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  "My dear Monsieur Poirot, did you really expect I could? First there was the murder – enough to drive the most spectacular hands out of one's mind – and in addition I've played at least half a dozen rubbers since then."

  Poirot sat looking rather crestfallen.

  "I'm sorry," said Roberts.

  "It does not matter very much," said Poirot slowly. "I hoped that you might remember one or two, at least, of the hands, because I thought they might be valuable landmarks in remembering other things."

  "What other things?"

  "Well, you might have noticed, for instance, that your partner made a mess of playing a perfectly simple no trumper, or that an opponent, say, presented you with a couple of unexpected tricks by failing to lead an obvious card."

  Doctor Roberts became suddenly serious. He leaned forward in his chair, "Ah," he said. "Now I see what you're driving at. Forgive me. I thought at first you were talking pure nonsense. You mean that the murder – the successful accomplishment of the murder – might have made a definite difference in the guilty party's play?"

  Poirot nodded, "You have seized the idea correctly. It would be a clue of the first excellence if you had been four players who knew each other's game well. A variation, a sudden lack of brilliance, a missed opportunity – that would have been immediately noticed. Unluckily you were all strangers to each other. Variations in play would not be so noticeable. But think, Monsieur le docteur, I beg of you to think. Do you remember any inequalities – any sudden glaring mistakes – in the play of anyone?"

  There was silence for a minute or two, then Doctor Roberts shook his head. "It's no good. I can't help you," he said frankly. "I simply don't remember. All I can tell you is what I told you before. Mrs. Lorrimer is a first-class player – she never made a slip that I noticed. She was brilliant from start to finish. Despard's play was uniformly good, too. Rather a conventional player – that is, his bidding is strictly conventional. He never steps outside the rules. Won't take a long chance. Miss Meredith -" He hesitated.

  "Yes? Miss Meredith?" Poirot prompted him.

  "She did make mistakes, once or twice, I remember – toward the end of the evening: but that may simply have been because she was tired, not being a very experienced player. Her hand shook, too -" He stopped.

  "When did her hand shake?"

  "When was it now? I can't remember – I think she was just nervous. Monsieur Poirot, you're making me imagine things."

  "I apologize. There is another point on which I seek your help."

  "Yes?"

  Poirot said slowly, "It is difficult. I do not, you see, wish to ask you a leading question. If I say, did you notice so and so – well, I have put the thing into your head. Your answer will not be so valuable. Let me try to get at the matter another way. If you will be so kind, Doctor Roberts, describe to me the contents of the room in which you played."

  Roberts looked thoroughly astonished.

  "The contents of the room?"

  "If you will be so good."

  "My dear fellow, I simply don't know where to begin."

  "Begin anywhere you choose."

  "Well, there was a good deal of furniture -"

  "Non, non, non, be precise, I pray of you."

  Doctor Roberts sighed. He began facetiously after the manner of an auctioneer.

  "One large settee upholstered in ivory brocade – one ditto in green ditto – four or five large chairs. Eight or nine Persian rugs – a set of twelve small gilt Empire chairs. William and Mary bureau. I feel just like an auctioneer's clerk. Very beautiful Chinese cabinet. Grand piano. There was other furniture but I'm afraid I didn't notice it. Six first-class Japanese prints. Two Chinese pictures on looking glass. Five or six very beautiful snuffboxes. Some Japanese ivory netsuke figures on a table by themselves. Some old silver – Charles the First tass, I think. One or two pieces of Battersea enamel -"

  "Bravo – Bravo -" Poirot applauded.

  "A couple of old English slipware birds – and, I think, a Ralph Wood figure. Then there was some Eastern stuff – intricate silver work. Some jewelry, I don't know much about that. Some Chelsea birds, I remember. Oh and some miniatures in a case – pretty good ones, I fancy. That's not all by a long way, but it's all I can think of for the minute."

  "It is magnificent," said Poirot with due appreciation. "You have the true observer's eye."

  The doctor asked curiously, "Have I included the object you had in mind?"

  "That is the interesting thing about it," said Poirot. "If you had mentioned the object I had in mind it would have been extremely surprising to me. As I thought, you could not mention it."

  "Why?"

  Poirot twinkled.

  "Perhaps – because it was not there to mention."

  Roberts stared.

  "That seems to remind me of something."

  "It reminds you of Sherlock Holmes does it not? The curious incident of the dog in the night. The dog did not howl in the night. That is the curious thing! Ah, well, I am not above stealing the tricks of others."

  "Do you know, Monsieur Poirot, "I am completely at sea as to what you are driving at."

  "That is excellent, that. In confidence that is how I get my little effects."

  Then, as Doctor Roberts still looked rather dazed Poirot said with a smile as he rose to his feet, "You may at least comprehend this; what you have told me is going to be very helpful to me in my next interview."

  The doctor rose also. "I can't see how, but I'll take your word for it," he said.

  They shook hands.

  Poirot went down the steps of the doctor's house and hailed a passing taxi.

  " One eleven Cheyne Lane, Chelsea," he told the driver.

  Chapter 11

  MRS. LORRIMER

  111 Cheyne Lane was a small house of very neat and trim appearance standing in a quiet street. The door was painted black and the steps were particularly well whitened, the brass of the knocker and handle gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  The door was opened by an elderly parlormaid with an immaculate white cap and apron. In answer to Poirot's inquiry she said that her mistress was at home. She preceded him up the narrow staircase.

  "What name, sir?"

  "Monsieur Hercule Poirot."

  He was, ushered into a drawing-room of the usual L shape. Poirot looked about him, noting details. Good furniture, well polished, of the old family type. Shiny chintz on the chairs and settees. A few silver photograph frames about in the old-fashioned manner. Otherwise an agreeable amount of space and light and some really beautiful chrysanthemums arranged in a tall jar.

  Mrs. Lorrimer came forward to meet him. She shook hands without showing any particular surprise at seeing him, indicated a chair, took one herself, and remarked favorably on the weather.

  There was a pause.

  "I hope, madame," said Hercule Poirot, "that you will forgive this visit."

  Looking directly at him, Mrs. Lorrimer asked, "Is this a professional visit?"

  "I confess it."

  "You realize, I suppose, Monsieur Poirot, that, though I shall naturally give Superintendent Battle and the official police any information and help they may require, I am by no means bound to do the same for any unofficial investigator?"

  "I am quite aware of that fact, madame. If you show me the door, me, I march to that door with complete submission."

  Mrs. Lorrimer smiled very slightly.

  "I am, not yet prepared to go to those extremes, Monsieur Poirot. I can give you ten minutes. At the end of that time I have to go out to a bridge party."

  "Ten minutes will be ample for my purpose, I want you to describe to me, madame, the room in which you played bridge the other evening – the room in which Mr. Shaitana was killed."

  Mrs. Lorrimer's eyebrows rose.

  "What an extraordinary question! I do not see the point of it."

  "Madame, if, when you were playing bridge, someone were to say to you, Why do you play that ace or why do you put on the k
nave that is taken by the queen and not the king which would take the trick? If people were to ask you such questions the answers would be rather long and tedious, would they not?"

  Mrs. Lorrimer smiled slightly.

  "Meaning that in this game you're the expert and I am the novice. Very well." She reflected a minute. "It was a large room. There were a good many things, in it."

  "Can you describe some of those things?"

  "There were some glass flowers – modern – rather beautiful. And I think there were some Chinese or Japanese pictures. And there was a bowl of tiny red tulips – amazingly early for them."

  "Anything else?"

  "I'm afraid I didn't notice anything in detail."

  "The furniture – do you remember the color of the upholstery?"

  "Something silky, I think. That's all I can say."

  "Did you notice any of the small objects?"

  "I'm afraid not. There were so many. I know it struck me as quite a collector's room."

  There was silence for a minute. Mrs. Lorrimer said with a faint smile, "I'm afraid I have not been very helpful."

  "There is something else." He produced the bridge scores. "There are the first three rubbers played. I wondered if you could help me, with the aid of these, to reconstruct the hands."

  "Let me see," Mrs. Lorrimer looked interested. She bent over the scores.

  "That was the first rubber. Miss Meredith and I were playing against the two men. The first game was played in four spades. We made it and an over trick. Then the next hand was left at two diamonds and Doctor Roberts went down one trick in it. There was quite a lot of bidding on the third hand, I remember. Miss Meredith passed. Major Despard went a heart. I passed. Doctor Roberts gave a jump bid of three clubs. Miss Meredith went three spades. Major Despard bid four diamonds. I doubled. Doctor Roberts took it into four hearts. They went down one."

  "Epatant," said Poirot. "What a memory!"

  Mrs. Lorrimer went on, disregarding him, "On the next hand Major Despard passed and I bid a no trump. Doctor Roberts bid three hearts. My partner said nothing. Despard put his partner to four. I doubled and they went down two tricks. Then I dealt and we went out on a four-spade bid."

  She took up the next score.

  "It is difficult, that," said Poirot. "Major Despard scores in the cancellation manner."

  "I rather fancy both sides went down fifty to start with – then Doctor Roberts went to five diamonds and we doubled and got him down three tricks. Then we made three clubs, but immediately after the others went game in spades. We made the second game in five clubs. Then we went down a hundred. The others made one heart, we made two no trumps, and we finally won the rubber with a four club bid."

  She picked up the next score.

  "This rubber was rather a battle, I remember. It started tamely. Major Despard and Miss Meredith made a one heart bid. Then we went down a couple of fifties trying for four hearts and four spades. Then the others made game in spades – no use trying to stop them. We went down three hands running after that but undoubled. Then we won the second game in no trumps. Then a battle royal started. Each side went down in turn. Doctor Roberts overbid but, though he got badly down once or twice, his calling paid, for more than once he frightened Miss Meredith out of bidding her hand. Then he bid an original two spades, I gave him three diamonds, he bid four no trumps, I bid five spades and he suddenly jumped to seven diamonds. We were doubled, of course. He had no business to make such a bid. By a kind of miracle we got it. I never thought we should when I saw his hand go down. If the others had led a heart we would have been three tricks down. As it was they led the king of clubs and we got it. It was really very exciting."

  "Je crois bien – a grand slam vulnerable doubled. It causes the emotions, that! Me, I admit it, I have not the nerve to go for the slams. I content myself with the game."

  "Oh, but you shouldn't," said Mrs. Lorrimer with energy. "You must play the game properly."

  "Take risks, you mean?"

  "There is no risk if the bidding is correct. It should be a mathematical certainty. Unfortunately few people really bid well. They know the opening bids but later they lose their heads. They cannot distinguish between a hand with winning cards in it and a hand without losing cards – but I mustn't give you a lecture on bridge, Monsieur Poirot."

  "It would improve my play, I am sure, madame."

  Mrs. Lorrimer resumed her study of the score.

  "After that excitement the next hands were rather tame. Have you the fourth score there? Ah, yes. A dingdong battle – neither side able to score below."

  "It is often like that as the evening wears on."

  "Yes, one starts tamely and then the cards get worked up."

  Poirot collected the scores and made a little bow "Madame, I congratulate you. Your card memory is magnificent – but magnificent! You remember, one might say, every card that was played!"

  "I believe I do."

  "Memory is a wonderful gift. With it the past is never the past. I should imagine, madame, that to you the past unrolls itself, every incident clear as yesterday. Is that so?"

  She looked at him quickly. Her eyes were wide and dark. It was only for a moment, then she had resumed her woman-of-the-world manner, but Hercule Poirot did not doubt. That shot had gone home.

  Mrs. Lorrimer rose. "I'm afraid I shall have to leave now, I am so sorry, but I really mustn't be late."

  "Of course not – of course not. I apologize for trespassing on your time."

  "I'm sorry I haven't been able to help you more."

  "But you have helped me," said Hercule Poirot.

  "I hardly think so." She spoke with decision.

  "But yes. You have told me something I wanted to know."

  She asked no question as to what that something was.

  He held out his hand.

  "Thank you, madame, for your forbearance."

  As she shook hands with him she said, "You are an extraordinary man, Monsieur Poirot."

  "I am as the good God made me, madame."

  "We are all that, I suppose."

  "Not all, madame. Some of us have tried to improve on his pattern. Mr. Shaitana, for instance."

  "In what way do you mean?"

  "He had a very pretty taste in objets de vertus and bric-a-brac; he should have been content with that. Instead, he collected other things."

  "What sort of things?"

  "Well – shall we say – sensations?"

  "And don't you think that was dans son caractère?"

  Poirot shook his head gravely. "He played the part of the devil too successfully. But he was not the devil. Au fond, he was a stupid man. And so – he died."

  "Because he was stupid?"

  "It is the sin that is never forgiven and always punished, madame."

  There was a silence. Then Poirot said, "I take my departure. A thousand thanks for your amiability, madame. I will not come again unless you send for me."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Dear me, Monsieur Poirot, why should I send for you?"

  "You might. It is just an idea. If so, I will come. Remember that."

  He bowed once more and left the room.

  In the street he said to himself, "I am right – I am sure I am right – It must be that!"

  Chapter 12

  ANNE MEREDITH

  Mrs. Oliver extricated herself from the driving seat of her little two-seater with some difficulty. To begin with, the makers of modern motor cars assume that only a pair of sylphlike knees will ever be under the steering wheel. It is also the fashion to sit low. That being so, for a middle-aged woman of generous proportions it requires a good deal of superhuman wriggling to get out from under the steering wheel. In the second place the seat next to the driving seat was encumbered by several maps, a hand-bag, three novels, and a large bag of apples. Mrs. Oliver was partial to apples and had indeed been known to eat as many as five pounds straight off while composing the complicated plot of The Death in the Drain Pipe, coming to herse
lf with a start and an incipient stomach-ache an hour and ten minutes after she was due at an important luncheon party given in her honor.

  With a final determined heave and a sharp shove with the knee against a recalcitrant door, Mrs. Oliver arrived a little too suddenly on the sidewalk outside the gate of Wendon Cottage, showering apple cores freely round her as she did so.

  She gave a deep sigh, pushed back her country hat to an unfashionable angle, looked down with approval at the tweeds she had remembered to put on, frowned a little when she saw that she had absent-mindedly retained her London high-heeled patent leather shoes, and, pushing open the gate of Wendon Cottage, walked up the flagged path to the front door. She rang the bell and executed a cheerful little rat-a-tat-tat on the knocker – a quaint conceit in the form of a toad's head.

  As nothing happened she repeated the performance.

  After a further pause of a minute and a half, Mrs. Oliver stepped briskly round the side of the house on a voyage of exploration.

  There was a small old-fashioned garden with Michaelmas daisies and straggling chrysanthemums behind the cottage and beyond it a field. Beyond the field was the river. For an October day the sun was warm.

  Two girls were just crossing the field in the direction of the cottage. As they came through the gate into the garden, the foremost of the two stopped dead.

  Mrs. Oliver came forward. "How do you do, Miss Meredith? You remember me, don't you?"

  "Oh – Oh, of course." Anne Meredith extended her hand hurriedly. Her eyes looked wide and startled. Then she pulled herself together.

  "This is my friend who lives with me. Miss Dawes. Rhoda, this is Mrs. Oliver."

  The other girl was tall, dark, and vigorous looking. She said excitedly, "Oh, are you the Mrs. Oliver? Ariadne Oliver?"

  "I am," said Mrs. Oliver, and she added to Anne, "Now let us sit down somewhere, my dear, because I've got a lot to say to you."

  "Of course. And we'll have tea -"

  "Tea can wait," said Mrs. Oliver.

  Anne led the way to a little group of deck and basket chairs, all rather dilapidated. Mrs. Oliver chose the strongest looking with some care, having had various unfortunate experiences with flimsy summer furniture.