Roberts shrugged his shoulders.
‘That’s easy. Off-hand, I’d say Despard. The man’s got plenty of nerve; he’s used to a dangerous life where you’ve got to act quickly. He wouldn’t mind taking a risk. It doesn’t seem to me likely the women are in on this. Take a bit of strength, I should imagine.’
‘Not so much as you might think. Take a look at this.’
Rather like a conjurer, Battle suddenly produced a long thin instrument of gleaming metal with a small round jewelled head.
Dr Roberts leaned forward, took it, and examined it with rich professional appreciation. He tried the point and whistled.
‘What a tool! What a tool! Absolutely made for murder, this little boy. Go in like butter—absolutely like butter. Brought it with him, I suppose.’
‘No. It was Mr Shaitana’s. It lay on the table near the door with a good many other knick-knacks.’
‘So the murderer helped himself. A bit of luck finding a tool like that.’
‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it,’ said Battle slowly.
‘Well, of course, it wasn’t luck for Shaitana, poor fellow.’
‘I didn’t mean that, Dr Roberts. I meant that there was another angle of looking at the business. It occurs to me that it was noticing this weapon that put the idea of murder into our criminal’s mind.’
‘You mean it was a sudden inspiration—that the murder wasn’t premeditated? He conceived the idea after he got here? Er—anything to suggest that idea to you?’
He glanced at him searchingly.
‘It’s just an idea,’ said Superintendent Battle stolidly.
‘Well, it might be so, of course,’ said Dr Roberts slowly.
Superintendent Battle cleared his throat.
‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer, doctor. Thank you for your help. Perhaps you’ll leave your address.’
‘Certainly. 200 Gloucester Terrace, W.2. Telephone No. Bayswater 23896.’
‘Thank you. I may have to call upon you shortly.’
‘Delighted to see you any time. Hope there won’t be too much in the papers. I don’t want my nervous patients upset.’
Superintendent Battle looked round at Poirot.
‘Excuse me, M. Poirot. If you’d like to ask any questions, I’m sure the doctor wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course not. Of course not. Great admirer of yours, M. Poirot. Little grey cells—order and method. I know all about it. I feel sure you’ll think of something most intriguing to ask me.’
Hercule Poirot spread out his hands in his most foreign manner.
‘No, no. I just like to get all the details clear in my mind. For instance, how many rubbers did you play?’
‘Three,’ said Roberts promptly. ‘We’d got to one game all, in the fourth rubber, when you came in.’
‘And who played with who?’
‘First rubber, Despard and I against the ladies. They beat us, God bless ’em. Walk over; we never held a card.
‘Second rubber, Miss Meredith and I against Despard and Mrs Lorrimer. Third rubber, Mrs Lorrimer and I against Miss Meredith and Despard. We cut each time, but it worked out like a pivot. Fourth rubber, Miss Meredith and I again.’
‘Who won and who lost?’
‘Mrs Lorrimer won every rubber. Miss Meredith won the first and lost the next two. I was a bit up and Miss Meredith and Despard must have been down.’
Poirot said, smiling, ‘The good superintendent has asked you your opinion of your companions as candidates for murder. I now ask you for your opinion of them as bridge players.’
‘Mrs Lorrimer’s first class,’ Dr Roberts replied promptly. ‘I’ll bet she makes a good income a year out of bridge. Despard’s a good player, too—what I call a sound player—long-headed chap. Miss Meredith you might describe as quite a safe player. She doesn’t make mistakes, but she isn’t brilliant.’
‘And you yourself, doctor?’
Roberts’ eyes twinkled.
‘I overcall my hand a bit, or so they say. But I’ve always found it pays.’
Poirot smiled.
Dr Roberts rose.
‘Anything more?’
Poirot shook his head.
‘Well, goodnight, then. Goodnight, Mrs Oliver. You ought to get some copy out of this. Better than your untraceable poisons, eh?’
Dr Roberts left the room, his bearing springy once more. Mrs Oliver said bitterly as the door closed behind him:
‘Copy! Copy indeed! People are so unintelligent. I could invent a better murder any day than anything real. I’m never at a loss for a plot. And the people who read my books like untraceable poisons!’
Mrs Lorrimer came into the dining-room like a gentlewoman. She looked a little pale, but composed.
‘I’m sorry to have to bother you,’ Superintendent Battle began.
‘You must do your duty, of course,’ said Mrs Lorrimer quietly. ‘It is, I agree, an unpleasant position in which to be placed, but there is no good shirking it. I quite realize that one of the four people in that room must be guilty. Naturally, I can’t expect you to take my word that I am not the person.’
She accepted the chair that Colonel Race offered her and sat down opposite the superintendent. Her intelligent grey eyes met his. She waited attentively.
‘You knew Mr Shaitana well?’ began the superintendent.
‘Not very well. I have known him over a period of some years, but never intimately.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘At a hotel in Egypt—the Winter Palace at Luxor, I think.’
‘What did you think of him?’
Mrs Lorrimer shrugged her shoulders slightly.
‘I thought him—I may as well
