you waiting.
Royalty19, for instance. Most
punctilious20.
And these big City men are the same. Now this morning I’ve got a most important man coming—Alistair Blunt!”
Mr. Morley
spoke21 the name in a voice of triumph.
Poirot, prohibited from speech by several rolls of cotton wool and a glass tube that gurgledunder his tongue, made an indeterminate noise.
Alistair Blunt! Those were the names that thrilled nowadays. Not Dukes, not Earls, not PrimeMinisters. No, plain Mr. Alistair Blunt. A man whose face was almost unknown to the generalpublic—a man who only figured in an occasional quiet paragraph. Not a spectacular person.
Just a quiet nondescript Englishman who was the head of the greatest
banking22 firm in England.
A man of vast wealth. A man who said Yes and No to Governments. A man who lived a quiet,unobtrusive life and never appeared on a public platform or made speeches. Yet a man in whosehands lay
supreme23 power.
Mr. Morley’s voice still held a
reverent24 tone as he stood over Poirot
ramming25 the filling home.
“Always comes to his appointments absolutely on time. Often sends his car away and walksback to his office. Nice, quiet, unassuming fellow. Fond of golf and keen on his garden. You’dnever dream he could buy up half Europe! Just like you and me.”
A
momentary26 resentment27 rose in Poirot at this
offhand28 coupling of names. Mr. Morley was agood dentist, yes, but there were other good dentists in London. There was only one HerculePoirot.
“Rinse, please,” said Mr. Morley.
“It’s the answer, you know, to their Hitlers and Mussolinis and all the rest of them,” went onMr. Morley, as he proceeded to tooth number two. “We don’t make a fuss over here. Look howdemocratic our King and Queen are. Of course, a Frenchman like you, accustomed to theRepublican idea—”
“I ah nah a Frahah—I ah—ah a Benyon.”
“Tchut—tchut—” said Mr. Morley sadly. “We must have the cavity completely dry.” He puffedhot air
relentlessly29 on it.
Then he went on:
“I didn’t realize you were a Belgian. Very interesting. Very fine man, King Leopold, so I’vealways heard. I’m a great believer in the tradition of Royalty myself. The training is good, youknow. Look at the
remarkable30 way they remember names and faces. All the result of training—though of course some people have a natural
aptitude31 for that sort of thing. I, myself, for instance.
I don’t remember names, but it’s remarkable the way I never forget a face. One of my patients theother day, for instance—I’ve seen that patient before. The name meant nothing to me—but I saidto myself at once, ‘Now where have I met you before?’ I’ve not remembered yet—but it will comeback to me—I’m sure of it. Just another rinse, please.”
The rinse
accomplished32, Mr. Morley peered critically into his patient’s mouth.
“Well, I think that seems all right. Just close—very gently … Quite comfortable? You don’t feelthe filling at all? Open again, please. No, that seems quite all right.”
“Well, good-bye, M. Poirot. Not detected any criminals in my house, I hope?”
Poirot said with a smile:
“Before I came up, every one looked to me like a criminal! Now, perhaps, it will be different!”
“Ah, yes, a great deal of difference between before and after! All the same, we dentists aren’tsuch devils now as we used to be! Shall I ring for the lift for you?”
“No, no, I will walk down.”
“As you like—the lift is just by the stairs.”
Poirot went out. He heard the taps start to run as he closed the door behind him.
He walked down the two flights of stairs. As he came to the last bend, he saw the Anglo-IndianColonel being shown out. Not at all a bad-looking man, Poirot reflected
mellowly34. Probably a fineshot who had killed many a tiger. A useful man—a regular outpost of Empire.
He went into the waiting room to fetch his hat and stick which he had left there. The restlessyoung man was still there, somewhat to Poirot’s surprise. Another patient, a man, was reading theField.
Poirot studied the young man in his newborn spirit of
kindliness35. He still looked very fierce—and as though he wanted to do a murder—but not really a murderer, thought Poirot
kindly36.
Doubtless, presently, this young man would come tripping down the stairs, his ordeal over, happyand smiling and wishing no ill to anyone.
The page boy entered and said firmly and distinctly:
“Mr. Blunt.”
The man at the table laid down the Field and got up. A man of middle height, of middle age,neither fat nor thin. Well-dressed, quiet.
He went out after the boy.
One of the richest and most powerful men in England—but he still had to go to the dentist justlike anybody else, and no doubt felt just the same as anybody else about it!
These reflections passing through his mind, Hercule Poirot picked up his hat and stick and wentto the door. He glanced back as he did so, and the startled thought went through his mind that thatyoung man must have very bad toothache indeed.
In the hall Poirot paused before the mirror there to adjust his moustaches, slightly disarranged asthe result of Mr. Morley’s ministrations.
He had just completed their arrangement to his satisfaction when the lift came down again andthe page boy emerged from the back of the hall whistling
discordantly37. He broke off
abruptly38 atthe sight of Poirot and came to open the front door for him.
A neat ankle, quite a good quality stocking. Not a bad foot. But he didn’t like the shoe. A brandnew patent leather shoe with a large gleaming
buckle42. He shook his head.
The lady got out of the taxi, but in doing so she caught her other foot in the door and the bucklewas
wrenched44 off. It fell
tinkling45 on to the pavement.
Gallantly46, Poirot sprang forward and pickedit up, restoring it with a bow.
Alas47! Nearer fifty than forty. Pince-nez. Untidy yellow-grey hair—unbecoming clothes—thosedepressing art greens! She thanked him, dropping her pince-nez, then her handbag.
Poirot, polite if no longer gallant, picked them up for her.
She went up the steps of 58, Queen Charlotte Street, and Poirot interrupted the taxi driver’sdisgusted contemplation of a meagre tip.
“You are free, hein?”
The taxi driver said gloomily: “Oh, I’m free.”
“So am I,” said Hercule Poirot. “Free of care!”
He saw the taxi man’s air of deep suspicion.
“No, my friend, I am not drunk. It is that I have been to the dentist and I need not go again forsix months. It is a beautiful thought.”
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