Three

A GAME OF BRIDGE

When the company returned to the drawing room a bridge table had been set out. Coffee washanded round.

“Who plays bridge?” asked Mr. Shaitana. “Mrs. Lorrimer, I know. And Dr. Roberts. Do youplay, Miss Meredith?”

“Yes. I’m not frightfully good, though.”

“Excellent. And Major Despard? Good. Supposing you four play here.”

“Thank goodness there’s to be bridge,” said Mrs. Lorrimer in an aside to Poirot. “I’m one of theworst bridge fiends that ever lived. It’s growing on me. I simply will not go out to dinner now ifthere’s no bridge afterwards! I just fall asleep. I’m ashamed of myself, but there it is.”

They cut for partners. Mrs. Lorrimer was partnered with Anne Meredith against Major Despardand Dr. Roberts.

“Women against men,” said Mrs. Lorrimer as she took her seat and began shuffling¹ the cards inan expert manner. “The blue cards, don’t you think, partner? I’m a forcing two.”

“Mind you win,” said Mrs. Oliver, her feminist² feelings rising. “Show the men they can’t haveit all their own way.”

“They haven’t got a hope, the poor dears,” said Dr. Roberts cheerfully as he started shuffling theother pack. “Your deal, I think, Mrs. Lorrimer.”

Major Despard sat down rather slowly. He was looking at Anne Meredith as though he had justmade the discovery that she was remarkably³ pretty.

“Cut, please,” said Mrs. Lorrimer impatiently. And with a start of apology he cut the pack shewas presenting to him.

Mrs. Lorrimer began to deal with a practised hand.

“There is another bridge table in the other room,” said Mr. Shaitana.

He crossed to a second door and the other four followed him into a small comfortably furnishedsmoking room where a second bridge table was set ready.

“We must cut out,” said Colonel Race.

Mr. Shaitana shook his head.

“I do not play,” he said. “Bridge is not one of the games that amuse me.”

The others protested that they would much rather not play, but he overruled them firmly and inthe end they sat down. Poirot and Mrs. Oliver against Battle and Race.

Mr. Shaitana watched them for a little while, smiled in a Mephistophelian manner as heobserved on what hand Mrs. Oliver declared Two No Trumps⁴, and then went noiselessly throughinto the other room.

There they were well down to it, their faces serious, the bids coming quickly. “One heart.”

“Pass.” “Three clubs.” “Three spades.” “Four diamonds.” “Double.” “Four hearts.”

Mr. Shaitana stood watching a moment, smiling to himself.

Then he crossed the room and sat down in a big chair by the fireplace. A tray of drinks had beenbrought in and placed on an adjacent table. The firelight gleamed on the crystal stoppers.

Always an artist in lighting⁵, Mr. Shaitana had simulated the appearance of a merely firelit room.

A small shaded lamp at his elbow gave him light to read by if he so desired. Discreet⁶ floodlightinggave the room a subdued⁷ look. A slightly stronger light shone over the bridge table, from whencethe monotonous⁸ ejaculations continued.

“One no trump”—clear and decisive—Mrs. Lorrimer.

“Three hearts”—an aggressive note in the voice—Dr. Roberts.

“No bid”—a quiet voice—Anne Meredith’s.

A slight pause always before Despard’s voice came. Not so much a slow thinker as a man wholiked to be sure before he spoke⁹.

“Four hearts.”

“Double.”

His face lit up by the flickering¹⁰ firelight, Mr. Shaitana smiled.

He smiled and he went on smiling. His eyelids¹¹ flickered¹² a little….

His party was amusing him.

 

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