Cards on the Table. Агата Кристи

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      ‘There is that, of course. No, Superintendent Battle, I had no motive for wishing Mr Shaitana out of the way. It is really a matter of indifference to me whether he is alive or dead. I thought him a poseur, and rather theatrical, and sometimes he irritated me. That is—or rather was—my attitude towards him.’

      ‘That is that, then. Now, Mrs Lorrimer, can you tell me anything about your three companions?’

      ‘I’m afraid not. Major Despard and Miss Meredith I met for the first time tonight. Both of them seem charming people. Dr Roberts I know slightly. He’s a very popular doctor, I believe.’

      ‘He is not your own doctor?’

      ‘Oh, no.’

      ‘Now, Mrs Lorrimer, can you tell me how often you got up from your seat tonight, and will you also describe the movements of the other three?’

      Mrs Lorrimer did not take any time to think.

      ‘I thought you would probably ask me that. I have been trying to think it out. I got up once myself when I was dummy. I went over to the fire. Mr Shaitana was alive then. I mentioned to him how nice it was to see a wood fire.’

      ‘And he answered?’

      ‘That he hated radiators.’

      ‘Did anyone overhear your conversation?’

      ‘I don’t think so. I lowered my voice, not to interrupt the players.’ She added dryly: ‘In fact, you have only my word for it that Mr Shaitana was alive and spoke to me.’

      Superintendent Battle made no protest. He went on with his quiet methodical questioning.

      ‘What time was that?’

      ‘I should think we had been playing a little over an hour.’

      ‘What about the others?’

      ‘Dr Roberts got me a drink. He also got himself one—that was later. Major Despard also went to get a drink—at about 11.15, I should say.’

      ‘Only once?’

      ‘No—twice, I think. The men moved about a fair amount—but I didn’t notice what they did. Miss Meredith left her seat once only, I think. She went round to look at her partner’s hand.’

      ‘But she remained near the bridge table?’

      ‘I couldn’t say at all. She may have moved away.’

      Battle nodded.

      ‘It’s all very vague,’ he grumbled.

      ‘I 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.’

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