Cards on the Table - Agatha Christie [25]
Chapter 10
Dr Roberts (continued)
Superintendent Battle was lunching with M. Hercule Poirot.
The former looked downcast, the latter sympathetic.
‘Your morning, then, has not been entirely successful,’ said Poirot thoughtfully.
Battle shook his head.
‘It’s going to be uphill work, M. Poirot.’
‘What do you think of him?’
‘Of the doctor? Well, frankly, I think Shaitana was right. He’s a killer. Reminds me of Westaway. And of that lawyer chap in Norfolk. Same hearty, self-confident manner. Same popularity. Both of them were clever devils—so’s Roberts. All the same, it doesn’t follow that Roberts killed Shaitana—and as a matter of fact I don’t think he did. He’d know the risk too well—better than a layman would—that Shaitana might wake and cry out. No, I don’t think Roberts murdered him.’
‘But you think he has murdered someone?’
‘Possibly quite a lot of people. Westaway had. But it’s going to be hard to get at. I’ve looked over his bank account—nothing suspicious there—no large sums suddenly paid in. At any rate, in the last seven years he’s not had any legacy from a patient. That wipes out murder for direct gain. He’s never married—that’s a pity—so ideally simple for a doctor to kill his own wife. He’s well-to-do, but then he’s got a thriving practice among well-to-do people.’
‘In fact he appears to lead a thoroughly blameless life—and perhaps does do so.’
‘Maybe. But I prefer to believe the worst.’
He went on:
‘There’s the hint of a scandal over a woman—one of his patients—name of Craddock. That’s worth looking up, I think. I’ll get someone on to that straightaway. Woman actually died out in Egypt of some local disease so I don’t think there’s anything in that—but it might throw a light on his general character and morals.’
‘Was there a husband?’
‘Yes. Husband died of anthrax.’
‘Anthrax?’
‘Yes, there were a lot of cheap shaving brushes on the market just then—some of them infected. There was a regular scandal about it.’
‘Convenient,’ suggested Poirot.
‘That’s what I thought. If her husband were threatening to kick up a row—But there, it’s all conjecture. We haven’t a leg to stand upon.’
‘Courage, my friend. I know your patience. In the end, you will have perhaps as many legs as a centipede.’
‘And fall into the ditch as a result of thinking about them,’ grinned Battle.
Then he asked curiously:
‘What about you, M. Poirot? Going to take a hand?’
‘I, too, might call on Dr Roberts.’
‘Two of us in one day. That ought to put the wind up him.’
‘Oh, I shall be very discreet. I shall not inquire into his past life.’
‘I’d like to know just exactly what line you’ll take,’ said Battle curiously, ‘but don’t tell me unless you want to.’
‘Du tout—du tout. I am most willing. I shall talk a little of bridge, that is all.’
‘Bridge again. You harp on that, don’t you, M. Poirot?’
‘I find the subject very useful.’
‘Well, every man to his taste. I don’t deal much in the fancy approaches. They don’t suit my style.’
‘What is your style, superintendent?’
The superintendent met the twinkle in Poirot’s eyes with an answering twinkle in his own.
‘A straightforward, honest, zealous officer doing his duty in the most laborious manner—that’s my style. No frills. No fancy work. Just honest perspiration. Stolid and a bit stupid—that’s my ticket.’
Poirot raised his glass.
‘To our respective methods—and may success crown our joint efforts.’
‘I expect Colonel Race may get us something worth having about Despard,’ said Battle. ‘He’s got a good many sources of information.’
‘And Mrs Oliver?’
‘Bit of a toss-up there. I rather like that woman. Talks a lot of nonsense, but she’s a sport. And women get to know things about other women that men can’t get at. She may spot something useful.’
They separated. Battle went back to Scotland Yard to issue instructions for certain lines to be followed up. Poirot betook himself to 200 Gloucester Terrace.
Dr Roberts’ eyebrows rose comically as he greeted his guest.
‘Two sleuths in one day,