"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 the tricks of others."
"Do you know, Monsieur 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 Doctor 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 in my 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.
"One eleven Cheyne Lane, Chelsea," he told the driver.
Chapter 11 MRS. LORRIMER
111 Cheyne Lane was a small house of very neat and trim appearance standing in a quiet street.
The door was painted black and the steps were particularly well whitened, the brass of the knocker and handle gleamed in the afternoon sun.
The door was, opened by an elderly parlormaid with an immaculate white cap and apron.
In answer to Poirot's inquiry she said that her mistress was at home. She preceded him up the narrow staircase.
"What name, sir?"
"Monsieur Hercule Poirot."
He was, ushered into a drawing-room of the usual L shape.
Poirot looked about him, noting details.
Good furniture, well polished, of the old family type.
Shiny chintz on the chairs and settees.
A few silver photograph frames about in the old-fashioned manner.
Otherwise an agreeable amount of space and light and some really beautiful chrysanthemums arranged in a tall jar.
Mrs. Lorrimer came forward to meet him.
She shook hands without showing any particular surprise at seeing him, indicated a chair, took one herself, and remarked favorably on the weather.
There was a pause.
"I hope, madame," said Hercule Poirot, "that you will forgive this visit."
Looking directly at him, Mrs. Lorrimer asked,
"Is this a professional visit?"
"I confess it."
"You realize, I suppose, Monsieur Poirot, that, though I shall naturally give Superintendent Battle and the official police any information and help they may require, I am by no means bound to do the same for any unofficial investigator?"
"I am quite aware of that fact, madame.
If you show me the door, me, I march to that door with complete submission."
Mrs. Lorrimer smiled very slightly.
"I am, not yet prepared to go to those extremes, Monsieur Poirot.
I can give you ten minutes.
At the end of that time I have to go out to a bridge party."
"Ten minutes will be ample for my purpose, I want you to describe to me, madame, the room in which you played bridge the other evening - the room in which Mr. Shaitana was killed."
Mrs. Lorrimer's eyebrows rose.
"What an extraordinary question!
I do not see the point of it."
"Madame, if, when you were playing bridge, someone were to say to you, Why do you play that ace or why do you put on the knave that is taken by the queen and not the king which would take the trick?
If people were to ask you such questions the answers would be rather long and tedious, would they not?" Mrs. Lorrimer smiled slightly. "Meaning that in this game you're the expert and I am the novice.