Agatha Christie - Cards on the Table

"About a month ago we were both dining at the same house. Then he asked me to a cocktail party a week later."

"A cocktail party here?"

"Yes."

"Where did it take place – this room or the drawing-room?"

"In all the rooms."

"See this little thing lying about?"

Battle once more produced the stiletto.

Major Despard's lip twisted slightly.

"No," he said, "I didn't mark it down on that occasion for future use."

"There's no need to go ahead of what I say, Major Despard."

"I beg your pardon. The inference was fairly obvious."

There was a moment's pause, then Battle resumed his inquiries.

"Had you any motive for disliking Mr. Shaitana?"

"Every motive."

"Eh?" The superintendent sounded startled.

"For disliking him – not for killing him, said Despard. "I hadn't the least wish to kill him, but I would thoroughly have enjoyed kicking him. A pity. It's too late now."

"Why did you want to kick him, Major Despard?"

"Because he was the sort of rat who needed kicking badly. He used to make the toe of my boot fairly itch."

"Know anything about him – to his discredit, I mean?"

"He was too well dressed; he wore his hair too long, and he smelled of scent."

"Yet you accepted his invitation to dinner," Battle pointed out.

"If I were only to dine in houses where I thoroughly approved of my host I'm afraid, I shouldn't dine out very much, Superintendent Battle," said Despard dryly.

"You like society, but you don't approve of it?" suggested the other.

"I like it for very short periods. To come back from the wilds to lighted rooms and women in lovely clothes, to dancing and good food, and laughter – yes, I enjoy that – for a time. And then the insincerity of it all sickens me and I want to be off again."

"It must be a dangerous sort of life that you lead, Major Despard, wandering about in these wild places."

Despard shrugged his shoulders, He smiled slightly.

"Mr. Shaitana didn't lead a dangerous life – but he is dead, and I am alive!"

"He may have led a more dangerous life than you think," said Battle meaningly.

"What do you mean?"

"The late Mr. Shaitana was a bit of a Nosy Parker," said Battle.

The other leaned forward. "You mean that he meddled with other people's lives – that he discovered – what?"

"I really meant that perhaps he was the sort of man who meddled – er – well, with women."

Major Despard leaned back, in his chair. He laughed, an amused but indifferent laugh.

"I don't think women would take a mountebank like that seriously."

"What's your theory of who killed him, Major Despard?"

"Well I know I didn't. Little Miss Meredith didn't. I can't imagine Mrs. Lorrimer doing so – she reminds me of one of my more God-fearing aunts. That leaves the medical gentleman."

"Can you describe your own and other people's movements this evening?"

"I got up twice – once for an ash tray and I also poked the fire – and once for a drink."

"At what times?"

"I couldn't say. First time might have been about half-past ten, the second time eleven, but that's pure guesswork, Mrs. Lorrimer went over to the fire once and said something to Shaitana. I didn't actually hear him answer, but then I wasn't paying attention. I couldn't swear he didn't. Miss Meredith wandered about the room a bit, but I don't think she went over near the fireplace. Roberts was always jumping up and down – three or four times at least."

"I'll ask you Monsieur Poirot's question," said Battle with a smile. "What did you think of them as bridge players?"

"Miss Meredith's quite a good player. Roberts overbids his hand disgracefully. He deserves to go down more than he does. Mrs. Lorrimer's damned good."

Battle turned to Poirot.

"Anything else, Monsieur Poirot?"

Poirot shook his head.

Despard gave his address as the Albany, wished them good night, and left the room.

As he closed the door behind him, Poirot made a slight movement. "What is it?" demanded Battle.

"Nothing," said Poirot. "It just occurred to me that he walks like a tiger – yes, just so, lithe, easy, does the tiger move along."

"H'm!" said Battle. "Now then," his eye glanced round at his three companions, "which of 'em did it?"

Battle looked from one face to another. Only one person answered his question. Mrs. Oliver, never averse to giving her views, rushed into speech.

"The girl or the doctor," she said.

Battle looked questioningly at the other two. But both the men were unwilling to make a pronouncement. Race shook his head. Poirot carefully smoothed his crumpled bridge scores.

"One of 'em did it," said Battle. "One of 'em's lying like hell. But which? It's not easy – no, it's not easy."

He was silent for a minute or two, then he said, "If we're to go by what they say, the medico thinks Despard did it, Despard thinks the medico did it, the girl thinks Mrs. Lorrimer did it – and Mrs. Lorrimer won't say! Nothing very illuminating there."

"Perhaps not," said Poirot.

Battle shot him a quick glance.

"You think there is?"

Poirot waved an airy hand.

"A nuance – nothing more! Nothing to go upon."

Battle continued. "You two gentlemen won't say what you think -"

"No evidence," said Race curtly.

"Oh, you men!" sighed Mrs. Oliver, despising such reticence.

"Let's look at the rough possibilities," said Battle. He considered a minute. "I put the doctor first, I think. Specious sort of customer. Would know the right spot to shove the dagger in. But there's not much more than that to it. Then take Despard. There's a man with any amount of nerve. A man accustomed to take quick decisions and a man who's quite at home doing dangerous things. Mrs. Lorrimer? She's got any amount of nerve, too, and she's the sort of woman who might have a secret in her life. She looks as though she's known trouble. On the other hand I'd say she's what I call a high principled woman – sort of woman who might be headmistress of a girls' school. It isn't easy to think of her sticking a knife into anyone. In fact, I don't think she did. And lastly there's little Miss Meredith. We don't know anything about her. She seems an ordinary, good-looking, rather shy girl. But one doesn't know, as I say, anything about her."

"We know that Shaitana believed she had committed murder," said Poirot.

"The angelic face masking the demon," mused Mrs. Oliver.

"This getting us anywhere, Battle?" asked Colonel Race.

"Unprofitable speculation, you think, sir? Well, there's bound to be speculation in a case like this."

"Isn't it better to find out something about these people?"

Battle smiled. "Oh, we shall be hard at work on that. I think you could help us there."

"Certainly. How?"

"As regards Major Despard. He's been abroad a lot – in South America, in East Africa, in South Africa – you've means of knowing those parts. You could get information about him." Race nodded.

"It shall be done. I'll get all available data."

"Oh," cried Mrs. Oliver. "I've got a plan. There are four of us – four sleuths as you might say – and four of them! How would it be if we each took one? Backed our fancy! Colonel Race takes Major Despard, Superintendent Battle takes Doctor Roberts. I'll take Anne Meredith, and Monsieur Poirot takes Mrs. Lorrimer. Each of us to follow our own line!"

Superintendent Battle shook his head decisively.

"Couldn't quite do that, Mrs. Oliver. This is official, you see. I'm in charge. I've got to investigate all lines. Besides it's all very well to say back your fancy. Two of us might want to back the same horse! Colonel Race hasn't said he suspects Major Despard. And Monsieur Poirot mayn't be putting his money on Mrs. Lorrimer."