Cards on the Table

by Agatha Christie

  Her pale face looked unusually resolute.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “It’s extraordinarily kind of you, Mrs. Oliver, to have taken all this trouble. But I’d really rather not do anything at all. I mean—it was all so horrible. I just want to forget about it.”

  “My dear child, the question is, will you be allowed to forget about it?”

  “Oh, I quite understand that the police won’t let it drop. They’ll probably come here and ask me a lot more questions. I’m prepared for that. But privately, I mean, I don’t want to think about it—or be reminded of it in any way. I daresay I’m a coward, but that’s how I feel about it.”

  “Oh, Anne!” cried Rhoda Dawes.

  “I can understand your feeling, but I’m not at all sure that you’re wise,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Left to themselves, the police will probably never find out the truth.”

  Anne Meredith shrugged her shoulders.

  “Does that really matter?”

  “Matter?” cried Rhoda. “Of course it matters. It does matter, doesn’t it, Mrs. Oliver?”

  “I should certainly say so,” said Mrs. Oliver dryly.

  “I don’t agree,” said Anne obstinately. “Nobody who knows me would ever think I’d done it. I don’t see any reason for interfering. It’s the business of the police to get at the truth.”

  “Oh, Anne, you are spiritless,” said Rhoda.

  “That’s how I feel, anyway,” said Anne. She held out her hand. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Oliver. It’s very good of you to have bothered.”

  “Of course, if you feel that way, there’s nothing more to be said,” said Mrs. Oliver cheerfully. “I, at any rate, shall not let the grass grow under my feet. Good-bye, my dear. Look me up in London if you change your mind.”

  She climbed into the car, started it, and drove off, waving a cheerful hand at the two girls.

  Rhoda suddenly made a dash after the car and leapt on the running board.

  “What you said—about looking you up in London,” she said breathlessly. “Did you only mean Anne, or did you mean me, too?”

  Mrs. Oliver applied the brake.

  “I meant both of you, of course.”

  “Oh, thank you. Don’t stop. I—perhaps I might come one day. There’s something—No, don’t stop. I can jump off.”

  She did so and, waving a hand, ran back to the gate, where Anne was standing.

  “What on earth—?” began Anne.

  “Isn’t she a duck?” asked Rhoda enthusiastically. “I do like her. She had on odd stockings, did you notice? I’m sure she’s frightfully clever. She must be—to write all those books. What fun if she found out the truth when the police and everyone were baffled.”

  “Why did she come here?” asked Anne.

  Rhoda’s eyes opened wide.

  “Darling—she told you—”

  Anne made an impatient gesture.

  “We must go in. I forgot. I’ve left him all alone.”

  “Major Despard? Anne, he’s frightfully good-looking, isn’t he?”

  “I suppose he is.”

  They walked up the path together.

  Major Despard was standing by the mantelpiece, teacup in hand.

  He cut short Anne’s apologies for leaving him.

  “Miss Meredith, I want to explain why I’ve butted in like this.”

  “Oh—but—”

  “I said that I happened to be passing—that wasn’t strictly true. I came here on purpose.”

  “How did you know my address?” asked Anne slowly.

  “I got it from Superintendent Battle.”

  He saw her shrink slightly at the name.

  He went on quickly:

  “Battle’s on his way here now. I happened to see him at Paddington. I got my car out and came down here. I knew I could beat the train easily.”

  “But why?”

  Despard hesitated just a minute.

  “I may have been presumptuous—but I had the impression that you were, perhaps, what is called ‘alone in the world.’”

  “She’s got me,” said Rhoda.

  Despard shot a quick glance at her, rather liking the gallant boyish figure that leant against the mantelpiece and was following his words so intensely. They were an attractive pair, these two.

  “I’m sure she couldn’t have a more devoted friend than you, Miss Dawes,” he said courteously; “but it occurred to me that, in the peculiar circumstances, the advice of someone with a good dash of world wisdom might not be amiss. Frankly, the situation is this: Miss Meredith is under suspicion of having committed murder. The same thing applies to me and to the two other people who were in the room last night. Such a situation is not agreeable—and it has its own peculiar difficulties and dangers which someone as young and inexperienced as you are, Miss Meredith, might not recognize. In my opinion, you ought to put yourself in the hands of a thoroughly good solicitor. Perhaps you have already done so?”

  Anne Meredith shook her head.

  “I never thought of it.”

  “Exactly as I suspected. Have you got a good man—a London man, for choice?”

  Again Anne shook her head.

  “I’ve hardly ever needed a solicitor.”

  “There’s Mr. Bury,” said Rhoda. “But he’s about a hundred-and-two, and quite gaga.”

  “If you’ll allow me to advise you, Miss Meredith, I recommend your going to Mr. Myherne, my own solicitor. Jacobs, Peel & Jacobs is the actual name of the firm. They’re first-class people, and they know all the ropes.”

  Anne had got paler. She sat down.

  “Is it really necessary?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I should say emphatically so. There are all sorts of legal pitfalls.”

  “Are these people very—expensive?”

  “That doesn’t matter a bit,” said Rhoda. “That will be quite all right, Major Despard. I think everything you say is quite true. Anne ought to be protected.”

  “Their charges will, I think, be quite reasonable,” said Despard. He added seriously: “I really do think it’s a wise course, Miss Meredith.”

  “Very well,” said Anne slowly. “I’ll do it if you think so.”

  “Good.”

  Rhoda said warmly:

  “I think it’s awfully nice of you, Major Despard. Really frightfully nice.”

  Anne said, “Thank you.”

  She hesitated, and then said:

  “Did you say Superintendent Battle was coming here?”

  “Yes. You mustn’t be alarmed by that. It’s inevitable.”

  “Oh, I know. As a matter of fact, I’ve been expecting him.”

  Rhoda said impulsively:

  “Poor darling—it’s nearly killing her, this business. It’s such a shame—so frightfully unfair.”

  Despard said:

  “I agree—it’s a pretty beastly business—dragging a young girl into an affair of this kind. If anyone wanted to stick a knife into Shaitana, they ought to have chosen some other place or time.”

  Rhoda asked squarely:

  “Who do you think did it? Dr. Roberts or that Mrs. Lorrimer?”

  A very faint smile stirred Despard’s moustache.

  “May have done it myself, for all you know.”

  “Oh, no,” cried Rhoda. “Anne and I know you didn’t do it.”

  He looked at them both with kindly eyes.

  A nice pair of kids. Touchingly full of faith and trust. A timid little creature, the Meredith girl. Never mind, Myherne would see her through. The other was a fighter. He doubted if she would have crumpled up in the same way if she’d been in her friend’s place. Nice girls. He’d like to know more about them.

  These thoughts passed through his mind. Aloud he said: “Never take anything for granted, Miss Dawes. I don’t set as much value on human life as most people do. All this hysterical fuss about road deaths, for instance. Man is always in danger—from traffic, from germs, from a hundred-and-one things. As well be killed one way as anoth
er. The moment you begin being careful of yourself—adopting as your motto ‘Safety First’—you might as well be dead, in my opinion.”

  “Oh, I do agree with you,” cried Rhoda. “I think one ought to live frightfully dangerously—if one gets the chance that is. But life, on the whole, is terribly tame.”

  “It has its moments.”

  “Yes, for you. You go to out-of-the-way places and get mauled by tigers and shoot things and jiggers bury themselves in your toes and insects sting you, and everything’s terribly uncomfortable but frightfully thrilling.”

  “Well, Miss Meredith has had her thrill, too. I don’t suppose it often happens that you’ve actually been in the room while a murder was committed—”

  “Oh, don’t!” cried Anne.

  He said quickly:

  “I’m sorry.”

  But Rhoda said with a sigh:

  “Of course it was awful—but it was exciting, too! I don’t think Anne appreciates that side of it. You know, I think that Mrs. Oliver is thrilled to the core to have been there that night.”

  “Mrs.—? Oh, your fat friend who writes the books about the unpronounceable Finn. Is she trying her hand at detection in real life?”

  “She wants to.”

  “Well, let’s wish her luck. It would be amusing if she put one over on Battle and Co.”

  “What is Superintendent Battle like?” asked Rhoda curiously.

  Major Despard said gravely:

  “He’s an extraordinarily astute man. A man of remarkable ability.”

  “Oh!” said Rhoda. “Anne said he looked rather stupid.”

  “That, I should imagine, is part of Battle’s stock-in-trade. But we mustn’t make any mistakes. Battle’s no fool.”

  He rose.

  “Well, I must be off. There’s just one other thing I’d like to say.”

  Anne had risen also.

  “Yes?” she said, as she held out her hand.

  Despard paused a minute, picking his words carefully. He took her hand and retained it in his. He looked straight into the wide, beautiful grey eyes.

  “Don’t be offended with me,” he said. “I just want to say this: It’s humanly possible that there may be some feature of your acquaintanceship with Shaitana that you don’t want to come out. If so—don’t be angry, please” (he felt the instinctive pull of her hand)—“you are perfectly within your rights in refusing to answer any questions Battle may ask unless your solicitor is present.”

  Anne tore her hand away. Her eyes opened, their grey darkening with anger.

  “There’s nothing—nothing … I hardly knew the beastly man.”

  “Sorry,” said Major Despard. “Thought I ought to mention it.”

  “It’s quite true,” said Rhoda. “Anne barely knew him. She didn’t like him much, but he gave frightfully good parties.”

  “That,” said Major Despard grimly, “seems to have been the only justification for the late Mr. Shaitana’s existence.”

  Anne said in a cold voice:

  “Superintendent Battle can ask me anything he likes. I’ve nothing to hide—nothing.”

  Despard said very gently, “Please forgive me.”

  She looked at him. Her anger dwindled. She smiled—it was a very sweet smile.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You meant it kindly, I know.”

  She held out her hand again. He took it and said:

  “We’re in the same boat, you know. We ought to be pals….”

  It was Anne who went with him to the gate. When she came back Rhoda was staring out of the window and whistling. She turned as her friend entered the room.

  “He’s frightfully attractive, Anne.”

  “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

  “A great deal more than nice … I’ve got an absolute passion for him. Why wasn’t I at that damned dinner instead of you? I’d have enjoyed the excitement—the net closing round me—the shadow of the scaffold—”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’re talking nonsense, Rhoda.”

  Anne’s voice was sharp. Then it softened as she said:

  “It was nice of him to come all this way—for a stranger—a girl he’s only met once.”

  “Oh, he fell for you. Obviously. Men don’t do purely disinterested kindnesses. He wouldn’t have come toddling down if you’d been cross-eyed and covered with pimples.”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “I do not, my good idiot. Mrs. Oliver’s a much more disinterested party.”

  “I don’t like her,” said Anne abruptly. “I had a sort of feeling about her … I wonder what she really came for?”

  “The usual suspicions of your own sex. I daresay Major Despard had an axe to grind if it comes to that.”

  “I’m sure he hadn’t,” cried Anne hotly.

  Then she blushed as Rhoda Dawes laughed.

  Fourteen

  THIRD VISITOR

  Superintendent Battle arrived at Wallingford about six o’clock. It was his intention to learn as much as he could from innocent local gossip before interviewing Miss Anne Meredith.

  It was not difficult to glean such information as there was. Without committing himself definitely to any statement, the superintendent nevertheless gave several different impressions of his rank and calling in life.

  At least two people would have said confidently that he was a London builder come down to see about a new wing to be added to the cottage, from another you would have learned that he was “one of these weekenders wanting to take a furnished cottage,” and two more would have said they knew positively, and for a fact, that he was a representative of a hardcourt tennis firm.

  The information that the superintendent gathered was entirely favourable.

  “Wendon Cottage—Yes, that’s right—on the Marlbury Road. You can’t miss it. Yes, two young ladies. Miss Dawes and Miss Meredith. Very nice young ladies, too. The quiet kind.

  “Here for years? Oh, no, not that long. Just over two years. September quarter they come in. Mr. Pickersgill they bought it from. Never used it much, he didn’t, after his wife died.”

  Superintendent Battle’s informant had never heard they came from Northumberland. London, he thought they came from. Popular in the neighbourhood, though some people were old-fashioned and didn’t think two young ladies ought to be living alone. But very quiet, they were. None of this cocktail-drinking weekend lot. Miss Rhoda, she was the dashing one. Miss Meredith was the quiet one. Yes, it was Miss Dawes what paid the bills. She was the one had got the money.

  The superintendent’s researches at last led him inevitably to Mrs. Astwell—who “did” for the ladies at Wendon Cottage.

  Mrs. Astwell was a locquacious lady.

  “Well, no, sir. I hardly think they’d want to sell. Not so soon. They only got in two years ago. I’ve done for them from the beginning, yes, sir. Eight o’clock till twelve—those are my hours. Very nice, lively young ladies, always ready for a joke or a bit of fun. Not stuck up at all.

  “Well, of course, I couldn’t say if it’s the same Miss Dawes you knew, sir—the same family, I mean. It’s my fancy her home’s in Devonshire. She gets the cream sent her now and again, and says it reminds her of home; so I think it must be.

  “As you say, sir, it’s sad for so many young ladies having to earn their living nowadays. These young ladies aren’t what you’d call rich, but they have a very pleasant life. It’s Miss Dawes has got the money, of course. Miss Anne’s her companion, in a manner of speaking, I suppose you might say. The cottage belongs to Miss Dawes.

  “I couldn’t really say what part Miss Anne comes from. I’ve heard her mention the Isle of Wight, and I know she doesn’t like the North of England; and she and Miss Rhoda were together in Devonshire, because I’ve heard them joke about the hills and talk about the pretty coves and beaches.”

  The flow went on. Every now and then Superintendent Battle made a mental note. Later, a cryptic word or two was jotted down in his little book.

  At half past
eight that evening he walked up the path to the door of Wendon Cottage.

  It was opened to him by a tall, dark girl wearing a frock of orange cretonne.

  “Miss Meredith live here?” inquired Superintendent Battle.

  He looked very wooden and soldierly.

  “Yes, she does.”

  “I’d like to speak to her, please. Superintendent Battle.”

  He was immediately favoured with a piercing stare.

  “Come in,” said Rhoda Dawes, drawing back from the doorway.

  Anne Meredith was sitting in a cosy chair by the fire, sipping coffee. She was wearing embroidered crêpe de chine pyjamas.

  “It’s Superintendent Battle,” said Rhoda, ushering in the guest.

  Anne rose and came forward with outstretched hand.

  “A bit late for a call,” said Battle. “But I wanted to find you in, and it’s been a fine day.”

  Anne smiled.

  “Will you have some coffee, Superintendent? Rhoda, fetch another cup.”

  “Well, it’s very kind of you, Miss Meredith.”

  “We think we make rather good coffee,” said Anne.

  She indicated a chair, and Superintendent Battle sat down. Rhoda brought a cup, and Anne poured out his coffee. The fire crackled and the flowers in the vases made an agreeable impression upon the superintendent.

  It was a pleasant homey atmosphere. Anne seemed self-possessed and at her ease, and the other girl continued to stare at him with devouring interest.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” said Anne.

  Her tone was almost reproachful. “Why have you neglected me?” it seemed to say.

  “Sorry, Miss Meredith. I’ve had a lot of routine work to do.”

  “Satisfactory?”

  “Not particularly. But it all has to be done. I’ve turned Dr. Roberts inside out, so to speak. And the same for Mrs. Lorrimer. And now I’ve come to do the same for you, Miss Meredith.”

  Anne smiled.

  “I’m ready.”

  “What about Major Despard?” asked Rhoda.

  “Oh, he won’t be overlooked. I can promise you that,” said Battle.

  He set down his coffee cup and looked towards Anne. She sat up a little straighter in her chair.

  “I’m quite ready, superintendent. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, roughly, all about yourself, Miss Meredith.”