Cards on the Table hp-15

by Agatha Christie

  Despard looked at him, smiled slightly, and said:

  "Don't you ever have a failure, Monsieur Poirot?"

  "The last time was twenty-eight years ago," said Poirot with dignity. "And even then, there were circumstances – but no matter."

  "That seems a pretty good record," said Despard. He added, "What about Shaitana's death? That doesn't count, I suppose, since it isn't officially your business."

  "It is not my business – no. But all the same it offends my amour propre. I consider it an impertinence, you comprehend, for a murder to be committed under my very nose – by someone who mocks himself at my ability to solve it!"

  "Not under your nose only," said Despard, dryly. "Under the nose of the Criminal Investigation Department also."

  "That was probably a bad mistake," said Poirot gravely. "The good square Superintendent Battle, he may look wooden but he is not wooden in the head – not at all."

  "I agree," said Despard. "That stolidity is a pose. He's a very clever and able officer."

  "And I think he is very active in the case."

  "Oh he's active enough. See a nice quiet soldierly-looking fellow on one of the back seats?"

  Poirot looked over his shoulder.

  "There is no one here now but ourselves,"

  "Oh well he's inside then. He never loses me. Very efficient fellow. Varies his appearance too from time to time. Quite artistic about it."

  "Ah, but that would not deceive you. You have the very quick and accurate eye."

  "I never forget a face – even a black face, and that's a lot more than most people can say."

  "You are just the person I need," said Poirot. "What a chance meeting you today! I need someone with a good eye and a good memory. Malheureusement the two seldom go together. I have asked the Doctor Roberts a question without result and the same with Madame Lorrimer. Now I will try you and see if I get what I want. Cast your mind back to the room in which you played cards at Mr. Shaitana's and tell me what you remember of it."

  Despard looked puzzled. "I don't quite understand."

  "Give me a description of the room – the furnishings, the objects in it."

  "I don't know that I'm much of a hand at that sort of thing," said Despard slowly. "It was a rotten sort of room, to my mind. Not a man's room at all. A lot of brocade and silk and stuff. Sort of room a fellow like Shaitana would have."

  "But to particularize -"

  Despard shook his head. "Afraid I didn't notice. He'd got some good rugs. Two Bokharas and three or four really good Persian ones, including a Hamadan and a Tabriz. Rather a good eland head – no, that was in the hall. From Rowland Ward's I expect."

  "You do not think that the late Mr. Shaitana was one to go out and shoot wild beasts?"

  "Not he. Never potted anything but sitting game, I'll bet. What else was there? I'm sorry to fail you, but I really can't help much. Any amount of knickknacks lying about. Tables were thick with them. Only thing I noticed was a rather jolly idol. Easter Island, I should say. Highly polished wood. You don't see many of them. There was some Malay stuff too. No, I'm afraid I can't help you."

  "No matter," said Poirot, looking slightly crestfallen.

  He went on. "Do you know, Mrs. Lorrimer, she has the most amazing card memory! She could tell me the bidding and play of nearly every hand. It was astonishing."

  Despard shrugged his shoulders.

  "Some women are like that. Because they play pretty well all day long, I suppose."

  "You could not do it, eh?"

  The other shook his head.

  "I just remember a couple of hands. One where I could have got game in diamonds – and Roberts bluffed me out of it. Went down himself, but we didn't double him, worse luck. I remember a no trumper, too. Tricky business – every card wrong. We went down a couple – lucky not to have gone down more,"

  "Do you play much bridge, Major Despard?"

  "No, I'm not a regular player. It's a good game, though."

  "You prefer it to poker?"

  "I do personally. Poker's too much of a gamble."

  Poirot said thoughtfully, "I do not think Mr. Shaitana played any game – any card game, that is."

  "There's only one game that Shaitana played consistently," said Despard grimly.

  "And that?"

  "A low-down game."

  Poirot was silent for a minute then he said, "Is it that you know that? Or do you just think it?"

  Despard went brick red. "Meaning one oughtn't to say things without giving chapter and verse? I suppose that's true. Well, it's accurate enough. I happen to know. On the other hand I'm not prepared to give chapter and verse. Such information as I've got came to me privately."

  "Meaning a woman or women are concerned?"

  "Yes. Shaitana, like the dirty dog he was, preferred to deal with women."

  "You think he was a blackmailer? That is interesting."

  Despard shook his head. "No, no, you've misunderstood me. In a way, Shaitana was a blackmailer, but not the common or garden sort. He wasn't after money. He was a spiritual blackmailer, if there can be such a thing."

  "And he got out of it – what?"

  "He got a kick out of it. That's the only way I can put it. He got a thrill out of seeing people quail and flinch. I suppose it made him feel less of a louse and more of a man. And it's a very effective pose with women. He'd only got to hint that he knew everything, and they'd start telling him a lot of things that perhaps he didn't know. That would tickle his sense of humor. Then he'd strut about in his Mephistophelean attitude of 'I know everything! I am the great Shaitana!' The man was an ape!"

  "So you think that he frightened Miss Meredith that way," said Poirot slowly.

  "Miss Meredith?" Despard stared. "I wasn't thinking of her. She isn't the kind to be afraid of a man like Shaitana."

  "Pardon. You meant Mrs. Lorrimer."

  "No, no, no. You misunderstood me. I was speaking generally. It wouldn't be easy to frighten Mrs. Lorrimer. And she's not the kind of woman who you can imagine having a guilty secret. No, I was not thinking of anyone in particular."

  "It was the general method to which you referred?"

  "Exactly."

  "There is no doubt," said Poirot slowly, "that a man like that often has a very clever understanding of women. He worms secrets out of them -"

  He paused. Despard broke in impatiently.

  "It's absurd. The man was a mountebank – nothing really dangerous about him. And yet women were afraid of him. Ridiculously so."

  He started up suddenly.

  "Hullo, I've overshot the mark. Got too interested in what we were discussing. Good-by, Monsieur Poirot. Look down and you'll see my faithful shadow leave the bus when I do."

  He hurried to the back and down the steps. The conductor's bell jangled. But a double pull sounded before it had time to stop.

  Looking down to the street below, Poirot noticed Despard striding back along the pavement. He did not trouble to pick out the following figure. Something else was interesting him. "No one in particular," he murmured to himself. "Now I wonder."

  Chapter 16

  THE EVIDENCE OF ELSIE BATT

  Sergeant O'Connor was unkindly nicknamed by his colleagues at the Yard "The Maidservant's Prayer."

  There was no doubt that he was an extremely handsome man. Tall, erect, broad-shouldered, it was less the regularity of his features than the roguish and daredevil spark in his eye which made him so irresistible to the fair sex. It was indubitable that Sergeant O'Connor got results and got them quickly.

  So rapid was he that only four days after the murder of Mr. Shaitana, Sergeant O'Connor was sitting in the three and sixpenny seats at the Willy Nilly Revue side by side with Miss Elsie Batt, late parlormaid to Mrs. Craddock of 117 North Audley Street.

  Having laid his line of approach carefully, Sergeant O'Conner was just launching the great offensive.

  "Reminds me," he was saying, "of the way one of my old governors used to carry on. Name of Cr
addock. He was an odd cuss, if you like."

  "Craddock," said Elsie. "I was with some Craddocks once."

  "Well, that's funny. Wonder whether they were the same?"

  "Lived in North Audley Street they did," said Elsie.

  "My lot were going to London when I left them," said O'Connor promptly. "Yes, I believe it was North Audley Street. Mrs. Craddock was rather a one for the gents."

  Elsie tossed her head.

  "I'd no patience with her. Always finding fault and grumbling. Nothing you did right."

  "Her husband got some of it too, didn't he?"

  "She was always complaining he neglected her – that he didn't understand her. And she was always saying how bad her health was and gasping and groaning. Not ill at all if you ask me!"

  O'Connor slapped his knee.

  "Got it. Wasn't there something about her and some doctor? A bit too thick or something?"

  "You mean Doctor Roberts? He was a nice gentleman, he was."

  "You girls, you're all alike," said Sergeant O'Connor. "The moment a man's a bad lot, all the girls stick up for him. I know his kind."

  "No, you don't and you're all wrong about him. There wasn't anything of that kind about him. Wasn't his fault, was it, if Mrs. Craddock was always sending for him? What's a doctor to do? If you ask me, he didn't think nothing of her at all, except as a patient. It was all her doing. Wouldn't leave him alone, she wouldn't."

  "That's all very well, Elsie – don't mind me calling you Elsie, do you? Feel as though I'd known you all my life."

  "Well, you haven't! Elsie indeed."

  She tossed her head.

  "Oh, very well, Miss Batt." He gave her a glance. "As I was saying, that's all very well, but the husband he cut up rough all the same, didn't he?"

  "He was a bit ratty one day," admitted Elsie. "But if you ask me he was ill at the time. He died just after, you know."

  "I remember – died of something queer, didn't he?"

  "Something Japanese it was – all from a new shaving brush he'd got. Seems awful, doesn't it, that they're not more careful? I've not fancied anything Japanese since."

  "Buy British, that's my motto," said Sergeant O'Connor sententiously. "And you were saying he and the doctor had a row?"

  Elsie nodded, enjoying herself as she relived past scandals. "Hammer and tongs they went at it," she said. "At least the master did. Doctor Roberts was ever so quiet. Just said, 'Nonsense.' And, 'What have you got into your head?'"

  'This was at the house, I suppose?"

  "Yes. She'd sent for him. And then she and the master had words, and in the middle of it Doctor Roberts arrived, and the master went for him."

  "What did he say exactly?"

  "Well, of course I wasn't supposed to hear. It was all in the missis's bedroom. I thought something was up, so I got the dustpan and did the stairs. I wasn't going to miss anything."

  Sergeant O'Connor heartily concurred in this sentiment, reflecting how fortunate it was that Elsie was being approached unofficially. On interrogation by Sergeant O'Connor of the police she would have virtuously protested that she had not overheard anything at all.

  "As I say," went on Elsie, "Doctor Roberts, he was very quiet – the master was doing all the shouting."

  "What was he saying?" asked O'Connor, for the second time approaching the vital point.

  "Abusing of him proper," said Elsie with relish.

  "How do you mean?"

  Would the girl never come to actual words and phrases?

  "Well, I didn't understand a lot of it," admitted Elsie. "There were a lot of long words, 'unprofessional conduct' and 'taking advantage' and things like that – and I heard him say he'd get Doctor Roberts struck off the – Medical Register, would it be? Something like that."

  "That's right," said O'Connor. "Complain to the Medical Council."

  "Yes, he said something like that. And the missis was going on in sort of hysterics saying, 'You never cared for me. You neglected me. You left me alone.' And I heard her say that Doctor Roberts had been an angel of goodness to her.

  "And then the doctor, he came through into the dressing-room with the master and shut the door of the bedroom – I heard it and he said quite plain, 'My good man, don't you realize your wife's hysterical? She doesn't know what she's saying. To tell you the truth it's been a very difficult and trying case and I'd have thrown it up long ago if I'd thought it was' – con – con – some long word – oh, yes, consistent – that was it – 'consistent with my duty.' That's what he said. He said something about not overstepping a boundary – too – something between doctor and patient. He got the master quieted a bit and then he said, 'You'll be late at your office, you know. You'd better be off. Just think things over quietly. I think you'll realize that the whole business is a mare's nest. I'll just wash my hands here before I go on to my next case. Now you think it over, my dear fellow. I can assure you that the whole thing arises out of your wife's disordered imagination.'

  "And the master he said, 'I don't know what to think.'

  "And he come out – and of course I was brushing hard, but he never even noticed me. I thought afterward he looked ill. The doctor he was whistling quite cheerily and washing his hands in the dressing-room where there was hot and cold laid on. And presently he came out too with his bag, and he spoke to me very nicely and cheerily as he always did and he went down the stairs quite cheerful and gay and his usual self. So, you see, I'm quite sure as he hadn't done anything wrong. It was all her."

  "And then Craddock got this anthrax?"

  "Yes, I think he'd got it already. The mistress she nursed him very devoted, but he died. Lovely wreaths there was at the funeral."

  "And afterward? Did Doctor Roberts come to the house again?"

  "No, he didn't, Nosy! You've got some grudge against him. I tell you there was nothing in it. If there were he'd have married her when the master was dead, wouldn't he? And he never did. No such fool. He'd taken her measure all right. She used to ring him up though, but somehow he was never in. And then she sold the house and we all got our notices and she went abroad to Egypt."

  "And you didn't see Doctor Roberts in all that time."

  "No. She did, because she went to him to have this – what do you call it – noclation against the typhoid fever. She came back with her arm ever so sore with it. If you ask me, he made it clear to her then that there was nothing doing. She didn't ring him up no more and she went off very cheerful with a lovely lot of new clothes – all light colors although it was the middle of winter, but she said it would be all sunshine and hot out there."

  "That's right," said Sergeant O'Connor. "It's too hot, sometimes, I've heard. She died out there. You know that, I suppose?"

  "No, indeed I didn't. Well, fancy that! She may have been worse than I thought, poor soul."

  She added with a sigh, "I wonder what they did with all that lovely lot of clothes? They're blacks out there, so they couldn't wear them."

  "You'd have looked a treat in them, I expect," said Sergeant O'Connor.

  "Impudence," said Elsie.

  "Well, you won't have my impudence much longer," said Sergeant O'Connor. "I've got to go away on business for my firm."

  "You going for long?"

  "May be going abroad," said the sergeant.

  Elsie's face fell.

  Though unacquainted with Lord Byron's famous poem, "I never loved a dear gazelle," its sentiments were at that moment hers. She thought to herself, Funny how all the really attractive ones never come to anything. Oh, well, there's always Fred.

  Which is gratifying since it shows that the sudden incursion of Sergeant O'Connor into Elsie's life did not affect it permanently. Fred may even have been the gainer!

  Chapter 17

  THE EVIDENCE OF RHODA DAWES

  Rhoda Dawes came out of Debenham's and stood meditatively upon the pavement. Indecision was written all over her face. It was an expressive face, each fleeting emotion showed itself in a quickly varying express
ion.

  Quite plainly at this moment Rhoda's face said, "Shall I or shan't I?" "I'd like to -" "But perhaps I'd better not."

  The commissionaire said, "Taxi, miss?" to her hopefully. Rhoda shook her head.

  A stout woman carrying parcels with an eager "shopping early for Christmas" expression on her face cannoned into her severely, but still Rhoda stood stock still trying to make up her mind.

  Chaotic odds and ends of thoughts flashed through her mind. After all, why shouldn't I? She asked me to – But perhaps it's just a thing she says to everyone. She doesn't mean it to be taken seriously – Well, after all, Anne didn't want me. She made it quite clear she'd rather go with Major Despard to the solicitor man alone – And why shouldn't she? I mean, three is a crowd – And it isn't really any business of mine. It isn't as though I particularly wanted to see Major Despard – He is nice, though – I think he must have fallen for Anne. Men don't take a lot of trouble unless they have – I mean, it's never just kindness.

  A messenger boy bumped into Rhoda and said, "Beg pardon, miss," in a reproachful tone.

  Oh dear, thought Rhoda. I can't go on standing here all day. Just because I'm such an idiot that I can't make up my mind – I think that coat and skirt's going to be awfully nice. I wonder if brown would have been more useful than green? No, I don't think so. Well, come on, shall I go, or shan't I? Half-past three – it's quite a good time – I mean it doesn't look as though I'm cadging a meal or anything. I might just go and look, anyway.

  She plunged across the road, turned to the right, and then to the left, up Harley Street, finally pausing by the block of flats always airily described by Mrs. Oliver as "all among the nursing homes."

  Well, she can't eat me, thought Rhoda and plunged boldly into the building.

  Mrs. Oliver's flat was on the top floor. A uniformed attendant whisked her up in a lift and let her out on a smart new mat outside a bright green door.

  This is awful, thought Rhoda. Worse than dentists. I must go through with it now, though.