He looked up and smiled, a slow smile that creased his wooden face from side to side.
"This is all very irregular, Mrs. Oliver.
I hope you realize that."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Oliver. "I don't suppose for a moment you'll tell us anything you don't want to."
Battle shook his head.
"No," he said decidedly. "Cards on the table. That's the motto for this business.
I mean to play fair."
Mrs. Oliver hitched her chair nearer.
"Tell us," she begged.
Superintendent Battle said slowly, "First of all, I'll say this. As far as the actual murder of Mr. Shaitana goes, I'm not a penny the wiser.
There's no hint nor clue of any kind to be found in his papers.
As for the four others, I've had them shadowed, naturally, but without any tangible result.
That was only to be expected.
No, as Monsieur Poirot said, there's only one hope - the past.
Find out what crime exactly, if any, these people have committed - and it may tell you who committed this crime."
"Well, have you found out anything?"
"I've got a line on one of them,"
"Which?"
"Doctor Roberts."
Mrs. Oliver looked at him with thrilled expectations.
"As Monsieur Poirot here knows, I tried out all kinds of theories.
I established the fact pretty clearly that none of his immediate family had met with a sudden death.
I've explored every alley as well as I could, and the whole thing boils down to one possibility - and rather an outside possibility at that.
A few years ago Roberts must have been guilty of indiscretion, at least, with one of his lady patients.
There may have been nothing in it - probably wasn't, but the woman was the hysterical emotional kind who likes to make a scene, and either the husband got wind of what was going on or his wife confessed.
Anyway, the fat was in the fire as far as the doctor was concerned.
Enraged husband threatening to report him to the General Medical Council - which would probably have meant the ruin of his professional career."
"What happened?" demanded Mrs. Oliver breathlessly.
"Apparently Roberts managed to calm down the irate gentleman temporarily - and he died of anthrax almost immediately afterward."
"Anthrax?
But that's a cattle disease?"
The superintendent grinned.
"Quite right, Mrs. Oliver.
It isn't the untraceable arrow poison of the South American Indians!
You may remember that there was rather a scare about infected shaving brushes of cheap make about that time.
Craddock's shaving brush was proved to have been the cause of infection."
"Did Doctor Roberts attend him?"
"Oh, no.
Too canny for that.
Daresay Craddock wouldn't have wanted him in any case.
The only evidence I've got - and that's precious little - is that among the doctor's patients there was a case of anthrax at the time."
"You mean the doctor infected the shaving brush?"
"That's the big idea.
And mind you, it's only an idea.
Nothing whatever to go on.
Pure conjecture.
But it could be."
"He didn't marry Mrs. Craddock afterward?"
"Oh, dear me, no, I imagine the affection was always on the lady's side.
She tended to cut up rough, I hear, but suddenly went off to Egypt quite happily for the winter.