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. i
may have a commission for you. i suggest twelve thirty, at my house in chelsea. if
this is inconvenient to you, perhaps you would telephone my secretary? i
apologize 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 bell
what kind of message was impending.
on this occasion he was at once quite sure that the call was significant. it was not a wrong
number—not one of his friends.
he got up and took down the receiver. he said in his polite, foreign voice:
“’allo?”
an impersonal voice said: “what number are you, please?”
“this is whitehall 7272.”
there was a pause, a click, and then a voice spoke. 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 commission
you 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 this
business.”
“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’t
concern 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 interfered 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 exchange
to trace the number. he was fairly sure that the call had been put through from a public telephone
box.
what intrigued and puzzled him was the fact that he thought he had heard the voice somewhere
before. he racked his brains, trying to bring the elusive memory back. could it be the voice of
miss sainsbury seale?
as he remembered it, mabelle sainsbury seale’s voice had been high-pitched and somewhat
affected, with rather overemphasized diction. this voice was not at all like that, and yet—perhaps
it might be miss sainsbury seale with her voice disguised. after all, she had been an actress in her
time. she could alter her voice, probably, easily enough. in actual timbre, the voice was not unlike
what he remembered.
but he was not satisfied with that explanation. no, it was some other person that the voice
brought back to him. it was not a voice he knew well—but he was still quite sure that he had heard
it once, if not twice, before.
why, he wondered, bother to ring up and threaten him? could these people actually believe that
threats would deter him? apparently they did. it was poor psychology!
