George, Poirot’s immaculate and extremely English manservant, opened the door.
“A Dr. Tanios is waiting to see you, sir.
He has been here for half an hour.” “Dr. Tanios? Where is he?” “In the sitting-room, sir. A lady also called to see you, sir. She seemed very distressed to find you were absent from home. It was before I received your telephone message, sir, so I could not tell her when you would be returning to London.” “Describe this lady.” “She was about five foot seven, sir, with dark hair and light blue eyes. She was wearing a grey coat and skirt and a hat worn very much to the back of the head instead of over the right eye.” “Mrs. Tanios,” I ejaculated in a low voice.
“She seemed in a condition of great nervous excitement, sir. Said it was of the utniost importance she should find you quickly.” “What time was this?” “About half-past ten, sir.” Poirot shook his head as he passed on towards the sitting-room.
“That is the second time I have missed hearing what Mrs. Tanios has to say. Whai would you say, Hastings? Is there a fate in it?” “Third time lucky,” I said consolingly.
Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
“Will there be a third time? I wonder.
Come, let us hear what the husband has to say.” Dr. Tanios was sitting in an armchair reading one of Poirot5 s books on psychology.
He sprang up and greeted us.
“You must forgive this intrusion. I hope you don’t mind my forcing my way in and waiting for you like this.” “Du tout, du tout. Pray sit down. Permit me to offer you a glass of sherry.” “Thank you. As a matter of fact, I have an excuse. M. Poirot, I am worried, terribly worried, about my wife.” “About your wife? I’m very sorry. What’s the matter?” Tanios said: “You have seen her perhaps, lately?” It seemed quite a natural question, but the quick look that accompanied it was not so natural.
Poirot replied in the most matter-of-fact manner.
“No, not since I saw her at the hotel with you yesterday.” “Ah–I thought perhaps she might have called upon you.” Poirot was busy pouring out three glasses of sherry.
He said in a slightly abstracted voice: “No. Was there any–reason for her calling on me?” “No, no.” Dr. Tanios accepted his sherry.
“Thank you. Thank you very much. No, there was no exact reason, but, to be frank, I am very much concerned about my wife’s state of health.” “Ah, she is not strong?” “Her bodily health,” said Tanios slowly, “is good. I wish I could say the same for her mind.” “Ah?” “I fear, M. Poirot, that she is on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown.” “My dear Dr. Tanios, I am extremely sorry to hear this.” “This condition has been growing for some time. During the last two months her manner towards me has completely changed.
She is nervous, easily startled, and she has ^e oddest fancies–actually they are more ^an fancies–they are delusions!” II “Really?” “Yes. She is suffering from what is commonly known as persecution mania–a fairly well-known condition.? 5 Poirot made a sympathetic noise with his tongue.
“You can understand my anxiety!” “Naturally. Naturally. But what I do not quite understand is why you have come to me. How can I help you?” Dr. Tanios seemed a little embarrassed.
“It occurred to me that my wife might have–or may yet–come to you with some extraordinary tale. She may conceivably say that she is in danger from me–something of that kind.” “But why should she come to me?” Dr. Tanios smiled–it was a charming smile–genial yet wistful.
“You are a celebrated detective, M.
Poirot. I saw–I could see at once–that my wife was very impressed at meeting you yesterday.
The mere fact of meeting a detective would make a powerful impression on her in her present state. It seems to me highly probable that she might seek you out and– and–well, confide in you. That is the way these nervous affections go! There is a tendency to turn against those nearest and dearest to you.”. “Very distressing.” (‘Yes, indeed. I am very fond of my wife.?’ There was a rich tenderness in his voice. “I always feel it was so brave of her to marry me–a man of another race–to come out to a far country–to leave all her own friends and surroundings. For the last few days I have been really distraught…. I can see only one thing for it….” “Yes?” “Perfect rest and quiet–and suitable psychological treatment. There is a splendid home I know of run by a first-class man. I want to take her down there–it is in Norfolk–straightaway. Perfect rest and isolation from outside influence–that is what is needed. I feel convinced that once she has been there a month or two under skilled treatment there will be a change for the better.”