One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by Agatha Christie Page B

that with our Mabel, do you?”
    “One never knows,” said Poirot cautiously. “But I do not think it likely. So you are sure of finding her?”
    “We'll find her all right. We're publishing a description of her to the press and we're roping in the B.B.C.”
    “Ah,” said Poirot, “I fancy that may bring developments.”
    “Don't worry, old boy. We'll find your missing beauty for you, woollen underwear and all.”
    He rang off.
    George entered the room with his usual noiseless tread. He set down on a little table a steaming pot of chocolate and some sugar biscuits.
    “Will there be anything else, sir?”
    “I am in great perplexity of mind, George.”
    “Indeed, sir? I am sorry to hear it.”
    Hercule Poirot poured himself out some chocolate and stirred it thoughtfully.
    George stood deferentially waiting, recognizing the signs. There were moments when Hercule Poirot discussed his cases with his valet. He always said that he found George's comments singularly helpful.
    “You are aware, no doubt, George, of the death of my dentist?”
    “Mr. Morley, sir? Yes, sir. Very distressing, sir. He shot himself, I understand.”
    “That is the general understanding. If he did not shoot himself, he was murdered.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “The question is, if he was murdered, who murdered him?”
    “Quite so, sir.”
    “There are only a certain number of people, George, who could have murdered him. That is to say, the people who were actually in, or could have been in the house at the time.”
    “Quite so, sir.”
    “Those people are: a cook and a housemaid, amiable domestics and highly unlikely to do anything of the kind. A devoted sister, also highly unlikely, but who does inherit her brother's money such as it is - and one can never entirely neglect the financial aspect. An able and efficient partner - no motive known. A somewhat bone-headed page boy addicted to cheap crime stories. And lastly, a Greek gentleman of somewhat doubtful antecedents.”
    George coughed.
    “These foreigners, sir -”
    “Exactly. I agree perfectly. The Greek gentleman is decidedly indicated. But you see, George, the Greek gentleman also died and apparently it was Mr. Morley who killed him - whether by intention or as the result of an unfortunate error we cannot be sure.”
    “It might be, sir, that they killed each other. I mean, sir, each gentleman had formed the idea of doing the other gentleman in, though of course each gentleman was unaware of the other gentleman's intention.”
    Hercule Poirot purred approvingly.
    “Very ingenious, George. The dentist murders the unfortunate gentleman who sits in the chair, not realizing that the said victim is at that moment meditating exactly at what moment to whip out his pistol. It could, of course, be so but it seems to me, George, extremely unlikely. And we have not come to the end of our list yet. There are still two other people which might possibly have been in the house at the given moment. Every patient before Mr. Amberiotis was actually seen to leave the house with the exception of one - a young American gentleman. He left the waiting room about twenty minutes to twelve, but no one actually saw him leave the house. We must therefore, count him as a possibility. The other possibility is certain Mr. Frank Carter (not a patient) who came to the house at a little after twelve with the intention of seeing Mr. Morley. Nobody saw him leave, either. Those, my good George, are the facts. What do you think of them?”
    “At what time was the murder committed, sir?”
    “If the murder was committed by Mr. Amberiotis it was committed at any time between twelve and five and twenty past. If by somebody else, it was committed after twenty-five minutes past twelve, otherwise Mr. Amberiotis would have noticed the corpse.”
    He looked encouragingly at George.
    “Now, my good George, what have you to say about the matter?”
    George pondered. He said:
    “It strikes me, sir -”
    “Yes,