Cards on the Table (Hercule Poirot 15)

“And fall into the ditch as a result of thinking about them,” grinned Battle.

Then he asked curiously:

“What about you, M. Poirot? Going to take a hand?”

“I, too, might call on Dr. Roberts.”

“Two of us in one day. That ought to put the wind up him.”

“Oh, I shall be very discreet. I shall not inquire into his past life.”

“I’d like to know just exactly what line you’ll take,” said Battle curiously, “but don’t tell me unless you want to.”

“Du tout—du tout. I am most willing. I shall talk a little of bridge, that is all.”

“Bridge again. You harp on that, don’t you, M. Poirot?”

“I find the subject very useful.”

“Well, every man to his taste. I don’t deal much in the fancy approaches. They don’t suit my style.”

“What is your style, superintendent?”

The superintendent met the twinkle in Poirot’s eyes with an answering twinkle in his own.

“A straightforward, honest, zealous officer doing his duty in the most laborious manner—that’s my style. No frills. No fancy work. Just honest perspiration. Stolid and a bit stupid—that’s my ticket.”

Poirot raised his glass.

“To our respective methods—and may success crown our joint efforts.”

“I expect Colonel Race may get us something worth having about Despard,” said Battle. “He’s got a good many sources of information.”

“And Mrs. Oliver?”

“Bit of a toss-up there. I rather like that woman. Talks a lot of nonsense, but she’s a sport. And women get to know things about other women that men can’t get at. She may spot something useful.”

They separated. Battle went back to Scotland Yard to issue instructions for certain lines to be followed up. Poirot betook himself to 200 Gloucester Terrace.

Dr. Roberts’ eyebrows rose comically as he greeted his guest.

“Two sleuths in one day,” he asked. “Handcuffs by this evening, I suppose.”

Poirot smiled.

“I can assure you, Dr. Roberts, that my attentions are being equally divided between all four of you.”

“That’s something to be thankful for, at all events. Smoke?”

“If you permit, I prefer my own.”

Poirot lighted one of his tiny Russian cigarettes.

“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Roberts.

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

“Are you a keen observer of human nature, doctor?”