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By Root 451 0

to it. Then take Despard. There’s a man with any amount of nerve. A man accustomed to quick decisions and a man who’s quite at home doing dangerous things. Mrs Lorrmier? She’s got any amount of nerve, too, and she’s the sort of woman who might have a secret in her life. She looks as though she’s known trouble. On the other hand, I’d say she’s what I call a high-principled woman—sort of woman who might be headmistress of a girls’ school. It isn’t easy to think of her sticking a knife into anyone. In fact, I don’t think she did. And lastly, there’s little Miss Meredith. We don’t know anything about her. She seems an ordinary good-looking, rather shy girl. But one doesn’t know, as I say, anything about her.’

‘We know that Shaitana believed she had committed murder,’ said Poirot.

‘The angelic face masking the demon,’ mused Mrs Oliver.

‘This getting us anywhere, Battle?’ asked Colonel Race.

‘Unprofitable speculation, you think, sir? Well, there’s bound to be speculation in a case like this.’

‘Isn’t it better to find out something about these people?’

Battle smiled.

‘Oh, we shall be hard at work on that. I think you could help us there.’

‘Certainly. How?’

‘As regards Major Despard. He’s been abroad a lot—in South America, in East Africa, in South Africa—you’ve means of knowing those parts. You could get information about him.’

Race nodded.

‘It shall be done. I’ll get all available data.’

‘Oh,’ cried Mrs Oliver. ‘I’ve got a plan. There are four of us—four sleuths, as you might say—and four of them! How would it be if we each took one. Backed our fancy! Colonel Race takes Major Despard, Superintendent Battle takes Dr Roberts, I’ll take Anne Meredith, and M. Poirot takes Mrs Lorrimer. Each of us to follow our own line!’

Superintendent Battle shook his head decisively.

‘Couldn’t quite do that, Mrs Oliver. That is official, you see. I’m in charge. I’ve got to investigate all lines. Besides, it’s all very well to say back your fancy. Two of us might want to back the same horse! Colonel Race hasn’t said he suspects Major Despard. And M. Poirot mayn’t be putting his money on Mrs Lorrimer.’

Mrs Oliver sighed.

‘It was such a good plan,’ she sighed regretfully. ‘So neat.’ Then she cheered up a little. ‘But you don’t mind me doing a little investigating on my own, do you?’

‘No,’ said Superintendent Battle slowly. ‘I can’t say I object to that. In fact, it’s out of my power to object. Having been at this party tonight, you’re naturally free to do anything your own curiosity or interest suggests. But I’d like to point out to you, Mrs Oliver, that you’d better be a little careful.’

‘Discretion itself,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘I shan’t breathe a word of—of anything—’ she ended a little lamely.

‘I do not think that was quite Superintendent Battle’s meaning,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘He meant that you will be dealing with a person who has already, to the best of our belief, killed twice. A person, therefore, who will not hesitate to kill a third time—if he considers it necessary.’

Mrs Oliver looked at him thoughtfully. Then she smiled—an agreeable engaging smile, rather like that of an impudent small child.

‘YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED,’ she quoted. ‘Thank you, M. Poirot. I’ll watch my step. But I’m not going to be out of this.’

Poirot bowed gracefully.

‘Permit me to say—you are the sport, madame.’

‘I presume,’ said Mrs Oliver, sitting up very straight and speaking in a business-like committee-meeting manner, ‘that all information we receive will be pooled—that is that we will not keep any knowledge to ourselves. Our own deductions and impressions, of course, we are entitled to keep up our sleeves.’

Superintendent Battle sighed.

‘This isn’t a detective story, Mrs Oliver,’ he said.

Race said:

‘Naturally, all information must be handed over to the police.’

Having said this in his most ‘Orderly Room’ voice, he added with a slight twinkle in his eye: ‘I’m sure you’ll play fair, Mrs Oliver—the stained glove, the fingerprint on the tooth-glass, the fragment of burnt paper—you’ll turn