THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN, MAIDS ARE COURTING

I“M. Reilly, is it not?”

The young Irishman started as the voice spoke¹ at his elbow.

He turned.

Standing² next to him at the counter of the Shipping³ Co. was a small man with large moustachesand an egg-shaped head.

“You do not remember me, perhaps?”

“You do yourself an injustice⁴, M. Poirot. You’re not a man that’s easily forgotten.”

He turned back to speak to the clerk behind the counter who was waiting.

The voice at his elbow murmured:

“You are going abroad for a holiday?”

“It’s not a holiday I’m taking. And you yourself, M. Poirot? You’re not turning your back onthis country, I hope?”

“Sometimes,” said Hercule Poirot, “I return for a short while to my own country—Belgium.”

“I’m going farther than that,” said Reilly. “It’s America for me.” He added: “And I don’t thinkI’ll be coming back, either.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Reilly. You are, then, abandoning your practice in Queen CharlotteStreet.”

“If you’d say it was abandoning me, you’d be nearer the mark.”

“Indeed? That is very sad.”

“It doesn’t worry me. When I think of the debts I shall leave behind me unpaid⁵, I’m a happyman.”

He grinned engagingly.

“It’s not I who’ll be shooting myself because of money troubles. Leave them behind you, I say,and start afresh. I’ve got my qualifications and they’re good ones if I say so myself.”

Poirot murmured:

“I saw Miss Morley the other day.”

“Was that a pleasure to you? I’d say it was not. A more sour-faced woman never lived. I’veoften wondered what she’d be like drunk—but that’s what no one will ever know.”

Poirot said:

“Did you agree with the verdict of the Coroner’s Court on your partner’s death?”

“I did not,” said Reilly emphatically.

“You don’t think he made a mistake in the injection?”

Reilly said:

“If Morley injected that Greek with the amount that they say he did, he was either drunk or elsehe meant to kill the man. And I’ve never seen Morley drink.”

“So you think it was deliberate?”

“I’d not like to be saying that. It’s a grave accusation⁶ to be making. Truly now, I don’t believeit.”

“There must be some explanation.”

“There must indeed—but I’ve not thought of it yet.”

Poirot said:

“When did you last actually see Mr. Morley alive?”

“Let me see now. It’s a long time after to be asking me a thing like that. It would be the nightbefore—about a quarter to seven.”

“You didn’t see him on the actual day of the murder?”

Reilly shook his head.

“You are sure?” Poirot persisted.

“Oh, I’d not say that. But I don’t remember—”

“You did not, for instance, go up to his room about eleven thirty five when he had a patientthere?”

“You’re right now. I did. There was a technical question I had to ask him about someinstruments I was ordering. They’d rung me up about it. But I was only there for a minute, so itslipped my memory. He had a patient there at the time.”

Poirot nodded. He said:

“There is another question I always meant to ask you. Your patient, Mr. Raikes, cancelled hisappointment by walking out. What did you do during that half hour’s leisure?”

“What I always do when I have any leisure. Mixed myself a drink. And as I’ve been telling you,I put through a telephone call and ran up to see Morley for a minute.”

Poirot said:

“And I also understand that you had no patient from half past twelve to one after Mr. Barnesleft. When did he leave, by the way?”

“Oh! Just after half past twelve.”

“And what did you do then?”

“The same as before. Mixed myself another drink!”

“And went up to see Morley again?”

Mr. Reilly smiled.

“Are you meaning did I go up and shoot him? I’ve told you already, long ago, that I did not. Butyou’ve only my word for it.”

Poirot said:

“What did you think of the house-parlourmaid, Agnes?”

Reilly stared:

“Now that’s a funny question to be asking.”

“But I should like to know.”

“I’ll answer you. I didn’t think about her. Georgina kept a strict eye on the maids—and quiteright too. The girl never looked my way once—which was bad taste on her part.”

“I have a feeling,” said Hercule Poirot, “that that girl knows something.”

He looked inquiringly at Mr. Reilly. The latter smiled and shook his head.

“Don’t ask me,” he said. “I know nothing about it. I can’t help you at all.”

He gathered up the tickets which were lying in front of him and went off with a nod and a smile.

Poirot explained to a disillusioned⁷ clerk that he would not make up his mind about that cruise tothe Northern Capitals after all.

 

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