Agatha Christie - Cards on the Table

She nodded. "I realized at once that he was speaking so that one person should understand him. That person was myself. The reference to a woman's weapon being poison was meant for me. He knew. I had suspected it once before. He had brought the conversation round to a certain famous trial and I saw his eyes watching me. There was a kind of uncanny knowledge in them. But, of course, that night I was quite sure."

"And you were sure, too, of his future intentions."

Mrs. Lorrimer said dryly, "It was hardly likely that the presence of Superintendent Battle and yourself was an accident. I took it that Shaitana was going to advertise his own cleverness by pointing out to you both that he had discovered something that no one else had suspected."

"How soon did you make up your mind to act, madame?"

Mrs. Lorrimer hesitated a little.

"It is difficult to remember exactly when the idea came into my mind," she said. "I had noticed the dagger before going in to dinner. When we returned to the drawing-room I picked it up and slipped it into my sleeve. No one saw me do it. I made sure of that."

"It would be dextrously done, I have no doubt, madame."

"I made up my mind then exactly what I was going to do. I had only to carry it out. It was risky, perhaps, but I considered that it was worth trying."

"That is your coolness, your successful weighing of chances coming into play. Yes, I see that."

"We started to play bridge," continued Mrs. Lorrimer. Her voice was cool and unemotional. "At last an opportunity arose. I was dummy. I strolled across the room to the fireplace. Shaitana had dozed off to sleep. I looked over at the others. They were all intent on the game. I leaned over and – and did it -"

Her voice shook just a little, but instantly it regained its cool aloofness.

"I spoke to him. It came into my head that that would make a kind of alibi for me, I made some remark about the fire and then pretended he had answered me and went on again, saying something like 'I agree with you. I do not like radiators either.'"

"He did not cry out at all?"

"No. I think he made a little grunt – that was all. It might have been taken for words from a distance."

"And then?"

"And then I went back to the bridge table. The last trick was just being played."

"And you sat down and resumed play?"

"Yes."

"With sufficient interest in the game to be able to tell me nearly all the calling and the hands two days later."

"Yes," said Mrs. Lorrimer simply.

"Epatant!" said Hercule Poirot.

He leaned back in his chair. He nodded his head several times. Then, by way of a change, he shook it.

"But there is still something, madame, that I do not understand?"

"Yes?"

"It seems to me that there is some factor I have missed. You are a woman who considers and weighs everything carefully. You decide that, for a certain reason, you will run an enormous risk. You do run it – successfully. And then, not two weeks later, you change your mind. Frankly, madame, that does not seem to me to ring true."

A queer little smile twisted her lips.

"You are quite right, Monsieur Poirot, there is one factor that you do not know. Did Miss Meredith tell you where she met me the other day?"

"It was, I think she said, near Mrs. Oliver's flat."

"I believe that is so. But I meant the actual name of the street. Anne Meredith met me in Harley Street,"

"Ah!" He looked at her attentively. "I begin to see."

"Yes, I thought you would. I had been to see a specialist there. He told me what I already half suspected."

Her smile widened. It was no longer twisted and bitter. It was suddenly sweet. "I shall not play very much more bridge, Monsieur Poirot. Oh! he didn't say so in so many words. He wrapped up the truth a little. With great care, et cetera, I might live several years. But I shall not take any great care. I am not that kind of a woman."

"Yes, yes, I begin to understand," said Poirot.

"It made a difference, you see. A month – two months perhaps – not more. And then, just as I left the specialist, I saw Miss Meredith. I asked her to have tea with me."

She paused, then went on. "I am not, after all, a wholly wicked woman. All the time we were having tea, I was thinking. By my action the other evening I had not only deprived the man Shaitana of life, that was done and could not be undone, I had also to a varying degree affected unfavorably the lives of three other people. Because of what I had done, Doctor Roberts, Major Despard, and Anne Meredith, none of whom had injured me in any way, were passing through a very grave ordeal and might even be in danger. That, at least, I could undo. I don't know that I felt particularly moved by the plight of either Doctor Roberts or Major Despard – although both of them had presumably a much longer span of life in front of them than I had. They were men and could to a certain extent look after themselves. But when I looked at Anne Meredith -"

She hesitated, then continued slowly, "Anne Meredith was only a girl. She has the whole of her life in front of her. This miserable business might ruin that life. I didn't like the thought of that. And then, Monsieur Poirot, with these ideas growing in my mind, I realized that what you had hinted had come true. I was not going to be able to keep silence. This afternoon I rang you up -"

Minutes passed. Hercule Poirot leaned forward. He stared, deliberately stared through the gathering gloom at Mrs. Lorrimer. She returned that intent gaze quietly and without any nervousness.

He said at last, "Mrs. Lorrimer. Are you sure – are you positive, you will tell me the truth, will you not, that the murder of Mr. Shaitana was not premeditated? Is it not a fact that you planned the crime beforehand? That you went to that dinner with the murder already all mapped out in your mind?"

Mrs. Lorrimer stared at him for a moment, then she shook her head sharply. "No," she said.

"You did not plan the murder beforehand?"

"Certainly not."

"Then – then – Oh! you are lying to me – you must be lying -"

Mrs. Lorrimer's voice cut into the air like ice.

"Really, Monsieur Poirot, you forget yourself."

The little man sprang to his feet. He paced up and down the room, muttering to himself, uttering ejaculations. Suddenly he said, "Permit me?" And going to the switch he turned on the electric lights.

He came back, sat down in his chair, placed both hands on his knees, and stared straight at his hostess.

"The question is," he said, "can Hercule Poirot possibly be wrong?"

"No one can always be right," said Mrs. Lorrimer coldly.

"I am," said Poirot. "Always I am right. It is so invariable that it startles me. But now, it looks, it very much looks as though I am wrong. And that upsets me. Presumably you know what you are saying. It is your murder! Fantastic, then, that Hercule Poirot should know better than you do how you committed it."

"Fantastic and very absurd," said Mrs. Lorrimer still more coldly.

"I am, then, mad. Decidedly I am mad. No – sacré nom d'un petit bonhomme – I am not mad! I am right. I must be right. I am willing to believe that you killed Mr. Shaitana – but you cannot have killed him in the way you say you did. No one can do a thing that is not dans son caractère!"

He paused. Mrs. Lorrimer drew in an angry breath and bit her lips. She was about to speak, but Poirot forestalled her. "Either the killing of Shaitana was planned beforehand – or you did not kill him at all!"

Mrs. Lorrimer said sharply, "I really believe you are mad, Monsieur Poirot. If I am willing to admit I committed the crime, I should not be likely to lie about the way I did it. What would be the point of such a thing?"

Poirot got up again and took one turn round the room. When he came back to his seat his manner had changed. He was gentle and kindly.