"What do you mean?"
"The late Mr. Shaitana was a bit of a Nosy Parker," said Battle.
The other leaned forward.
"You mean that he meddled with other people's lives - that he discovered - what?"
"I really meant that perhaps he was the sort of man who meddled - er - well, with women."
Major Despard leaned back, in his chair. He laughed, an amused but indifferent laugh.
"I don't think women would take a mountebank like that seriously."
"What's your theory of who killed him, Major Despard?"
"Well I know I didn't.
Little Miss Meredith didn't.
I can't imagine Mrs. Lorrimer doing so - she reminds me of one of my more God-fearing aunts.
That leaves the medical gentleman."
"Can you describe your own and other people's movements this evening?"
"I got up twice - once for an ash tray and I also poked the fire - and once for a drink."
"At what times?"
"I couldn't say.
First time might have been about half-past ten, the second time eleven, but that's pure guesswork, Mrs. Lorrimer went over to the fire once and said something to Shaitana.
I didn't actually hear him answer, but then I wasn't paying attention.
I couldn't swear he didn't.
Miss Meredith wandered about the room a bit, but I don't think she went over near the fireplace.
Roberts was always jumping up and down - three or four times at least."
"I'll ask you Monsieur Poirot's question," said Battle with a smile. "What did you think of them as bridge players?"
"Miss Meredith's quite a good player.
Roberts overbids his hand disgracefully.
He deserves to go down more than he does.
Mrs. Lorrimer's damned good."
Battle turned to Poirot.
"Anything else, Monsieur Poirot?"
Poirot shook his head.
Despard gave his address as the Albany, wished them good night, and left the room.
As he closed the door behind him, Poirot made a slight movement.
"What is it?" demanded Battle.
"Nothing," said Poirot. "It just occurred to me that he walks like a tiger - yes, just so, lithe, easy, does the tiger move along." "H'm!" said Battle. "Now then," his eye glanced round at his three companions, "which of 'em did it?"
Chapter 8 WHICH OF THEM?
Battle looked from one face to another. Only one person answered his question.
Mrs. Oliver, never averse to giving her views, rushed into speech.
"The girl or the doctor," she said.
Battle looked questioningly at the other two.
But both the men were unwilling to make a pronouncement.
Race shook his head.
Poirot carefully smoothed his crumpled bridge scores.
"One of 'em did it," said Battle. "One of 'em's lying like hell.
But which?
It's not easy - no, it's not easy."
He was silent for a minute or two, then he said,
"If we're to go by what they say, the medico thinks Despard did it, Despard thinks the medico did it, the girl thinks Mrs. Lorrimer did it - and Mrs. Lorrimer won't say!
Nothing very illuminating there."
"Perhaps not," said Poirot.
Battle shot him a quick glance.
"You think there is?"