“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.
Six
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 re
ady 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’ Naval and Military.”
“Good. Now, then, Miss Meredith, how well did you know Mr. Shaitana?”
“I didn’t know him well at all. I always thought he was a most frightening man.”
“Why?”
“Oh, well he was! That awful smile! And a way he had of bending over you. As though he might bite you.”
“Had you known him long?”