The kind that's always putting his foot in it and getting cursed, and so they come to lie about things almost automatically."
Poirot looked thoughtfully round the room.
At the wash basin on the wall behind the door, at the tall filing cabinet on the other side of the door.
At the dental chair and surrounding apparatus near the window, then along to the fireplace and back to where the body lay; there was a second door in the wall near the fireplace.
Japp had followed his glance.
"Just a small office through there."
He flung open the door.
It was as he had said, a small room, with a desk, a table with a spirit lamp and tea apparatus, and some chairs.
There was no other door.
"This is where his secretary worked," explained Japp. "Miss Nevill.
It seems she's away today."
His eyes met Poirot's. The latter said: "He told me, I remember.
That again – might be a point against suicide?"
"You mean she was got out of the way?"
Japp paused.
He said: "If it wasn't suicide, he was murdered.
But why?
That solution seems almost as unlikely as the other.
He seems to have been a quiet inoffensive sort of chap.
Who would want to murder him?"
Poirot said: "Who could have murdered him?"
Japp said, "The answer to that is – almost anybody!
His sister could have come down from their flat above and shot him, one of the servants could have come in and shot him.
His partner, Reilly, could have shot him.
The boy Alfred could have shot him.
One of the patients could have shot him."
He paused and said, "And Amberiotis could have shot him – easiest of the lot."
Poirot nodded.
"But in that case – we have to find out why?"
"Exactly. You've come round again to the original problem.
Why?
Amberiotis is staying at the Savoy.
Why does a rich Greek want to come and shoot an inoffensive dentist?
"That's really going to be our stumbling block. Motive!"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said: "It would seem that death selected, most inartistically, the wrong man.
The Mysterious Greek, the Rich Banker, the Famous Detective – how natural that one of them should be shot!
For mysterious foreigners may be mixed up in espionage and rich bankers have connections who will benefit by their deaths and famous detectives may be dangerous to criminals."
"Whereas, poor old Morley wasn't dangerous to anybody," observed Japp gloomily.
"I wonder."
Japp whirled round on him. "What's up your sleeve now?"
"Nothing. A chance remark."
He repeated to Japp those few casual words of Mr. Morley's about recognising faces, and his mention of a patient.
Japp looked doubtful.
"It's possible, I suppose. But it's a bit farfetched.
It must have been someone who wanted his identity kept dark.
You didn't notice any of the other patients this morning?"
Poirot murmured: "I noticed in the waiting room a young man who looked exactly like a murderer!"
Japp said, startled: "What's that?"
Poirot smiled: "Mon cher, it was upon my arrival here!
I was nervous, fanciful – enfin, in a mood.