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 p.r.o.nouncement. Race shook his head. Poirot carefully smoothed his crumpled bridge scores.

"One of 'em did it," said Battle musingly. "One of 'em's lying like h.e.l.l. 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 raen!" sighed Mrs. Oliver, despising such reticence.

"Let's look at the rough possibilities," said Battle. He considered a minute. "I

408

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 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 any one. 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 Dr.

Roberts, I'll take Anne Meredith, and M. 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 M. Poirot mayn't be putting his money on Mrs. Lorrimer."

Mrs. Oliver sighed.

"It was such a good plan," she sighed regretfully. "So neat." Then she cheered up a little. "But you don't mind me doing a little investigating on my own, do you?"

"No," said Superintendent Battle slowly. "I can't say I object to that. In fact, it's out of my power to object. Having been at this party tonight, you're naturally free to do anything your own curiosity or interest suggests. But I'd like to point out to you, Mrs. Oliver, that you'd better be a little careful."

"Discretion itself," said Mrs. Oliver. "I shan't breathe a word of-of anything- "she ended a little lamely.

"I do not think that was quite Superintendent Battle's meaning," said Hercule Poirot. "He meant that you will be dealing with a person who has already, to the best of our belief, killed twice. A person, therefore, who will not hesitate to kill a third time--if he considers it necessary."

Mrs. Oliver looked at him thoughtfully. Then she smiled---an agreeable engaging smile, rather like that of an impudent small child.

"You HAVE BEEN WARNED," she quoted. "Thank you, M. Poirot. I'll watch my step. But I'm not going to be out of this."

Poirot bowed gracefully. "Permit me to say--you are the sport, Madame."

"I presume," said Mrs. Oliver, sitting up very straight and speaking in a business-like committee-meeting manner, "that all information we receive will be pooled--that is, that we will not keep any knowledge to ourselves. Our own deductions and impressions, of course, we are ent.i.tled to keep up our sleeves."

Superintendent Battle sighed.

"This isn't a detective story, Mrs. Oliver," he said.

Race said: "Naturally, all information must be handed over to the police."

Having said this in his most "Orderly Room" voice, he added with a slight twinkle in his eye: "I'm sure you'll play fair, Mrs. Oliver--the stained glove, the fingerprint on the tooth-gla.s.s, the fragment of burnt paper--you'll turn them over to Baffle here."

"You may laugh," said Mrs. Oliver. "But a woman's intuition"

She nodded her head with decision.

Race rose to his feet.

"I'll have Despard looked up for you. It may take a little time. Anything else I can do?"

"I don't think so, thank you, sir. You've no hints? I'd value anything of that kind."

"H'm. Well--I'd keep a special lookout for shooting or poison or accidents, but I expect you're on to that already."

"I'd made a note of that--yes, sir."

"Good man, Battle. You don't need me to teach you your job. Goodnight, Mrs. Oliver. Good-night, M. Poirot."

And, with a final nod to Battle, Colonel Race left the room.

"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Oliver.

"Very fine Army record," said Battle. "Travelled a lot, too. Not many parts of the world he doesn't know about."

"Secret Service, I suppose," said Mrs. Oliver. "You can't tell me so--I know; but he wouldn't have been asked otherwise this evening. The four murderers and the four sleuths--Scotland Yard. Secret Service. Private. Fiction. A clever idea."

Poirot shook his head.

"You are in error, Madame. It was a very stupid idea. The tiger was alarmed--and the tiger sprang."

"The tiger? Why the tiger?"

"By the tiger I mean the murderer," said Poirot.

Battle said bluntly: "What's tour idea of the right line to take, M. Poirot? That's one question.

And I'd also like to know what you think of the psychology of these four people.

You're rather hot on that."

Still smoothing his bridge scores, Poirot said: "You are right--psychology is very important. We know the kind of murder that has been committed, the way it was committed. If we have a person who from the psychological point of view could not have committed that particular type of murder, then we can dismiss that person from our calculations. We know something about these people.

We have our own impression of them, we know the

410 line that each has elected to take, and we know something about their minds and their characters from what we have learned about them as card players and from the study of their handwriting and of these scores. But alas! it is not too easy to give a definite p.r.o.nouncement. This murder required audacity and nerva person who was willing to take a risk. Well, we have Dr. Roberts--a bluffer--an overcaller of his hand--a man with complete confidence in his own powers to pull off a risky thing. His psychology fits very well with the crime. One might say, then, that that automatically wipes out Miss Meredith. She is timid, frightened of overcalling her hand, careful, economical, prudent and lacking in self-confidence. The last type of person to carry out a bold and risky coup. But a timid person will murder out of fear. A frightened nervous person can be made desperate, can turn like a rat at bay if driven into a corner. If Miss Meredith had committed a crime in the past, and if she believed that Mr. Shaitana knew the circ.u.mstances of that crime and was about to deliver her up to justice she would be wild with terror--she would stick at nothing to save herself. It would be the same result, though brought about through a different reaction--not cool nerve and daring, but desperate panic. Then take Major Despard--a cool, resourceful man willing to try a long shot if he believed it absolutely necessary. He would weigh the pros and cons and might decide that there was a sporting chance in his favour--and he is the type of man to prefer action to inaction, and a man who would never shrink from taking the dangerous way if he believed there was a reasonable chance of success. Finally, there is Mrs.

Lorrimer, an elderly woman, but a woman in full possession of her wits and faculties. A cool woman. A woman with a mathematical brain. She has probably the best brain of the four. I confess that if Mrs. Lorrimer committed a crime, I should expect it to be a premeditated crime. I can see her planning a crime slowly and carefully, making sure that there were no flaws in her scheme. For that reason she seems to me slightly more unlikely than the other three. She is, however, the most dominating personality, and whatever she undertook she would probably carry through without a flaw. She is a thoroughly efficient woman."

He paused.

"So, you see, that does not help us much. No--there is only one way in this crime. We must go back into the past."

Battle signed.

"You've said it," he murmured.

"In the opinion of Mr. Shaitana, each of those four people had committed murder. Had he evidence? Or was it a guess? We cannot tell. It is unlikely, I think, that he could have had actual evidence in all four cases- "

"I agree with you there," said Battle, nodding his head. "That would be a bit too much of a coincidence."

"I suggest that it might come. about this way--murder or a certain form of murder is mentioned, and Mr. Shaitana surprised a look on some one's face. He was very quick very sensitive to expression. It amuses him to experiment--to probe gently in the course of apparently aimless conversation he is alert to notice a wince, a reservation, a desire to turn the conversation. Oh, it is easily done. If you suspect a certain secret, nothing is easier than to confirm your suspicion.

Every time a word goes home you notice it--if you are watching for such a thing."