chapter 14 at muswell hill

at about the time that jane was leaving antoine's, norman gale was saying in a hearty professional tone:

"just a little tender, i'm afraid. tell me if i hurt you."

his expert hand guided the electric drill.

"there. that's all over... miss ross."

miss ross was immediately at his elbow, stirring a minute white concoction on a slab.

norman gale completed his filling and said:

"let me see, it's next tuesday you're coming for those others?"

his patient, rinsing her mouth ardently, burst into a fluent explanation: she was going away - so sorry - would have to cancel the next appointment. yes, she would let him know when she got back.

and she escaped hurriedly from the room.

"well," said gale, "that's all for today."

miss ross said: "lady higginson rang up to say she must give up her appointment next week. she wouldn't make another. oh, and colonel blunt can't come on thursday."

norman gale nodded. his face hardened.

every day was the same. people ringing up. canceled appointments. all varieties of excuses - going away, going abroad, got a cold, may not be here.

it didn't matter what reason they gave. the real reason norman had just seen quite unmistakably in his last patient's eye as he reached for the drill. a look of sudden panic.

he could have written down the woman's thoughts on paper:

"oh, dear. of course, he was in that aeroplane when that woman was murdered... i wonder... you do hear of people going off their heads and doing the most senseless crimes. it really isn't safe. the man might be a homicidal lunatic. they look the same as other people, i've always heard. i believe i always felt there was rather a peculiar look in his eye."

"well," said gale, "it looks like being a quiet week next week. miss ross."

"yes, a lot of people have dropped out. oh, well, you can do with a rest. you worked so hard earlier in the summer."

"it doesn't look as though i were going to have a chance of working very hard in the autumn, does it?"

miss ross did not reply. she was saved from having to do so by the telephone ringing. she went out of the room to answer it.

norman dropped some instruments into the sterilizer, thinking hard.

"let's see how we stand. no beating about the bush. this business has about done for me professionally. funny. it's done well for jane. people come on purpose to gape at her. come to think of it, that's what's wrong here. they have to gape at me, and they don't like it!

nasty, helpless feeling you have in a dentist's chair. if the dentist were to run amuck -

"what a strange business murder is! you'd think it was a perfectly straight-forward issue, and it isn't. it affects all sorts of queer things you'd never think of... come back to facts. as a dentist, i seem to be about done for... what would happen, i wonder, if they arrested the horbury woman? would my patients come trooping back? hard to say. once the rot's set in... oh, well, what does it matter? i don't care. yes, i do, because of jane... jane's adorable. i want her. and i can't have her yet... a damnable nuisance."

he smiled.

"i feel it's going to be all right. she cares. she'll wait... damn it, i shall go to canada - yes, that's it - and make money there."

he laughed to himself.

miss ross came back into the room.

"that was mrs lorrie. she's sorry -"

"-but she may be going to timbuctoo," finished norman. "vive les rats! you'd better look out for another post, miss ross. this seems to be a sinking ship."

"oh, mr gale, i shouldn't think of deserting you."

"good girl. you're not a rat, anyway. but seriously, i mean it. if something doesn't happen to clear up this mess, i'm done for."

"something ought to be done about it!" said miss ross with energy. "i think the police are disgraceful. they're not trying."

norman laughed.

"i expect they're trying all right."

"somebody ought to do something."

"quite right. i've rather thought of trying to do something myself; though i don't quite know what."

"oh, mr gale, i should. you're so clever."

"i'm a hero to that girl all right," thought norman gale. "she'd like to help me in my sleuth stuff, but i've got another partner in view."

it was that same evening that he dined with jane.

half unconsciously he pretended to be in very high spirits, but jane was too astute to be deceived. she noted his sudden moments of absent-mindedness, the little frown that showed between his brows, the sudden strained line of his mouth.

she said at last:

"norman, are things going badly?"

he shot a quick glance at her, then looked away.

"well, not too frightfully well. it's a bad time of year."

"don't be idiotic," said jane sharply.

"jane!"

"i mean it. don't you think i can see that you're worried to death?"

"i'm not worried to death. i'm just annoyed."

"you mean people fighting shy -"

"of having their teeth attended to by a possible murderer. yes."

"how cruelly unfair""

"it is, rather. because, frankly, jane, i'm a jolly good dentist. and i'm not a murderer."

"it's wicked. somebody ought to do something."

"that's what my secretary, miss ross, said this morning."

"what's she like?"

"miss ross?"

"yes."

"oh, i don't know. big, lots of bones, nose rather like a rocking horse, frightfully competent."

"she sounds quite nice," said jane graciously.

norman rightly took this as a tribute to his diplomacy. miss ross'

bones were not really quite as formidable as stated and she had an extremely attractive head of red hair, but he felt, and rightly, that it was just as well not to dwell on the latter point to jane.

"i'd like to do southing," he said. "if i was a young man in a book, i'd find a clue or i'd shadow somebody."

jane tugged suddenly at his sleeve.

"look, there's mr clancy - you know, the author. siting over there by the wall by himself. we might shadow him."

"but we were going to the flicks!"

"never mind the flicks. i feel somehow this might be meant. you said you wanted to shadow somebody and here's somebody to shadow. you never know. we might find out something."

jane's enthusiasm was infectious. norman fell in with the plan readily enough.

"as you say, one never knows," he said. "whereabouts has he got to in his dinner? i can't see properly without turning my head, and i don't want to stare."

"he's about level with us," said jane. "we'd better hurry a bit and get ahead, and then we can pay the bill and be ready to leave when he does."

they adopted this plan. when at last little mr clancy rose and passed out into dean street, norman and jane were fairly close on his heels.

"in case he takes a taxi," jane explained.

but mr clancy did not take a taxi. carrying an overcoat over one arm, and occasionally allowing it to trail on the ground, he ambled gently through the london streets. his progress was somewhat erratic. sometimes he moved forward at a brisk trot; sometimes he slowed down till he almost came to a stop. once, on the very brink of crossing a road, he did come to a standstill, standing there with one foot hanging out over the curb and looking exactly like a slow-motion picture.

his direction, too, was erratic. once he actually took so many right- angle turns that he traversed the same streets twice over.

jane felt her spirits rise.

"you see?" she said excitedly. "he's afraid of being followed. he's trying to put us off the scent."

"do you think so?"

"of course. nobody would go round in circles, otherwise."

"oh!"

they had turned a corner rather quickly and had almost cannoned into their quarry. he was standing staring up at a butcher's shop. the shop itself was naturally closed, but it seemed to be something about the level of the first floor that was riveting mr clancy's attention.

he said aloud:

"perfect. the very thing. what a piece of luck!"

he took out a little book and wrote something down very carefully. then he started off again at a brisk pace, humming a little tune.

he was now heading definitely for bloomsbury. sometimes, when he turned his head, the two behind could see his lips moving.

"there is something up," said jane. "he's in great distress of mind. he's talking to himself and he doesn't know it."

as he waited to cross by some traffic lights, norman and jane drew abreast.

it was quite true: mr clancy was talking to himself. his face looked white and strained. norman and jane caught a few muttered words:

"why doesn't she speak? why? there must be a reason."

the lights went green. as they reached the opposite pavement, mr clancy said:

"i see now. of course. that's why she's got to be silenced!"

jane pinched norman ferociously.

mr clancy set off at a great pace now. the overcoat dragged hopelessly. with great strides the little author covered the ground, apparently oblivious of the two people on his track.

finally, with disconcerting abruptness, he stopped at a house, opened the door with a key and went in.

norman and jane looked at each other.

"it's his own house," said norman. "forty-seven cardington square. that's the address he gave at the inquest."

"oh, well," said jane. "perhaps he'll come out again by and by. and anyway, we have heard something. somebody - a woman - is going to be silenced. and some other woman won't speak. oh, dear, it sounds dreadfully like a detective story."

a voice came out of the darkness.

"good evening," it said.

the owner of the voice stepped forward. a pair of magnificent mustaches showed in the lamplight.

"eh bien," said hercule poirot. "a fine evening for the chase, is it not?"