III

The letter came by evening post. It was typewritten except for the signature.

Dear M. Poirot (it ran),

I should be greatly obliged if you would call upon me some time tomorrow. Imay have a commission for you. I suggest twelve thirty, at my house in Chelsea. Ifthis is inconvenient¹ to you, perhaps you would telephone my secretary? Iapologize for giving you such short notice.

Yours sincerely,

Alistair Blunt.

Poirot smoothed out the letter and read it a second time. At that moment the telephone rang.

Hercule Poirot occasionally indulged in the fancy that he knew by the ring of his telephone bellwhat kind of message was impending².

On this occasion he was at once quite sure that the call was significant. It was not a wrongnumber—not one of his friends.

He got up and took down the receiver. He said in his polite, foreign voice:

“’Allo?”

An impersonal³ voice said: “What number are you, please?”

“This is Whitehall 7272.”

There was a pause, a click, and then a voice spoke⁴. It was a woman’s voice.

“M. Poirot?”

“Yes.”

“M. Hercule Poirot?”

“Yes.”

“M. Poirot, you have either already received—or will shortly receive, a letter.”

“Who is speaking?”

“It is not necessary that you should know.”

“Very well. I have received, Madame, eight letters and three bills by the evening post.”

“Then you know which letter I mean. You will be wise, M. Poirot, to refuse the commissionyou have been offered.”

“That, Madame, is a matter I shall decide myself.”

The voice said coldly:

“I am warning you, M. Poirot. Your interference will no longer be tolerated. Keep out of thisbusiness.”

“And if I do not keep out of it?”

“Then we shall take steps to see that your interference is no longer to be feared….”

“That is a threat, Madame!”

“We are only asking you to be sensible … It is for your own good.”

“You are very magnanimous!”

“You cannot alter the course of events and what has been arranged. So keep out of what doesn’tconcern you! Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, I understand. But I consider that Mr. Morley’s death is my concern.”

The woman’s voice said sharply:

“Morley’s death was only an incident. He interfered⁵ with our plans.”

“He was a human being, Madame, and he died before his time.”

“He was of no importance.”

Poirot’s voice was dangerous as he said very quietly:

“There you are wrong….”

“It was his own fault. He refused to be sensible.”

“I, too, refuse to be sensible.”

“Then you are a fool.”

There was a click the other end as the receiver was replaced.

Poirot said, “Allo?” then put down his receiver in turn. He did not trouble to ask the Exchangeto trace the number. He was fairly sure that the call had been put through from a public telephonebox.

What intrigued⁶ and puzzled him was the fact that he thought he had heard the voice somewherebefore. He racked his brains, trying to bring the elusive⁷ memory back. Could it be the voice ofMiss Sainsbury Seale?

As he remembered it, Mabelle Sainsbury Seale’s voice had been high-pitched and somewhataffected, with rather overemphasized diction. This voice was not at all like that, and yet—perhapsit might be Miss Sainsbury Seale with her voice disguised. After all, she had been an actress in hertime. She could alter her voice, probably, easily enough. In actual timbre⁸, the voice was not unlikewhat he remembered.

But he was not satisfied with that explanation. No, it was some other person that the voicebrought back to him. It was not a voice he knew well—but he was still quite sure that he had heardit once, if not twice, before.

Why, he wondered, bother to ring up and threaten him? Could these people actually believe thatthreats would deter⁹ him? Apparently¹⁰ they did. It was poor psychology¹¹!

 

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