Cards on the Table by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

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, Monsieur 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 businesslike 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 entitled 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 glass, the fragment of burned paper, you'll turn them over to Battle 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. Good night, Mrs. Oliver. Good night, Monsieur 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. “Traveled 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 your idea of the right line to take, Monsieur 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 commited. 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 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 pronouncement. This murder required audacity and nerve - a person who was willing to take a risk.
    "Well, we have Doctor Roberts - a bluffer, an overbidder 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 overbidding 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.