Cards on the Table Read online

  “I thought him—I may as well say so—rather a charlatan.”

  “You had—excuse me for asking—no motive for wishing him out of the way?”

  Mrs. Lorrimer looked slightly amused.

  “Really, Superintendent Battle, do you think I should admit it if I had?”

  “You might,” said Battle. “A really intelligent person might know that a thing was bound to come out.”

  Mrs. Lorrimer inclined her head thoughtfully.

  “There is that, of course. No, Superintendent Battle, I had no motive for wishing Mr. Shaitana out of the way. It is really a matter of indifference to me whether he is alive or dead. I thought him a poseur, and rather theatrical, and sometimes he irritated me. That is—or rather was—my attitude towards him.”

  “That is that, then. Now, Mrs. Lorrimer, can you tell me anything about your three companions?”

  “I’m afraid not. Major Despard and Miss Meredith I met for the first time tonight. Both of them seem charming people. Dr. Roberts I know slightly. He’s a very popular doctor, I believe.”

  “He is not your own doctor?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Now, Mrs. Lorrimer, can you tell me how often you got up from your seat tonight, and will you also describe the movements of the other three?”

  Mrs. Lorrimer did not take any time to think.

  “I thought you would probably ask me that. I have been trying to think it out. I got up once myself when I was dummy. I went over to the fire. Mr. Shaitana was alive then. I mentioned to him how nice it was to see a wood fire.”

  “And he answered?”

  “That he hated radiators.”

  “Did anyone overhear your conversation?”

  “I don’t think so. I lowered my voice, not to interrupt the players.” She added dryly: “In fact, you have only my word for it that Mr. Shaitana was alive and spoke to me.”

  Superintendent Battle made no protest. He went on with his quiet methodical questioning.

  “What time was that?”

  “I should think we had been playing a little over an hour.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Dr. Roberts got me a drink. He also got himself one—that was later. Major Despard also went to get a drink—at about 11:15, I should say.”

  “Only once?”

  “No—twice, I think. The men moved about a fair amount—but I didn’t notice what they did. Miss Meredith left her seat once only, I think. She went round to look at her partner’s hand.”

  “But she remained near the bridge table?”

  “I couldn’t say at all. She may have moved away.”

  Battle nodded.

  “It’s all very vague,” he grumbled.

  “I am sorry.”

  Once again Battle did his conjuring trick and produced the long delicate stiletto.

  “Will you look at this, Mrs. Lorrimer?”

  Mrs. Lorrimer took it without emotion.

  “Have you ever seen that before?”

  “Never.”

  “Yet it was lying on a table in the drawing room.”

  “I didn’t notice it.”

  “You realize, perhaps, Mrs. Lorrimer, that with a weapon like that a woman could do the trick just as easily as a man.”

  “I suppose she could,” said Mrs. Lorrimer quietly.

  She leaned forward and handed the dainty little thing back to him.

  “But all the same,” said Superintendent Battle, “the woman would have to be pretty desperate. It was a long chance to take.”

  He waited a minute, but Mrs. Lorrimer did not speak.

  “Do you know anything of the relations between the other three and Mr. Shaitana?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Would you care to give me an opinion as to which of them you consider the most likely person?”

  Mrs. Lorrimer drew herself up stiffly.

  “I should not care to do anything of the kind. I consider that a most improper question.”

  The superintendent looked like an abashed little boy who has been reprimanded by his grandmother.

  “Address, please,” he mumbled, drawing his notebook towards him.

  “111 Cheyne Lane, Chelsea.”

  “Telephone number?”

  “Chelsea 45632.”

  Mrs. Lorrimer rose.

  “Anything you want to ask, M. Poirot?” said Battle hurriedly.

  Mrs. Lorrimer paused, her head slightly inclined.

  “Would it be a proper question, madame, to ask you your opinion of your companions, not as potential murderers but as bridge players?”

  Mrs. Lorrimer answered coldly:

  “I have no objection to answering that—if it bears upon the matter at issue in any way—though I fail to see how it can.”

  “I will be the judge of that. Your answer, if you please, madame.”

  In the tone of a patient adult humouring an idiot child, Mrs. Lorrimer replied:

  “Major Despard is a good sound player. Dr. Roberts overcalls, but plays his hand brilliantly. Miss Meredith is quite a nice little player, but a bit too cautious. Anything more?”

  In his turn doing a conjuring trick, Poirot produced four crumpled bridge scores.

  “These scores, madame, is one of these yours?”

  She examined them.

  “This is my writing. It is the score of the third rubber.”

  “And this score?”

  “That must be Major Despard’s. He cancels as he goes.”

  “And this one?”

  “Miss Meredith’s. The first rubber.”

  “So this unfinished one is Dr. Roberts’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, madame, I think that is all.”

  Mrs. Lorrimer turned to Mrs. Oliver.

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Oliver. Goodnight, Colonel Race.”

  Then, having shaken hands with all four of them, she went out.

  Six

  THIRD MURDERER?

  “Didn’t get any extra change out of her,” commented Battle. “Put me in my place, too. She’s the old-fashioned kind, full of consideration for others, but arrogant as the devil! I can’t believe she did it, but you never know! She’s got plenty of resolution. What’s the idea of the bridge scores, M. Poirot?”

  Poirot spread them on the table.

  “They are illuminating, do you not think? What do we want in this case? A clue to character. And a clue not to one character, but to four characters. And this is where we are most likely to find it—in these scribbled figures. Here is the first rubber, you see—a tame business, soon over. Small neat figures—careful addition and subtraction—that is Miss Meredith’s score. She was playing with Mrs. Lorrimer. They had the cards, and they won.

  “In this next one it is not so easy to follow the play, since it is kept in the cancellation style. But it tells us perhaps something about Major Despard—a man who likes the whole time to know at a glance where he stands. The figures are small and full of character.

  “This next score is Mrs. Lorrimer’s—she and Dr. Roberts against the other two—a Homeric combat—figures mounting up above the line each side. Overcalling on the doctor’s part, and they go down; but, since they are both first-class players, they never go down very much. If the doctor’s overcalling induces rash bidding on the other side there is the chance seized of doubling. See—these figures here are doubled tricks gone down. A characteristic handwriting, graceful, very legible, firm.

  “Here is the last score—the unfinished rubber. I collected one score in each person’s handwriting, you see. Figures rather flamboyant. Not such high scores as the preceding rubber. That is probably because the doctor was playing with Miss Meredith, and she is a timid player. His calling would make her more so!

  “You think, perhaps, that they are foolish, these questions that I ask? But it is not so. I want to get at the characters of these four players, and when it is only about bridge I ask, everyone is re
ady and willing to speak.”

  “I never think your questions foolish, M. Poirot,” said Battle. “I’ve seen too much of your work. Everyone’s got their own ways of working. I know that. I give my inspectors a free hand always. Everyone’s got to find out for themselves what method suits them best. But we’d better not discuss that now. We’ll have the girl in.”

  Anne Meredith was upset. She stopped in the doorway. Her breath came unevenly.

  Superintendent Battle was immediately fatherly. He rose, set a chair for her at a slightly different angle.

  “Sit down, Miss Meredith, sit down, Now, don’t be alarmed. I know all this seems rather dreadful, but it’s not so bad, really.”

  “I don’t think anything could be worse,” said the girl in a low voice. “It’s so awful—so awful—to think that one of us—that one of us—”

  “You let me do the thinking,” said Battle kindly. “Now, then, Miss Meredith, suppose we have your address first of all.”

  “Wendon Cottage, Wallingford.”

  “No address in town?”

  “No, I’m staying at my club for a day or two.”

  “And your club is?”

  “Ladies’ Naval and Military.”

  “Good. Now, then, Miss Meredith, how well did you know Mr. Shaitana?”

  “I didn’t know him well at all. I always thought he was a most frightening man.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, well he was! That awful smile! And a way he had of bending over you. As though he might bite you.”

  “Had you known him long?”

  “About nine months. I met him in Switzerland during the winter sports.”

  “I should never have thought he went in for winter sports,” said Battle, surprised.

  “He only skated. He was a marvellous skater. Lots of figures and tricks.”

  “Yes, that sounds more like him. And did you see much of him after that?”

  “Well—a fair amount. He asked me to parties and things like that. They were rather fun.”

  “But you didn’t like him himself?”

  “No, I thought he was a shivery kind of man.”

  Battle said gently:

  “But you’d no special reason for being afraid of him?”

  Anne Meredith raised wide limpid eyes to his.

  “Special reason? Oh, no.”

  “That’s all right, then. Now about tonight. Did you leave your seat at all?”

  “I don’t think so. Oh, yes, I may have done once. I went round to look at the others’ hands.”

  “But you stayed by the bridge table all the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quite sure, Miss Meredith?”

  The girl’s cheeks flamed suddenly.

  “No—no, I think I walked about.”

  “Right. You’ll excuse me, Miss Meredith, but try and speak the truth. I know you’re nervous, and when one’s nervous one’s apt to—well, to say the thing the way you want it to be. But that doesn’t really pay in the end. You walked about. Did you walk over in the direction of Mr. Shaitana?”

  The girl was silent for a minute, then she said:

  “Honestly—honestly—I don’t remember.”

  “Well, we’ll leave it that you may have done. Know anything about the other three?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “I’ve never seen any of them before.”

  “What do you think of them? Any likely murderers amongst them?”

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. It couldn’t be Major Despard. And I don’t believe it could be the doctor—after all, a doctor could kill anyone in much easier ways. A drug—or something like that.”

  “Then, if it’s anyone, you think it’s Mrs. Lorrimer.”

  “Oh, I don’t. I’m sure she wouldn’t. She’s so charming—and so kind to play bridge with. She’s so good herself, and yet she doesn’t make one feel nervous, or point out one’s mistakes.”

  “Yet you left her name to the last,” said Battle.

  “Only because stabbing seems somehow more like a woman.”

  Battle did his conjuring trick. Anne Meredith shrank back.

  “Oh, horrible. Must I—take it?”

  “I’d rather you did.”

  He watched her as she took the stiletto gingerly, her face contracted with repulsion.

  “With this tiny thing—with this—”

  “Go in like butter,” said Battle with gusto. “A child could do it.”

  “You mean—you mean”—wide, terrified eyes fixed themselves on his face—“that I might have done it? But I didn’t. Why should I?”

  “That’s just the question we’d like to know,” said Battle. “What’s the motive? Why did anyone want to kill Shaitana? He was a picturesque person, but he wasn’t dangerous, as far as I can make out.”

  Was there a slight indrawing of her breath—a sudden lifting of her breast?

  “Not a blackmailer, for instance, or anything of that sort?” went on Battle. “And anyway, Miss Meredith, you don’t look the sort of girl who’s got a lot of guilty secrets.”

  For the first time she smiled, reassured by his geniality.

  “No, indeed I haven’t. I haven’t got any secrets at all.”

  “Then don’t worry, Miss Meredith. We shall have to come round and ask you a few more questions, I expect, but it will be all a matter of routine.”

  He got up.

  “Now off you go. My constable will get you a taxi; and don’t you lie awake worrying yourself. Take a couple of aspirins.”

  He ushered her out. As he came back Colonel Race said in a low, amused voice:

  “Battle, what a really accomplished liar you are! Your fatherly air was unsurpassed.”

  “No good dallying about with her, Colonel Race. Either the poor kid is dead scared—in which case it’s cruelty, and I’m not a cruel man; I never have been—or she’s a highly accomplished little actress, and we shouldn’t get any further if we were to keep her here half the night.”

  Mrs. Oliver gave a sigh and ran her hands freely through her fringe until it stood upright and gave her a wholly drunken appearance.

  “Do you know,” she said, “I rather believe now that she did it! It’s lucky it’s not in a book. They don’t really like the young and beautiful girl to have done it. All the same, I rather think she did. What do you think, M. Poirot?”

  “Me, I have just made a discovery.”

  “In the bridge scores again?”

  “Yes, Miss Anne Meredith turns her score over, draws lines and uses the back.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means she has the habit of poverty or else is of a naturally economical turn of mind.”

  “She’s expensively dressed,” said Mrs. Oliver.

  “Send in Major Despard,” said Superintendent Battle.

  Seven

  FOURTH MURDERER?

  Despard entered the room with a quick springing step—a step that reminded Poirot of something or someone.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting all this while, Major Despard,” said Battle. “But I wanted to let the ladies get away as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t apologize. I understand.”

  He sat down and looked inquiringly at the superintendent.

  “How well did you know Mr. Shaitana?” began the latter.

  “I’ve met him twice,” said Despard crisply.

  “Only twice?”

  “That’s all.”

  “On what occasions?”

  “About a month ago we were both dining at the same house. Then he asked me to a cocktail party a week later.”

  “A cocktail party here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did it take place—this room or the drawing room?”

  “In all the rooms.”

  “See this little thing lying about?”

  Battle once more produced the stiletto.

  Major Despard’s lip twisted slightly.
r />   “No,” he said. “I didn’t mark it down on that occasion for future use.”

  “There’s no need to go ahead of what I say, Major Despard.”

  “I beg your pardon. The inference was fairly obvious.”

  There was a moment’s pause, then Battle resumed his inquiries.

  “Had you any motive for disliking Mr. Shaitana?”

  “Every motive.”

  “Eh?” The superintendent sounded startled.

  “For disliking him—not for killing him,” said Despard. “I hadn’t the least wish to kill him, but I would thoroughly have enjoyed kicking him. A pity. It’s too late now.”

  “Why did you want to kick him, Major Despard?”

  “Because he was the sort of Dago who needed kicking badly. He used to make the toe of my boot fairly itch.”

  “Know anything about him—to his discredit, I mean?”

  “He was too well dressed—he wore his hair too long—and he smelt of scent.”

  “Yet you accepted his invitation to dinner,” Battle pointed out.

  “If I were only to dine in houses where I thoroughly approved of my host I’m afraid I shouldn’t dine out very much, Superintendent Battle,” said Despard drily.

  “You like society, but you don’t approve of it?” suggested the other.

  “I like it for very short periods. To come back from the wilds to lighted rooms and women in lovely clothes, to dancing and good food and laughter—yes, I enjoy that—for a time. And then the insincerity of it all sickens me, and I want to be off again.”

  “It must be a dangerous sort of life that you lead, Major Despard, wandering about in these wild places.”

  Despard shrugged his shoulders. He smiled slightly.

  “Mr. Shaitana didn’t lead a dangerous life—but he is dead, and I am alive!”

  “He may have led a more dangerous life than you think,” said Battle meaningly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The late Mr. Shaitana was a bit of a Nosey Parker,” said Battle.

  The other leaned forward.

  “You mean that he meddled with other people’s lives—that he discovered—what?”

  “I really meant that perhaps he was the sort of man who meddled—er—well, with women.”

  Major Despard leant back in his chair. He laughed, an amused but indifferent laugh.