Cards on the Table (Hercule Poirot 15)

Poirot looked over his shoulder.

“There is no one here now but ourselves.”

“Oh, well, he’s inside, then. He never loses me. Very efficient fellow. Varies his appearance, too, from time to time. Quite artistic about it.”

“Ah, but that would not deceive you. You have the very quick and accurate eye.”

“I never forget a face—even a black one—and that’s a lot more than most people can say.”

“You are just the person I need,” said Poirot. “What a chance, meeting you today! I need someone with a good eye and a good memory. Malheureusement the two seldom go together. I have asked the Dr. Roberts a question, without result, and the same with Madame Lorrimer. Now, I will try you and see if I get what I want. Cast your mind back to the room in which you played cards at Mr. Shaitana’s, and tell me what you remember of it.”

Despard looked puzzled.

“I don’t quite understand.”

“Give me a description of the room—the furnishings—the objects in it.”

“I don’t know that I’m much of a hand at that sort of thing,” said Despard slowly. “It was a rotten sort of room—to my mind. Not a man’s room at all. A lot of brocade and silk and stuff. Sort of room a fellow like Shaitana would have.”

“But to particularize—”

Despard shook his head.

“Afraid I didn’t notice … He’d got some good rugs. Two Bokharas and three or four really good Persian ones, including a Hamadan and a Tabriz. Rather a good eland head—no, that was in the hall. From Rowland Ward’s, I expect.”

“You do not think that the late Mr. Shaitana was one to go out and shoot wild beasts?”

“Not he. Never potted anything but sitting game, I’ll bet. What else was there? I’m sorry to fail you, but I really can’t help much. Any amount of knickknacks lying about. Tables were thick with them. Only thing I noticed was a rather jolly idol. Easter Island, I should say. Highly polished wood. You don’t see many of them. There was some Malay stuff, too. No, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“No matter,” said Poirot, looking slightly crestfallen.

He went on:

“Do you know, Mrs. Lorrimer, she has the most amazing card memory! She could tell me the bidding and play of nearly every hand. It was astonishing.”

Despard shrugged his shoulders.

“Some women are like that. Because they play pretty well all day long, I suppose.”

“You could not do it, eh?”

The other shook his head.

“I just remember a couple of hands. One where I could have got game in diamonds—and Roberts bluffed me out of it. Went down himself, but we didn’t double him, worse luck. I remember a no trumper, too. Tricky business—every card wrong. We went down a couple—lucky not to have gone down more.”

“Do you play much bridge, Major Despard?”

“No, I’m not a regular player. It’s a good game, though.”

“You prefer it to poker?”

“I do personally. Poker’s too much of a gamble.”

Poirot said thoughtfully:

“I do not think Mr. Shaitana played any game—any card game, that is.”

“There’s only one game that Shaitana played consistently,” said Despard grimly.