Cards on the Table - Agatha Christie [48]
‘Well, she asked us to.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t suppose she really meant it. I expect she always has to say that.’
‘She did mean it. She was awfully nice—couldn’t have been nicer. She gave me one of her books. Look.’
Rhoda flourished her prize.
Anne said suspiciously:
‘What did you talk about? Not me?’
‘Listen to the conceit of the girl!’
‘No, but did you? Did you talk about the—the murder?’
‘We talked about her murders. She’s writing one where there’s poison in the sage and onions. She was frightfully human—and said writing was awfully hard work and how she got into tangles with plots, and we had black coffee and hot buttered toast,’ finished Rhoda in a triumphant burst.
Then she added:
‘Oh, Anne, you want your tea.’
‘No, I don’t. I’ve had it. With Mrs Lorrimer.’
‘Mrs Lorrimer? Isn’t that the one—the one who was there?’
Anne nodded.
‘Where did you come across her? Did you go and see her?’
‘No. I ran across her in Harley Street.’
‘What was she like?’
Anne said slowly:
‘I don’t know. She was—rather queer. Not at all like the other night.’
‘Do you still think she did it?’ asked Rhoda.
Anne was silent for a minute or two. Then she said:
‘I don’t know. Don’t let’s talk of it, Rhoda! You know how I hate talking of things.’
‘All right, darling. What was the solicitor like? Very dry and legal?’
‘Rather alert and Jewish.’
‘Sounds all right.’ She waited a little and then said:
‘How was Major Despard?’
‘Very kind.’
‘He’s fallen for you, Anne. I’m sure he has.’
‘Rhoda, don’t talk nonsense.’
‘Well, you’ll see.’
Rhoda began humming to herself. She thought:
‘Of course he’s fallen for her. Anne’s awfully pretty. But a bit wishy-washy…She’ll never go on treks with him. Why, she’d scream if she saw a snake…Men always do take fancies to unsuitable women.’
Then she said aloud.
‘That bus will take us to Paddington. We’ll just catch the 4.48.’
Chapter 19
Consultation
The telephone rang in Poirot’s room and a respectful voice spoke.
‘Sergeant O’Connor. Superintendent Battle’s compliments and would it be convenient for Mr Hercule Poirot to come to Scotland Yard at 11.30?’
Poirot replied in the affirmative and Sergeant O’Connor rang off.
It was 11.30 to the minute when Poirot descended from his taxi at the door of New Scotland Yard—to be at once seized upon by Mrs Oliver.
‘M. Poirot. How splendid! Will you come to my rescue?’
‘Enchanté, madame. What can I do?’
‘Pay my taxi for me. I don’t know how it happened but I brought out the bag I keep my going-abroad money in and the man simply won’t take francs or liras or marks!’
Poirot gallantly produced some loose change, and he and Mrs Oliver went inside the building together.
They were taken to Superintendent Battle’s own room. The superintendent was sitting behind a table and looking more wooden than ever. ‘Just like a little piece of modern sculpture,’ whispered Mrs Oliver to Poirot.
Battle rose and shook hands with them both and they sat down.
‘I thought it was about time for a little meeting,’ said Battle. ‘You’d like to hear how I’ve got on, and I’d like to hear how you’ve got on. We’re just waiting for Colonel Race and then—’
But at that moment the door opened and the colonel appeared.
‘Sorry I’m late, Battle. How do you do, Mrs Oliver. Hallo, M. Poirot. Very sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. But I’m off tomorrow and had a lot of things to see to.’
‘Where are you going to?’ asked Mrs Oliver.
‘A little shooting trip—Baluchistan way.’
Poirot said, smiling ironically:
‘A little trouble, is there not, in that part of the world? You will have to be careful.’
‘I mean to be,’ said Race gravely—but his eyes twinkled.
‘Got anything for us, sir?’ asked Battle.
‘I’ve got you your information re Despard. Here it is—’
He pushed over a sheaf of papers.
‘There’s a mass of dates and places there. Most of it quite irrelevant, I should imagine. Nothing against him. He’s a stout fellow. Record quite unblemished.