At breakfast Mr. Morley was by no means in the best of spirits.He complained of the bad taste of the bacon, wondered why the coffee had to be slushy, and his comment on the bread was that each slice was worse than the last. Mr. Morley was a short man with a decisive jaw and a combative chin.His sister, a tall, grenadier-like woman, took care of his life.She looked at her brother thoughtfully and asked if the bath water should be cold again. Mr. Morley grudgingly answered with no coldness. He kept his eyes on the newspaper and commented that it seemed that the government was going from being powerless to undeniably retarded!

Miss Morley said in a low voice, that's not a good way to speak! Being a very good woman, she always thought that no matter how the government governed, it must have its own reasons.She wanted her brother to explain why the current policy of the government was fruitless, idiotically incompetent and purely suicidal! After Mr. Morley had a good talk on these matters, he drank his second cup of coffee, which he despised, before venting his real discontent. "These little girls," he said, "are all the same! Unconfirmed, self-centered--in short, not at all reliable." Miss Morley asked speculatively, "You mean Gladys?"

"Just heard that her aunt has had a stroke and she has to go back to Somerset." Miss Morley said: "It's annoying, my dear, but it's not her fault." Mr. Morley shook his head sullenly. "How do I know if her aunt has had a stroke? How do I know if it's arranged with her by the guy she's running around with who doesn't deserve her? I've never seen anything as bad as that young man." Things! Most likely they went on a tour together today." "Oh, no, dear. I don't think Gladys would do such a thing. Don't you always think she has a conscience?"

"Yes Yes." "You called her a smart girl and said she really loved what she did." "Yes, yes, Georgina. But that was before this nasty young man came. Lately she's become too much--too much--befuddled, distracted, neurotic Xi's." The Grenadier let out a long sigh. "It can't be helped, Henry, girls always fall in love, and no one can escape." Mr. Morley snapped: "She shouldn't let this affect her productivity as my secretary. Especially today, I'm so busy! There are some very important patients coming. The most annoying thing is this!"

"I know it must be a headache, Henry. By the way, how's the new page?" Henry Morley said worriedly: "He is the worst person I have hired! He can't even know the names of the patients, and he doesn't know the rules at all. If he doesn't improve, I will quit him." Invite someone else. I really don’t understand what our education is for now, it seems that it can only teach a bunch of idiots, they can’t even understand what you ordered, let alone make them remember.” He looked at his watch. "I've got to start. There's a morning queue. This Sainsbury Seale woman needs a filling. I suggest she go to Riley, but she won't listen."

"Of course she won't listen."said Georgina thoughtfully. "Reilly is actually quite capable—really capable. He has an advanced diploma and the latest expertise." "But his hands were trembling," said Miss Morley. "I think it was drink." Her brother laughed, already in a better mood."As usual, I'll come up at 1:30 for a sandwich," he said. Mr. Amberiozzi is picking his teeth and grinning to himself at the Savoy Hotel. Everything went very smoothly. He was lucky again as usual.Think about how he got so much in return for just saying a few nice words to that snarky stupid woman.Oh yeah - throw your bread over the water.He has always been kind and generous!He can be even more generous and generous in the future.Images of benevolence appeared in front of his eyes.Little Dimitri—and his Constantopoulos struggle with his tavern—what a delightful adventure—inattention, too deep with a toothpick, Amberio Mr. Zi flinched in pain.The rose-tinted dream of the future is gone.Instead, experience the pain of the moment.He lightly tested his mouth with his tongue, then took out his notepad. 12 o'clock.58 Queen Charlotte Street.

He tried his best to regain his previous cheerful state, but it was in vain.As far as the eye can see, everything is shrunken, and there are only twelve words left: 58 Queen Charlotte Street. 12 o'clock. Glengowell Court Hotel, South Kensington.Breakfast is over.In the drawing room Miss Sainsbury Seale was sitting and chatting with Mrs Poleso.A week ago, on the second day of Miss Sainsbury's stay, they had met and become friends at the next table. Miss Sainsbury Seale said: "Tell you, dear, it doesn't hurt! It doesn't hurt anymore! Maybe I should hang up" Mrs. Poleso interrupted her.

"Don't be silly, my dear. You'd better go to the dentist and have it sorted out." Mrs. Poleso was a tall, deep-voiced, commanding woman.Miss Sainsbury Seale was in her early forties, and her shaggy hair, which had begun to gray, curled upwards in small ragged circles.Her clothes were sloppy and vulgar, and her pince-nez kept falling off.This woman is quite eloquent. At this time, she said hopefully: "But, it really doesn't hurt at all!" "Nonsense. You told me you didn't sleep at all last night." "No, I wasn't asleep--I wasn't asleep--but I'm afraid the nerve in the tooth is practically dead now."

"Then it's time to go to the dentist," said Mrs. Poleso firmly. "We all like to put it off, but it's just timidity. Better make up your mind and get it out of the way!" Something rose to the lips of Miss Sainsbury Seale.Maybe it was a grunt of resistance: "That's the way it is, it's not your teeth that hurt!" But what she said was: "I hope you are right, and Mr. Morley is very careful, and he has never cured anyone." The board meeting is over.The meeting went smoothly and the report was well done.There should be nothing inappropriate.However, the sensitive Mr. Samuel Rosestein noticed a somewhat subtle anomaly in the chairman's behavior.

Once or twice, briefly, there was a sourness in the chairman's tone—but not at all from the agenda of the meeting. Perhaps, a secret worry?But Rotherstein could not at all associate any secret anxiety with Alistair Blunt.He is not expressive, everything is in line with normal standards, and he is an Englishman through and through. Then it was the liver—Mr. Rosestein's liver was always giving him trouble.But he never heard Alistair complain about his liver. Alistair's health was as famous as his shrewd brain and strong control of money.Not an annoying health problem - he's in very good health.

But—there must be some reason—the Chairman's hand brushed his face once or twice.He sat with his chin propped on his hand.This is not his usual posture.And once or twice he seemed to really—yes, a little distracted. They left the board office and went down the stairs. Rosestein said, "Would you be kind enough to let me drive you home?" Alistair Brent smiled and shook his head. "My car is waiting", he looked at his watch, "I'm not going back to town".He paused. "Honestly, I have an appointment with the dentist." The mystery was finally solved. Hercule Poirot got out of the taxi, paid the fare, and rang the bell at 58, Queen Charlotte Street. After a while the door was opened by a young man in a page's uniform, freckled, red-haired, and honest. Hercule Poirot asked: "Is Mr. Morley there?" There was an absurd hope in his mind that Mr. Morley had better be called away, or that he was not feeling well enough to see patients today--but it was hopeless.The footman stepped back, Hercule Poirot entered, and the door closed softly and cruelly behind him with unalterable doom. "May I ask your name?" the footman asked. Poirot told him that a door to the right of the hall was opened and he entered the waiting room. The room was well furnished, but in Hercule Poirot's view, it was covered with an indescribable gloom.Newspapers and periodicals are thoughtfully arranged on the polished (mechanical) Sheraton table.A Hepplewhite (also machine-made) sideboard holds two Sheffield silver-plated candlesticks and a centerpiece.On the mantelpiece stood a bronze clock and two brass vases.The windows were drawn with blue velvet curtains.The ottomans are all fitted with Jacobean-style covers embroidered with red birds and flowers. Among the waiting persons was a military-looking gentleman with a murderous moustache and a sallow complexion.He looked at Poirot with the eye of a vermin.Looks like he'd rather have a Fleet sprayer than a pistol with him.Poirot glanced at him in disgust, thinking: there is no doubt that there are some disgusting and ridiculous Brits who should never have been born in the first place. The soldier stared for an extended moment before he reached for a copy of The Times, turned his chair to avoid seeing Poirot, and sat down to read. Poirot selected a copy of "Clumsy", which he read carefully, and the jokes in it did not make him laugh at all. The footman came in and called, "Colonel Allobumpy?" The soldier was led away. Poirot was wondering if such a strange name really existed, when the door opened and a young man of about thirty years old entered. When the young man was standing at the table, knocking on the cover of the magazine with his hands, Poirot had been watching him from the side.This was an unpleasant, dangerous-looking young man, he thought, and perhaps a murderer.In any case, he was more of a murderer than most of the murderers Poirot had arrested since he started his career. The footman opened the door and came in, shouting into the air, "Mr. Pyro?" Poirot realized that he was being called and stood up.The footman led him to the back of the hall, turned a corner, took a small elevator to the second floor, walked down a corridor, opened a door leading to a vestibule, knocked on a second door inside, and then Waiting for the answer, he unscrewed it and stepped back to let Poirot into the room. Poirot walked in following the sound of running water, turned to the door, and found Mr. Morley washing his hands in the sink beside the wall with professional enthusiasm. No matter how great a person is, there are times when he loses face.There is a saying that no one is a hero to his servants.Perhaps it should be added that very few people can go to the dentist and still call themselves a hero. Hercule Poirot recognized this fact with horror. He has always thought highly of himself.He was Hercule Poirot, and in many respects he was extraordinary.But at this moment, he couldn't see anything superhuman in himself, and his self-confidence dropped to zero.He's just a regular guy, a coward, someone who's terrified of sitting in the dental chair. After Mr. Morley had finished his professional cleansing, he began to speak in a professionally encouraging tone. Judging by the seasons, the weather this year doesn't seem to be hot yet, does it? He walked slowly to his place - to the operating chair!He manipulated the headrest skillfully, adjusting it up and down. Taking a deep breath, Hercule Poirot went over and sat down, allowing Mr. Morley to work his head professionally. "Lie like this," said Mr. Morley, in a tone of terrifying reassurance, "it's very comfortable, isn't it?" Poirot sounded as though about to be buried alive, and he replied that it was very comfortable. Mr. Morley moved the little table closer, picked up the small mirror, and still clutched an instrument, ready to begin the treatment. Hercule Poirot grabbed the arm of the chair violently, closed his eyes tightly, and opened his mouth. "No particular illness?" asked Mr. Morley. Although the consonants were a bit slurred with his mouth open, the other party understood Poirot's reply that he was not particularly ill.Out of the habit of being organized and neat, this was actually a routine inspection twice a year for Poirot.Of course, there's a good chance that nothing needs to be done—maybe, maybe Mr. Morley will miss the throbbing adult tooth in the back—maybe he will, but it seems he won't—because Mr. Morley's Medicine is very sophisticated. Mr. Morley examined each tooth slowly, tapping and probing, grunting judgment now and then. "Filling came off a bit - not a big deal though. Nice gums which is nice".Stopped at a suspicious point for a while, turned around and probed—it’s okay, and then came, it was a false alarm just now.He started checking the lower teeth, one, two—why not the third?No, Hercule Poirot vaguely thought of a common saying, the hound has found the rabbit! "There's a little problem here. Doesn't it hurt at all? Well, I didn't expect that."The probe penetrated deeper. At last Mr. Morley retracted the probe, satisfied. "Not a big deal. Just two fillings - and a little bit of wear on the upper molars. I think I can get it done this morning." He flipped the switch and there was a buzzing sound.Mr. Morley unscrews the drill holes and installs the bits with lovely detail. "Tell me if you can't bear it."In a word, the dreadful work begins. In fact, Poirot didn't need this kind of special assistance at all. He didn't have to raise his hand, shrink his body to signal, let alone moan or cry.Mr. Morley mastered it just right, stopping at the right moment every time, and briefly commanding "gargle".Refresh it a bit, or get another drill bit before continuing.The real torment is not the pain, but the fear of the drill. Later, Mr. Morley began preparing the stuffing, and the conversation resumed. "I've got to do the job myself this morning," he said firmly. "Miss Neville has been called away. Do you remember Miss Neville?" Poirot pretended to remember. "One of her relatives was ill and she was called to the country. This kind of thing happened at such a busy time. I was already slow today, and the patients in front of you came late. It is really frustrating to encounter this situation." Nervous, messed up all morning. I have to deal with a special patient later, because she is in severe pain. Although I usually have a quarter of an hour in the morning every morning, today still keeps me busy. Get busy." Mr. Morley stared intently at the mortar, grinding it in his hands.He continued to speak out. "Monsieur Poirot, I'm going to tell you something I've noticed a long time ago. The big men - that is, the important ones - are always punctual - never keep you waiting. For example, the royal family Men, they're the ones who care about the little things. And people from the big cities too. I've got a most important person coming to me this morning—he's Alistair Blunt!" Mr. Morley uttered the name in a triumphant voice. With several cotton balls stuffed into his mouth and a thin glass tube rattling under his tongue, Poirot was unable to speak at all, and could only utter an indistinct cry. Alistair Brent!It's a name that can shake up society today.He is not a duke, not an earl, not a prime minister.He was nothing but an ordinary Mr. Alistair Brent, a man unknown to the general public—a man who appeared only occasionally in inconspicuous vignettes.He's not the type to show off. He's just a silent, featureless Englishman, he's just the leader of the largest consortium in Britain.A man of wealth, a man who can command the government.He lived a quiet, reclusive life, never appearing on the public stage, never giving speeches.But he holds unlimited power in his hands. Mr. Morley bent over to fill Poirot's teeth, his voice still full of admiration. "He always came to his appointments by the clock. He would let his car go and walk back to the office. He didn't talk much, he never put on airs. He loved golf and gardening. You can't imagine Until he can buy half of Europe! Just like no one thinks you can do it with me". In an instant, a trace of dissatisfaction rose in Poirot's heart. He didn't like his name to be compared with others so casually.Yes, Mr Morley is a good dentist, but there are other good ones in London.And Hercule Poirot has only one. "Please rinse your mouth."said Mr Morley. "You know, it's a challenge to Hitler and Mussolini's braggarts," Molly said, starting on the second tooth, "and we don't make any fuss or fuss here. Look at our How democratic the king and queen are. Of course, a Frenchman like you is used to the idea of ​​a republic—” "I'm not Chinese and French-I'm from Belize." "Hush! Don't talk—" said Mr. Morley resignedly. "The opening must be kept completely dry."He kept spraying hot air on it. He went on: "Funny, I didn't realize you were Belgian. I've always heard King Leopold was pretty good. I'm a big believer in royal tradition. You know, they've all been brought up very well." You only have to look at their amazing ability to remember people's names and faces. It's all a result of training - of course, some people are born with this ability. I am an example. I never remember people Names, but I'm satisfied I never forget faces I've seen. Like I had a patient here a few days ago - I remember seeing him before. I don't have the slightest recollection of the patient's name - But right away I said in my head 'Where did I see you?' I don't think about it now, but I will - I'm sure. Rinse your mouth again, please". After rinsing his mouth, Mr. Morley critically observed the patient's mouth. "Well, I don't think it's too bad. It's comfortable to close your mouth—quietly—? No unevenness? Please open your mouth again, that's all, it seems to be doing pretty well." The small table was pushed away, and the chair was rocked. Hercule Poirot got off the operating chair and was finally free. "Well, good-bye, M. Poirot. I suppose you haven't found any criminals with me?" Poirot smiled. "Everyone looked like a criminal before I came up! Perhaps it will be different now, though!" "Ah, yes, there is always a huge difference between before and after! Even us dentists are not so devilish as before! Shall I call you a lift?" "No, no, I'll go on my own." "Whatever you want - the elevator is right next to the stairs". Poirot went out, and as he closed the door he heard a tap run. Step by step he descended the two flights of stairs.When he turned the last corner he saw the colonel in the British Indian Army being sent out the door.The man was not at all ugly, thought Poirot cheerfully.Perhaps he was a good marksman who had killed many tigers.That's a useful piece - a standing sentinel of the Empire. He went into the waiting room to fetch his hat and cane which had been there.Poirot found it strange that the restless young man was still there.Another patient, also a man, was reading a copy of Vision magazine. Driven by the new good mood, Poirot began to study the young man.He still looked murderous--and he seemed about to kill--but he wasn't really a murderer--thought Poirot kindly.Before long, no doubt, the young man would be coming briskly down the stairs, free from the torments of his illness, laughing, and wishing no ill will to anyone in the world. The footman came up and called out clearly, "Mr. Blunt." The man at the table reading Vision put down the magazine and stood up.He was of medium height, just in middle age, with a neither fat nor thin figure, well dressed, and a serene expression. He followed the footman. This is one of the most powerful men in England - but he's going to the dentist like everyone else, and obviously feels as much about it as anyone else! Thinking, Hercule Poirot took up his hat and cane and walked towards the door.He turned around and took a look, and couldn't help being taken aback. He thought that the young man must have had a terrible toothache. In the drawing room Poirot stopped before the mirror to straighten his moustache, which had been slightly disarrayed by Mr. Morley's handling. When he was finally tidying up and feeling satisfied, the elevator came down again.The page, whistling out of tune, emerged from the back of the hall.Seeing Poirot, he quickly shut up and came over to open the front door for Poirot. A taxi happened to pull up and parked in front of the house with a foot sticking out of the door.Poirot studied the foot with interest with refined eyes. Nice ankles, fine stockings.The feet are well formed.But he doesn't like the shoes.It was a new patent leather shoe with a big shiny buckle.He shook his head. Not chic enough - too tacky! The woman was getting out of the car when her back foot was pinched by the door and the buckle came off.It rolled clangingly onto the pavement.Poirot took a step forward to pick it up, bowed deeply, and handed it over graciously. God!It turned out to be a woman in her late fifties.Wearing a pair of pince-nez.Unkempt sallow hair--ugly clothes--that old dull green!She had just thanked him when the pince-nez dropped again, and then the handbag on the floor. It was polite, if not courteous, again, and Poirot picked it up for her again. She went up the steps of 58 Queen Charlotte Street.Poirot interrupted the taxi driver, who was pondering his meager tip with displeasure. "Hello, is the car empty?" The driver replied sullenly: "Oh, I'm finally relieved." "Me too," said Hercule Poirot, "I am afraid of nothing now!" He noticed the deeply suspicious look on the driver's face. "No, my friend, I'm not drunk. Just because I've been to the dentist just now, I won't have to for six months now. It's a joy to think about."