A girl's different.
She's got her life in front of her."
"And Major Despard?" asked Anne.
"Pah!" said Mrs. Oliver. "He's a man!
I never worry about men.
Men can look after themselves.
Do it remarkably well if you ask me.
Besides Major Despard enjoys a dangerous life. He's getting his fun at home instead of on the Irrawaddy - or do I mean the Limpopo?
You know what I mean - that yellow African river that men like so much.
No, I'm not worrying my head about either of those two."
"It's very kind of you," said Anne slowly.
"It was a beastly thing to happen," said Rhoda. "It's broken Anne up, Mrs. Oliver.
She's awfully sensitive.
And I think you're quite right.
It would be ever so much better to do something than just to sit here thinking about it all."
"Of course it would," said Mrs. Oliver. "To tell you the truth a real murder has never come my way before.
And to continue telling the truth I don't believe real murder is very much in my line.
I'm so used to loading the dice - if you understand what I mean.
But I wasn't going to be out of it and let those three men have all the fun to themselves.
I've always said that if a woman were the head of Scotland Yard -"
"Yes?" said Rhoda, leaning forward with parted lips. "If you were head of Scotland Yard what would you do?"
"I should arrest Doctor Roberts straight away -"
"Yes?"
"However, I'm not the head of Scotland Yard" said Mrs. Oliver, retreating from dangerous ground. "I'm a private individual -"
"Oh, you're not that," said Rhoda, confusedly complimentary.
"Here we are," continued Mrs. Oliver, "three private individuals - all women.
Let us see what we can do by putting our heads together."
Anne Meredith nodded thoughtfully. Then she said,
"Why do you think Doctor Roberts did it?"
"He's that sort of man," replied Mrs. Oliver promptly.
"Don't you think, though -" Anne hesitated. "Wouldn't a doctor - I mean, something like poison would be so much easier for him."
"Not at all.
Poison - drugs - of any kind would point straight to a doctor.
Look how they are always leaving cases of dangerous drugs in cars all over London and getting them stolen.
No, just because he was a doctor he'd take special care not to use anything of a medical kind."
"I see," said Anne doubtfully. Then she said, "But why do you think he wanted to kill Mr. Shaitana?
Have you any idea?"
"Idea?
I've got any amount of ideas.
In fact that's just the difficulty.
It always is my difficulty.
I can never think of even one plot at a time.
I always think of at least five, and then it's agony to decide among them.
I can think of six beautiful reasons for the murder.
The trouble is I've no earthly means of knowing which is right.
To begin with perhaps Shaitana was a moneylender.
He had a very oily look.
Roberts was in his clutches and killed him because he couldn't get the money to repay the loan.
Or perhaps Shaitana ruined his daughter or his sister.
Or possibly Roberts is a bigamist and Shaitana knew it.