Cards on the Table (SB) (Superintendent Battle 3)

“I don’t think women would take a mountebank like that seriously.”

“What’s your theory of who killed him, Major Despard?”

“Well, I know I didn’t. Little Miss Meredith didn’t. I can’t imagine Mrs. Lorrimer doing so—she reminds me of one of my more God-fearing aunts. That leaves the medical gentleman.”

“Can you describe your own and other people’s movements this evening?”

“I got up twice—once for an ashtray, and I also poked the fire—and once for a drink—”

“At what times?”

“I couldn’t say. First time might have been about half past ten, the second time eleven, but that’s pure guesswork. Mrs. Lorrimer went over to the fire once and said something to Shaitana. I didn’t actually hear him answer, but, then, I wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t swear he didn’t. Miss Meredith wandered about the room a bit, but I don’t think she went over near the fireplace. Roberts was always jumping up and down—three or four times at least.”

“I’ll ask you M. Poirot’s question,” said Battle with a smile. “What did you think of them as bridge players?”

“Miss Meredith’s quite a good player. Roberts overcalls his hand disgracefully. He deserves to go down more than he does. Mrs. Lorrimer’s damned good.”

Battle turned to Poirot.

“Anything else, M. Poirot?”

Poirot shook his head.

Despard gave his address as the Albany, wished them goodnight and left the room.

As he closed the door behind him, Poirot made a slight movement.

“What is it?” demanded Battle.

“Nothing,” said Poirot. “It just occurred to me that he walked like a tiger—yes, just so—lithe, easy, does the tiger move along.”

“H’m!” said Battle. “Now, then”—his eyes glanced round at his three companions—“which of ’em did it?”

Eight

WHICH OF THEM?

Battle looked from one face to another. Only one person answered his question. Mrs. Oliver, never averse to giving her views, rushed into speech.

“The girl or the doctor,” she said.

Battle looked questioningly at the other two. But both the men were unwilling to make a pronouncement. Race shook his head. Poirot carefully smoothed his crumpled bridge scores.

“One of ’em did it,” said Battle musingly. “One of ’em’s lying like hell. But which? It’s not easy—no, it’s not easy.”

He was silent for a minute or two, then he said:

“If we’re to go by what they say, the medico thinks Despard did it, Despard thinks the medico did it, the girl thinks Mrs. Lorrimer did it—and Mrs. Lorrimer won’t say! Nothing very illuminating there.”

“Perhaps not,” said Poirot.

Battle shot him a quick glance.

“You think there is?”

Poirot waved an airy hand.

“A nuance—nothing more! Nothing to go upon.”

Battle continued:

“You two gentlemen won’t say what you think—”

“No evidence,” said Race curtly.

“Oh, you men!” sighed Mrs. Oliver, despising such reticence.

“Let’s look at the rough possibilities,” said Battle. He considered a minute. “I put the doctor first, I think. Specious sort of customer. Would know the right spot to shove the dagger in. But there’s not much more than that to it. Then take Despard. There’s a man with any amount of nerve. A man accustomed to quick decisions and a man who’s quite at home doing dangerous things. Mrs. Lorrmier? She’s got any amount of nerve, too, and she’s the sort of woman who might have a secret in her life. She looks as though she’s known trouble. On the other hand, I’d say she’s what I call a high-principled woman—sort of woman who might be headmistress of a girls’ school. It isn’t easy to think of her sticking a knife into anyone. In fact, I don’t think she did. And lastly, there’s little Miss Meredith. We don’t know anything about her. She seems an ordinary good-looking, rather shy girl. But one doesn’t know, as I say, anything about her.”

“We know that Shaitana believed she had committed murder,” said Poirot.

“The angelic face masking the demon,” mused Mrs. Oliver.

“This getting us anywhere, Battle?” asked Colonel Race.

“Unprofitable speculation, you think, sir? Well, there’s bound to be speculation in a case like this.”

“Isn’t it better to find out something about these people?”

Battle smiled.

“Oh, we shall be hard at work on that. I think you could help us there.”

“Certainly. How?”

“As regards Major Despard. He’s been abroad a lot—in South America, in East Africa, in South Africa—you’ve means of knowing those parts. You could get information about him.”

Race nodded.

“It shall be done. I’ll get all available data.”

“Oh,” cried Mrs. Oliver. “I’ve got a plan. There are four of us—four sleuths, as you might say—and four of them! How would it be if we each took one. Backed our fancy! Colonel Race takes Major Despard, Superintendent Battle takes Dr. Roberts, I’ll take Anne Meredith, and M. Poirot takes Mrs. Lorrimer. Each of us to follow our own line!”

Superintendent Battle shook his head decisively.

“Couldn’t quite do that, Mrs. Oliver. That is official, you see. I’m in charge. I’ve got to investigate all lines. Besides, it’s all very well to say back your fancy. Two of us might want to back the same horse! Colonel Race hasn’t said he suspects Major Despard. And M. Poirot mayn’t be putting his money on Mrs. Lorrimer.”

Mrs. Oliver sighed.

“It was such a good plan,” she sighed regretfully. “So neat.” Then she cheered up a little. “But you don’t mind me doing a little investigating on my own, do you?”

“No,” said Superintendent Battle slowly. “I can’t say I object to that. In fact, it’s out of my power to object. Having been at this party tonight, you’re naturally free to do anything your own curiosity or interest suggests. But I’d like to point out to you, Mrs. Oliver, that you’d better be a little careful.”

“Discretion itself,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I shan’t breathe a word of—of anything—” she ended a little lamely.

“I do not think that was quite Superintendent Battle’s meaning,” said Hercule Poirot. “He meant that you will be dealing with a person who has already, to the best of our belief, killed twice. A person, therefore, who will not hesitate to kill a third time—if he considers it necessary.”

Mrs. Oliver looked at him thoughtfully. Then she smiled—an agreeable engaging smile, rather like that of an impudent small child.

“YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED,” she quoted. “Thank you, M. Poirot. I’ll watch my step. But I’m not going to be out of this.”

Poirot bowed gracefully.

“Permit me to say—you are the sport, madame.”

“I presume,” said Mrs. Oliver, sitting up very straight and speaking in a businesslike committee-meeting manner, “that all information we receive will be pooled—that is that we will not keep any knowledge to ourselves. Our own deductions and impressions, of course, we are entitled to keep up our sleeves.”

Superintendent Battle sighed.

“This isn’t a detective story, Mrs. Oliver,” he said.

Race said:

“Naturally, all information must be handed over to the police.”