Ten

DR. ROBERTS (CONTINUED)

Superintendent¹ Battle was lunching with M. Hercule Poirot.

The former looked downcast, the latter sympathetic.

“Your morning, then, has not been entirely² successful,” said Poirot thoughtfully.

Battle shook his head.

“It’s going to be uphill work, M. Poirot.”

“What do you think of him?”

“Of the doctor? Well, frankly³, I think Shaitana was right. He’s a killer⁴. Reminds me ofWestaway. And of that lawyer chap in Norfolk. Same hearty⁵, self- confident manner. Samepopularity. Both of them were clever devils—so’s Roberts. All the same, it doesn’t follow thatRoberts killed Shaitana—and as a matter of fact I don’t think he did. He’d know the risk too well—better than a layman⁶ would—that Shaitana might wake and cry out. No, I don’t think Robertsmurdered him.”

“But you think he has murdered someone?”

“Possibly quite a lot of people. Westaway had. But it’s going to be hard to get at. I’ve lookedover his bank account—nothing suspicious there—no large sums suddenly paid in. At any rate, inthe last seven years he’s not had any legacy⁷ from a patient. That wipes out murder for direct gain.

He’s never married—that’s a pity—so ideally simple for a doctor to kill his own wife. He’s well-to-do, but then he’s got a thriving practice among well-to-do people.”

“In fact he appears to lead a thoroughly⁸ blameless life—and perhaps does do so.”

“Maybe. But I prefer to believe the worst.”

He went on:

“There’s the hint of a scandal over a woman—one of his patients—name of Craddock. That’sworth looking up, I think. I’ll get someone onto that straightaway. Woman actually died out inEgypt of some local disease so I don’t think there’s anything in that—but it might throw a light onhis general character and morals.”

“Was there a husband?”

“Yes. Husband died of anthrax.”

“Anthrax?”

“Yes, there were a lot of cheap shaving brushes on the market just then—some of them infected.

There was a regular scandal about it.”

“Convenient,” suggested Poirot.

“That’s what I thought. If her husband were threatening to kick up a row—But there, it’s allconjecture. We haven’t a leg to stand upon.”

“Courage, my friend. I know your patience. In the end, you will have perhaps as many legs as acentipede.”

“And fall into the ditch as a result of thinking about them,” grinned Battle.

Then he asked curiously⁹:

“What about you, M. Poirot? Going to take a hand?”

“I, too, might call on Dr. Roberts.”

“Two of us in one day. That ought to put the wind up him.”

“Oh, I shall be very discreet¹⁰. I shall not inquire into his past life.”

“I’d like to know just exactly what line you’ll take,” said Battle curiously, “but don’t tell meunless you want to.”

“Du tout¹¹—du tout. I am most willing. I shall talk a little of bridge, that is all.”

“Bridge again. You harp¹² on that, don’t you, M. Poirot?”

“I find the subject very useful.”

“Well, every man to his taste. I don’t deal much in the fancy approaches. They don’t suit mystyle.”

“What is your style, superintendent?”

The superintendent met the twinkle in Poirot’s eyes with an answering twinkle in his own.

“A straightforward¹³, honest, zealous¹⁴ officer doing his duty in the most laborious¹⁵ manner—that’smy style. No frills. No fancy work. Just honest perspiration¹⁶. Stolid¹⁷ and a bit stupid—that’s myticket.”

Poirot raised his glass.

“To our respective methods—and may success crown our joint¹⁸ efforts.”

“I expect Colonel Race may get us something worth having about Despard,” said Battle. “He’sgot a good many sources of information.”

“And Mrs. Oliver?”

“Bit of a toss-up there. I rather like that woman. Talks a lot of nonsense, but she’s a sport. Andwomen get to know things about other women that men can’t get at. She may spot somethinguseful.”

They separated. Battle went back to Scotland Yard to issue instructions for certain lines to befollowed up. Poirot betook himself to 200 Gloucester Terrace.

Dr. Roberts’ eyebrows¹⁹ rose comically as he greeted his guest.

“Two sleuths in one day,” he asked. “Handcuffs by this evening, I suppose.”

Poirot smiled.

“I can assure you, Dr. Roberts, that my attentions are being equally divided between all four ofyou.”

“That’s something to be thankful for, at all events. Smoke?”

“If you permit, I prefer my own.”

Poirot lighted one of his tiny Russian cigarettes.

“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Roberts.

Poirot was silent for a minute or two puffing²⁰, then he said:

“Are you a keen observer of human nature, doctor?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I am. A doctor has to be.”

“That was exactly my reasoning. I said to myself, ‘A doctor has always to be studying hispatients—their expressions, their colour, how fast they breathe, any signs of restlessness—a doctornotices these things automatically almost without noticing he notices! Dr. Roberts is the man tohelp me.’”

“I’m willing enough to help. What’s the trouble?”

Poirot produced from a neat little pocketcase three carefully folded bridge scores.

“These are the first three rubbers the other evening,” he explained. “Here is the first one—inMiss Meredith’s handwriting. Now can you tell me—with this to refresh your memory—exactlywhat the calling was and how each hand went?”

Roberts stared at him in astonishment²¹.

“You’re joking, M. Poirot. How can I possibly remember?”

“Can’t you? I should be very grateful if you could. Take this first rubber. The first game musthave resulted in a game call in hearts or spades, or else one or other side must have gone downfifty.”

“Let me see—that was the first hand. Yes, I think they went out in spades.”

“And the next hand?”

“I suppose one or other of us went down fifty—but I can’t remember which or what it was in.

Really, M. Poirot, you can hardly expect me to do so.”

“Can’t you remember any of the calling or the hands?”

“I got a grand slam—I remember that. It was doubled too. And I also remember going down anasty smack—playing three no trumps²², I think it was—went down a packet. But that was lateron.”

“Do you remember with whom you were playing?”

“Mrs. Lorrimer. She looked a bit grim, I remember. Didn’t like my overcalling, I expect.”

“And you can’t remember any other of the hands or the calling?”

Roberts laughed.

“My dear M. Poirot, did you really expect I could. First there was the murder—enough to drivethe most spectacular hands out of one’s mind—and in addition I’ve played at least half a dozenrubbers since then.”

Poirot sat looking rather crestfallen²³.

“I’m sorry,” said Roberts.

“It does not matter very much,” said Poirot slowly. “I hoped that you might remember one ortwo, at least, of the hands, because I thought they might be valuable landmarks²⁴ in rememberingother things.”

“What other things?”

“Well you might have noticed, for instance, that your partner made a mess of playing a perfectlysimple no trumper, or that an opponent, say, presented you with a couple of unexpected tricks byfailing to lead an obvious card.”

Dr. Roberts became suddenly serious. He leaned forward in his chair.

“Ah,” he said. “Now I see what you’re driving at. Forgive me. I thought at first you were talkingpure nonsense. You mean that the murder—the successful accomplishment²⁵ of the murder—mighthave made a definite difference in the guilty party’s play?”

Poirot nodded.

“You have seized the idea correctly. It would be a clue of the first excellence²⁶ if you had beenfour players who knew each other’s game well. A variation, a sudden lack of brilliance²⁷, a missedopportunity—that would have been immediately noticed. Unluckily, you were all strangers to eachother. Variation in play would not be so noticeable. But think, M. le docteur, I beg of you to think.

Do you remember any inequalities—any sudden glaring mistakes—in the play of anyone?”

There was silence for a minute or two, then Dr. Roberts shook his head.

“It’s no good. I can’t help you,” he said frankly. “I simply don’t remember. All I can tell you iswhat I told you before: Mrs. Lorrimer is a first-class player—she never made a slip that I noticed.

She was brilliant from start to finish. Despard’s play was uniformly good too. Rather aconventional player—that is, his bidding is strictly²⁸ conventional. He never steps outside the rules.

Won’t take a long chance. Miss Meredith—” He hesitated.

“Yes? Miss Meredith?” Poirot prompted him.

“She did make mistakes—once or twice—I remember—towards the end of the evening, but thatmay simply have been because she was tired—not being a very experienced player. Her handshook, too—”

He stopped.

“When did her hand shake?”

“When was it now? I can’t remember … I think she was just nervous. M. Poirot, you’re makingme imagine things.”

“I apologize. There is another point on which I seek your help.”

“Yes?”

Poirot said slowly:

“It is difficult. I do not, you see, wish to ask you a leading question. If I say, did you notice soand so—well, I have put the thing into your head. Your answer will not be so valuable. Let me tryto get at the matter another way. If you will be so kind, Dr. Roberts, describe to me the contents ofthe room in which you played.”

Roberts looked thoroughly astonished.

“The contents of the room?”

“If you will be so good.”

“My dear fellow, I simply don’t know where to begin.”

“Begin anywhere you choose.”

“Well, there was a good deal of furniture—”

“Non, non, non, be precise, I pray of you.”

Dr. Roberts sighed.

He began facetiously²⁹ after the manner of an auctioneer.

“One large settee upholstered in ivory brocade—one ditto in green ditto—four or five largechairs. Eight or nine Persian rugs—a set of twelve small gilt³⁰ Empire chairs. William and Marybureau. (I feel just like an auctioneer’s clerk.) Very beautiful Chinese cabinet. Grand piano. Therewas other furniture but I’m afraid I didn’t notice it. Six first-class Japanese prints. Two Chinesepictures on looking glass. Five or six very beautiful snuffboxes. Some Japanese ivory netsukefigures on a table by themselves. Some old silver—Charles I tazzas, I think. One or two pieces ofBattersea enamel—”

“Bravo, bravo!” Poirot applauded.

“A couple of old English slipware birds—and, I think, a Ralph Wood figure. Then there wassome Eastern stuff—intricate silver work. Some jewellery, I don’t know much about that. SomeChelsea birds, I remember. Oh, and some miniatures in a case—pretty good ones, I fancy. That’snot all by a long way—but it’s all I can think of for the minute.”

“It is magnificent,” said Poirot with due appreciation³¹. “You have the true observer’s eye.”

The doctor asked curiously:

“Have I included the object you had in mind?”

“That is the interesting thing about it,” said Poirot. “If you had mentioned the object I had inmind it would have been extremely surprising to me. As I thought, you could not mention it.”

“Why?”

Poirot twinkled.

“Perhaps—because it was not there to mention.”

Roberts stared.

“That seems to remind me of something.”

“It reminds you of Sherlock Holmes, does it not? The curious incident of the dog in the night.

The dog did not howl in the night. That is the curious thing! Ah, well, I am not above stealing thetricks of others.”

“Do you know, M. Poirot, I am completely at sea as to what you are driving at.”

“That is excellent, that. In confidence, that is how I get my little effects.”

Then, as Dr. Roberts still looked rather dazed, Poirot said with a smile as he rose to his feet:

“You may at least comprehend this, what you have told me is going to be very helpful to me inmy next interview.”

The doctor rose also.

“I can’t see how, but I’ll take your word for it,” he said.

They shook hands.

Poirot went down the steps of the doctor’s house, and hailed a passing taxi.

“111 Cheyne Lane, Chelsea,” he told the driver.

 

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