Cards on the Table. Agatha Christie

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.

       CHAPTER 6

       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 ready 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’