"We started to play bridge," continued Mrs. Lorrimer. Her voice was cool and unemotional. "At last an opportunity arose.
I was dummy.
I strolled across the room to the fireplace.
Shaitana had dozed off to sleep.
I looked over at the others.
They were all intent on the game.
I leaned over and - and did it -" Her voice shook just a little, but instantly it regained its cool aloofness. "I spoke to him.
It came into my head that that would make a kind of alibi for me, I made some remark about the fire and then pretended he had answered me and went on again, saying something like
'I agree with you.
I do not like radiators either.'"
"He did not cry out at all?"
"No.
I think he made a little grunt - that was all.
It might have been taken for words from a distance."
"And then?"
"And then I went back to the bridge table.
The last trick was just being played."
"And you sat down and resumed play?"
"Yes."
"With sufficient interest in the game to be able to tell me nearly all the calling and the hands two days later."
"Yes," said Mrs. Lorrimer simply.
"Epatant!" said Hercule Poirot.
He leaned back in his chair.
He nodded his head several times.
Then, by way of a change, he shook it.
"But there is still something, madame, that I do not understand?"
"Yes?"
"It seems to me that there is some factor I have missed.
You are a woman who considers and weighs everything carefully.
You decide that, for a certain reason, you will run an enormous risk.
You do run it - successfully.
And then, not two weeks later, you change your mind.
Frankly, madame, that does not seem to me to ring true."
A queer little smile twisted her lips.
"You are quite right, Monsieur Poirot, there is one factor that you do not know.
Did Miss Meredith tell you where she met me the other day?"
"It was, I think she said, near Mrs. Oliver's flat."
"I believe that is so. But I meant the actual name of the street.
Anne Meredith met me in Harley Street,"
"Ah!" He looked at her attentively. "I begin to see." "Yes, I thought you would. I had been to see a specialist there. He told me what I already half suspected."
Her smile widened. It was no longer twisted and bitter.
It was suddenly sweet.
"I shall not play very much more bridge, Monsieur Poirot.
Oh! he didn't say so in so many words.
He wrapped up the truth a little.
With great care, et cetera, I might live several years.
But I shall not take any great care. I am not that kind of a woman."
"Yes, yes, I begin to understand," said Poirot.
"It made a difference, you see.
A month - two months perhaps - not more.