底牌 5

II

“Five diamonds. Game and rubber,” said Colonel Race.

“Good for you, partner,” he said to Poirot. “I didn’t think you’d do it. Lucky they didn’t lead aspade.”

“Wouldn’t have made much difference, I expect,” said Superintendent² Battle, a man of gentlemagnanimity.

He had called spades. His partner, Mrs. Oliver, had had a spade, but “something had told her” tolead a club—with disastrous³ results.

Colonel Race looked at his watch.

“Ten past twelve. Time for another?”

“You’ll excuse me,” said Superintendent Battle. “But I’m by way of being an ‘early-to-bed’

man.”

“I, too,” said Hercule Poirot.

“We’d better add up,” said Race.

The result of the evening’s five rubbers was an overwhelming victory for the male sex. Mrs.

Oliver had lost three pounds and seven shillings to the other three. The biggest winner wasColonel Race.

Mrs. Oliver, though a bad bridge player, was a sporting loser. She paid up cheerfully.

“Everything went wrong for me tonight,” she said. “It is like that sometimes. I held the mostbeautiful cards yesterday. A hundred and fifty honours three times running.”

She rose and gathered up her embroidered⁴ evening bag, just refraining in time from stroking herhair off her brow.

“I suppose our host is next door,” she said.

She went through the communicating door, the others behind her.

Mr. Shaitana was in his chair by the fire. The bridge players were absorbed in their game.

“Double five clubs,” Mrs. Lorrimer was saying in her cool, incisive⁵ voice.

“Five No Trumps⁶.”

“Double five No Trumps.”

Mrs. Oliver came up to the bridge table. This was likely to be an exciting hand.

Superintendent Battle came with her.

Colonel Race went towards Mr. Shaitana, Poirot behind him.

“Got to be going, Shaitana,” said Race.

Mr. Shaitana did not answer. His head had fallen forward, and he seemed to be asleep. Racegave a momentary⁷ whimsical glance at Poirot and went a little nearer. Suddenly he uttered amuffled exclamation⁸, bent⁹ forward. Poirot was beside him in a minute, he, too, looking whereColonel Race was pointing—something that might have been a particularly ornate shirt stud—butwas not….

Poirot bent, raised one of Mr. Shaitana’s hands, then let it fall. He met Race’s inquiring glanceand nodded. The latter raised his voice.

“Superintendent Battle, just a minute.”

The superintendent came over to them. Mrs. Oliver continued to watch the play of Five NoTrumps doubled.

Superintendent Battle, despite his appearance of stolidity¹⁰, was a very quick man. His eyebrowswent up and he said in a low voice as he joined them:

“Something wrong?”

With a nod Colonel Race indicated the silent figure in the chair.

As Battle bent over it, Poirot looked thoughtfully at what he could see of Mr. Shaitana’s face.

Rather a silly face it looked now, the mouth drooping¹¹ open—the devilish expression lacking….

Hercule Poirot shook his head.

Superintendent Battle straightened himself. He had examined, without touching¹², the thing whichlooked like an extra stud in Mr. Shaitana’s shirt—and it was not an extra stud. He had raised thelimp hand and let it fall.

Now he stood up, unemotional, capable, soldierly—prepared to take charge efficiently¹³ of thesituation.

“Just a minute, please,” he said.

And the raised voice was his official voice, so different that all the heads at the bridge tableturned to him, and Anne Meredith’s hand remained poised¹⁴ over an ace¹ of spades in dummy¹⁵.

“I’m sorry to tell you all,” he said, “that our host, Mr. Shaitana, is dead.”

Mrs. Lorrimer and Dr. Roberts rose to their feet. Despard stared and frowned. Anne Meredithgave a little gasp¹⁶.

“Are you sure, man?”

Dr. Roberts, his professional instincts aroused, came briskly across the floor with a boundingmedical “in-at-the-death” step.

Without seeming to, the bulk of Superintendent Battle impeded¹⁷ his progress.

“Just a minute, Dr. Roberts. Can you tell me first who’s been in and out of this room thisevening?”

Roberts stared at him.

“In and out? I don’t understand you. Nobody has.”

The superintendent transferred his gaze.

“Is that right, Mrs. Lorrimer?”

“Quite right.”

“Not the butler nor any of the servants?”

“No. The butler brought in that tray as we sat down to bridge. He has not been in since.”

Superintendent Battle looked at Despard.

Despard nodded in agreement.

Anne said rather breathlessly, “Yes—yes, that’s right.”

“What’s all this, man,” said Roberts impatiently. “Just let me examine him; maybe just afainting fit.”

“It isn’t a fainting fit, and I’m sorry—but nobody’s going to touch him until the divisionalsurgeon comes. Mr. Shaitana’s been murdered, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Murdered?” A horrified¹⁸ incredulous sigh from Anne.

A stare—a very blank stare—from Despard.

A sharp incisive “Murdered?” from Mrs. Lorrimer.

A “Good God!” from Dr. Roberts.

Superintendent Battle nodded his head slowly. He looked rather like a Chinese porcelainmandarin. His expression was quite blank.

“Stabbed,” he said. “That’s the way of it. Stabbed.”

Then he shot out a question:

“Any of you leave the bridge table during the evening?”

He saw four expressions break up—waver. He saw fear—comprehension—indignation—dismay—horror; but he saw nothing definitely helpful.

“Well?”

There was a pause, and then Major Despard said quietly (he had risen now and was standinglike a soldier on parade, his narrow, intelligent face turned to Battle):

“I think every one of us, at one time or another, moved from the bridge table—either to getdrinks or to put wood on the fire. I did both. When I went to the fire Shaitana was asleep in thechair.”

“Asleep?”

“I thought so—yes.”

“He may have been,” said Battle. “Or he may have been dead then. We’ll go into that presently.

I’ll ask you now to go into the room next door.” He turned to the quiet figure at his elbow:

“Colonel Race, perhaps you’ll go with them?”

Race gave a quick nod of comprehension.

“Right, Superintendent.”

The four bridge players went slowly through the doorway¹⁹.

Mrs. Oliver sat down in a chair at the far end of the room and began to sob²⁰ quietly.

Battle took up the telephone receiver and spoke²¹. Then he said:

“The local police will be round immediately. Orders from headquarters are that I’m to take onthe case. Divisional surgeon will be here almost at once. How long should you say he’d been dead,M. Poirot? I’d say well over an hour myself.”

“I agree. Alas²², that one cannot be more exact—that one cannot say, ‘This man has been deadone hour, twenty-five minutes and forty seconds.’”

Battle nodded absently.

“He was sitting right in front of the fire. That makes a slight difference. Over an hour—not morethan two and a half: that’s what our doctor will say, I’ll be bound. And nobody heard anything andnobody saw anything. Amazing! What a desperate chance to take. He might have cried out.”

“But he did not. The murderer’s luck held. As you say, mon ami, it was a very desperatebusiness.”

“Any idea, M. Poirot, as to motive²³? Anything of that kind?”

Poirot said slowly:

“Yes, I have something to say on that score. Tell me, M. Shaitana—he did not give you any hintof what kind of a party you were coming to tonight?”

Superintendent Battle looked at him curiously²⁴.

“No, M. Poirot. He didn’t say anything at all. Why?”

A bell whirred in the distance and a knocker was plied²⁵.

“That’s our people,” said Superintendent Battle. “I’ll go and let ’em in. We’ll have your storypresently. Must get on with the routine work.”

Poirot nodded.

Battle left the room.

Mrs. Oliver continued to sob.

Poirot went over to the bridge table. Without touching anything, he examined the scores. Heshook his head once or twice.

“The stupid little man! Oh, the stupid little man,” murmured Hercule Poirot. “To dress up as thedevil and try to frighten people. Quel enfantillage!”

The door opened. The divisional surgeon came in, bag in hand. He was followed by thedivisional inspector²⁶, talking to Battle. A camera man came next. There was a constable²⁷ in the hall.

The routine of the detection of crime had begun.

 

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