Inside it was luxurious with an expensive simplicity.
It was not very modern but it was eminently comfortable.
Alistair Blunt did not keep them waiting. He came to them almost at once. "Chief Inspector Japp?"
Japp came forward and introduced Hercule Poirot. Blunt looked at him with interest.
"I know your name, of course, M. Poirot.
And surely – somewhere – quite recently -" He paused, frowning.
Poirot said: "This morning, Monsieur, in the waiting room of ce pauvre M. Morley."
Alistair Blunt's brow cleared. He said: "Of course. I knew I had seen you somewhere."
He turned to Japp.
"What can I do for you?
I am extremely sorry to hear about poor Morley."
"You were surprised, Mr. Blunt?"
"Very surprised.
Of course I knew very little about him, but I should have thought him a most unlikely person to commit suicide."
"He seemed in good health and spirits then, this morning?"
"I think so – yes." Alistair Blunt paused, then said with an almost boyish smile:
"To tell you the truth I'm a most awful coward about going to the dentist.
And I simply hate that beastly drill thing they run into you.
That's why I really didn't notice anything much. Not till it was over, you know, and I got up to go.
But I must say Morley seemed perfectly natural then.
Cheerful and busy."
"You had been to him often?"
"I think this was my third or fourth visit, I've never had much trouble with my teeth until the last year.
Breaking up, I suppose."
Hercule Poirot asked: "Who recommended Mr. Morley to you originally?"
Blunt drew his brows together in an effort of concentration. "Let me see now – I had a twinge – somebody told me Morley of Queen Charlotte Street was the man to go to – no, I can't for the life of me remember who it was. Sorry."
Poirot said: "If it should come back to you, perhaps you will let one of us know?"
Alistair Blunt looked at him curiously. He said: "I will – certainly.
Why?
Does it matter?"
"I have an idea," said Poirot, "that it might matter very much."
They were going down the steps of the house when a car drew up in front of it.
It was a car of sporting build – one of those cars from which it is necessary to wriggle from under the wheel in sections.
The young woman who did so appeared to consist chiefly of arms and legs.
She had finally dislodged herself as the men turned to walk down the street. The girl stood on the pavement looking after them. Then, suddenly and vigorously, she ejaculated,
"Hi!"
Not realizing that the call was addressed to them, neither man turned, and the girl repeated:
"Hi! Hi!
You, there!"
They stopped and looked round inquiringly.
The girl walked towards them.
The impression of arms and legs remained.
She was tall, thin, and her face had an intelligence and aliveness that redeemed its lack of actual beauty.
She was dark with a deeply tanned skin.
She said, addressing Poirot: "I know who you are – you're the detective man, Hercule Poirot!"
Her voice was warm and deep, with a trace of American accent.
Poirot said: "At your service, Mademoiselle." Her eyes went on to his companion.
Poirot said: "Chief Inspector Japp."
Her eyes widened – almost it seemed with alarm.
She said – and there was a slight breathlessness in her voice: "What have you been doing here?