"It's all very vague," he grumbled.
"I am sorry."
Once again Battle did his conjuring trick and produced the long, delicate stiletto.
"Will you look at this, Mrs. Lorrimer?"
Mrs. Lorrimer took it without emotion.
"Have you ever seen that before?"
"Never."
"Yet it was lying on a table in the drawing-room."
"I didn't notice it."
"You realize, perhaps, Mrs. Lorrimer, that with a weapon like that a woman could do the trick just as easily as a man."
"I suppose she could," said Mrs. Lorrimer quietly.
She leaned forward and handed the dainty little thing back to him.
"But all the same," said Superintendent Battle, "the woman would have to be pretty desperate. It was a long chance to take."
He waited a minute but Mrs. Lorrimer did not speak.
"Do you know anything of the relations between the other three and Mr. Shaitana?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing at all."
"Would you care to give me an opinion as to which of them you consider the most likely person?"
Mrs. Lorrimer drew herself up stiffly.
"I should not care to do anything of the kind.
I consider that a most improper question."
The superintendent looked like an abashed little boy who has been reprimanded by his grandmother.
"Address, please," he mumbled, drawing his notebook toward him.
"One eleven Cheyne Lane, Chelsea."
"Telephone number?"
"Chelsea four-five-six-three-two."
Mrs. Lorrimer rose.
"Anything you want to ask, Monsieur Poirot?" said Battle hurriedly.
Mrs. Lorrimer paused, her head slightly inclined.
"Would it be a proper question, madame, to ask you your opinion of your companions not as potential murderers but as bridge players?"
Mrs. Lorrimer answered coldly, "I have no objection to answering that - if it bears upon the matter at issue in any way, though I fail to see how it can."
"I will be the judge of that.
Your answer, if you please, madame."
In the tone of an impatient adult humoring an idiot child Mrs. Lorrimer replied,
"Major Despard is a good sound player.
Doctor Roberts overbids but plays his hand brilliantly.
Miss Meredith is quite a nice little player but a bit too cautious.
Anything more?"
In his turn doing a conjuring trick, Poirot produced four crumpled bridge scores.
"These scores, madame, is one of these yours?"
She examined them.
"This is my writing.
It is the score of the third rubber."
"And this score?"
"That must be Major Despard's.
He cancels as he goes."
"And this one?"
"Miss Meredith's.
The first rubber."
"So this unfinished one is Doctor Roberts's?"