IV

As they went down the stairs again to No. 42, Japp ejaculated with feeling: “Shades of PhillipsOppenheim, Valentine Williams and William le Queux, I think I’m going mad!”

That smart young man, Sergeant¹ Beddoes, was waiting for them.

He said respectfully:

“Haven’t been able to get anything helpful from the maid, sir. Mrs. Chapman changed maidspretty often, it seems. This one only worked for her for a month or two. She says Mrs. Chapmanwas a nice lady, fond of the radio and pleasant spoken. Girl was of the opinion the husband was agay deceiver but that Mrs. Chapman didn’t suspect it. She got letters from abroad sometimes,some from Germany, two from America, one from Italy and one from Russia. The girl’s youngman collects stamps, and Mrs. Chapman used to give them to her off the letters.”

“Anything among Mrs. Chapman’s papers?”

“Absolutely nothing, sir. She didn’t keep much. A few bills and receipted accounts—all local.

Some old theatre programmes, one or two cookery recipes cut out of the papers, and a pamphletabout Zenana Missions.”

“And we can guess who brought that here. She doesn’t sound like a murderess, does she? Andyet that’s what it seems to be. She’s bound to be an accomplice² anyway. No strange men seenabout that evening?”

“The porter doesn’t remember any—but then I don’t suppose he would by now, and anyway it’sa big block of flats—people always going in and out. He can only fix the date of Miss SainsburySeale’s visit because he was taken off to the hospital the next day and was actually feeling ratherbad that evening.”

“Anybody in the other flats hear anything out of the way?”

The younger man shook his head.

“I’ve inquired at the flat above this and the one below. Nobody can remember hearing anythingunusual. Both of them had their radios on, I gather.”

The divisional surgeon came out of the bathroom where he had been washing his hands.

“Most unsavoury corpse,” he said cheerfully. “Send her along when you’re ready and I’ll getdown to brass³ tacks⁴.”

“No idea of the cause of death, doctor?”

“Impossible to say until I’ve done the autopsy⁵. Those face injuries were definitely inflicted⁶ afterdeath, I should say. But I shall know better when I’ve got her at the mortuary. Middle-agedwoman, quite healthy—grey hair at the roots but tinted⁷ blonde. There may be distinguishing markson the body—if there isn’t, it may be a job to identify her—oh, you know who she is, splendid?

What? Missing woman there’s been all the fuss about? Well, you know, I never read the papers.

Just do the crosswords⁸.”

Japp said bitterly:

“And that’s publicity⁹ for you!” as the doctor went out.

Poirot was hovering¹⁰ over the desk. He picked up a small brown address book.

The indefatigable¹¹ Beddoes said:

“Nothing of special interest there—most hairdressers, dressmakers, etc. I’ve noted¹² down anyprivate names and addresses.”

Poirot opened the book at the letter D.

He read:

Dr. Davis, 17, Prince Albert Road,

Drake and Pomponetti, Fishmongers.

And below it:

Dentist. Mr. Morley, 58, Queen Charlotte Street.

There was a green light in Poirot’s eyes. He said:

“There will be no difficulty, I imagine, in positively¹³ identifying the body.”

Japp looked at him curiously¹⁴. He said:

“Surely—you don’t imagine—?”

Poirot said with vehemence¹⁵:

“I want to be sure.”

 

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