‘No. Shaitana never mentioned him to me. As I say, I’d heard of him, but never met him. Miss Meredith I’ve never seen before. Mrs Lorrimer I know slightly.’
‘What do you know about her?’
Roberts shrugged his shoulders.
‘She’s a widow. Moderately well off. Intelligent, well-bred woman—first-class bridge player. That’s where I’ve met her, as a matter of fact—playing bridge.’
‘And Mr Shaitana never mentioned her, either?’
‘No.’
‘H’m—that doesn’t help us much. Now, Dr Roberts, perhaps you’ll be so kind as to tax your memory carefully and tell me how often you yourself left your seat at the bridge table, and all you can remember about the movements of the others.’
Dr Roberts took a few minutes to think.
‘It’s difficult,’ he said frankly. ‘I can remember my own movements, more or less. I got up three times—that is, on three occasions when I was dummy I left my seat and made myself useful. Once I went over and put wood on the fire. Once I brought drinks to the two ladies. Once I poured out a whisky and soda for myself.’
‘Can you remember the times?’
‘I could only say very roughly. We began to play about nine-thirty, I imagine. I should say it was about an hour later that I stoked the fire, quite a short time after that I fetched the drinks (next hand but one, I think), and perhaps half-past eleven when I got myself a whisky and soda—but those times are quite approximate. I couldn’t answer for their being correct.’
‘The table with the drinks was beyond Mr Shaitana’s chair?’
‘Yes. That’s to say, I passed quite near him three times.’
‘And each time, to the best of your belief, he was asleep?’
‘That’s what I thought the first time. The second time I didn’t even look at him. Third time I rather fancy the thought just passed through my mind: “How the beggar does sleep.” But I didn’t really look closely at him.’
‘Very good. Now, when did your fellow-players leave their seats?’
Dr Roberts frowned.
‘Difficult—very difficult. Despard went and fetched an extra ash-tray, I think. And he went for a drink. That was before me, for I remember he asked me if I’d have one, and I said I wasn’t quite ready.’
‘And the ladies?’
‘Mrs Lorrimer went over to the fire once. Poked it, I think. I rather fancy she spoke to Shaitana, but I don’t know. I was playing a rather tricky no trump at the time.’
‘And Miss Meredith?’
‘She certainly left the table once. Came round and looked at my hand—I was her partner at the time. Then she looked at the other people’s hands, and then she wandered round the room. I don’t know what she was doing exactly. I wasn’t paying attention.’
Superintendent Battle said thoughtfully:
‘As you were sitting at the bridge table, no one’s chair was directly facing the fireplace?’
‘No, sort of sideways on, and there was a big cabinet between—Chinese piece, very handsome. I can see, of course, that it would be perfectly possible to stab the old boy. After all, when you’re playing bridge, you’re playing bridge. You’re not looking round you, and noticing what is going on. The only person who’s likely to be doing that is dummy. And in this case—’
‘In this case, undoubtedly, dummy was the murderer,’ said Superintendent Battle.
‘All the same,’ said Dr Roberts, ‘it wanted nerve, you know. After all, who is to say that somebody won’t look up just at the critical moment?’
‘Yes,’ said Battle. ‘It was a big risk. The motive must have been a strong one. I wish we knew what it was,’ he added with unblushing mendacity.
‘You’ll find out, I expect,’ said Roberts. ‘You’ll go through his papers, and all that sort of thing. There will probably be a clue.’
‘We’ll hope so,’ said Superintendent Battle gloomily.
He shot a keen glance at the other.
‘I wonder if you’d oblige me, Dr Roberts, by giving me a personal opinion—as man to man.’
‘Certainly.’
‘Which do you fancy yourself of the three?’
Dr Roberts shrugged his shoulders.
‘That’s easy. Off-hand, I’d say Despard. The man’s got plenty of nerve; he’s used to a dangerous life where you’ve got to act quickly. He wouldn’t mind taking a risk. It doesn’t seem to me likely the women are in on this. Take a bit of strength, I should imagine.’
‘Not so much as you might think. Take a look at this.’
Rather like a conjurer, Battle suddenly produced a long thin instrument of gleaming metal with a small round jewelled head.
Dr Roberts leaned forward, took it, and examined it with rich professional appreciation. He tried the point and whistled.
‘What a tool! What a tool! Absolutely made for murder, this little boy. Go in like butter—absolutely like butter. Brought it with him, I suppose.’
‘No. It was Mr Shaitana’s. It lay on the table near the door with a good many other knick-knacks.’
‘So the murderer helped himself. A bit of luck finding a tool like that.’
‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it,’ said Battle slowly.
‘Well, of course, it wasn’t luck for Shaitana, poor fellow.’
‘I didn’t mean that, Dr Roberts. I meant that there was another angle of looking at the business. It occurs to me that it was noticing this weapon that put the idea of murder into our criminal’s mind.’
‘You mean it was a sudden inspiration—that the murder wasn’t premeditated? He conceived the idea after he got here? Er—anything to suggest that idea to you?’
He glanced at him searchingly.
‘It’s just an idea,’ said Superintendent Battle stolidly.
‘Well, it might be so, of course,’ said Dr Roberts slowly.
Superintendent Battle cleared his throat.
