Cards On The Table Part 26

"I never forget a face even a black one--and that's a lot more than most people can say.'

"You are just the person I need," said Poirot. "What a chance, meeting you today! I need some one with a good eye and a good memory. Malheureus.e.m.e.nt the two seldom go together. I have asked the Dr. Roberts a question, without result, and the same with Madame Lorrimer. Now, I will try you and see if I get what I want. Cast your mind back to the room in which you played cards at Mr.

Shaitana's, and tell me what you remember of it."

Despard looked puzzled. "I don't quite understand."

"Give me a description of the room--the furnis.h.i.+ngs--the objects in it."

"I don't know that I'm much of a hand at that sort of thing," said Despard slowly. "It was a rotten sort of room--to my mind. Not a man's room at all. A lot of brocade and silk and stuff. Sort of room a fellow like Shaitana would have."

"But to particularise "

Despard shook his head.

"Afraid I didn't notice He'd got some good rugs. Two Bokharas and three or four really good Persian ones, including a Hamadan and a Tabriz. Rather a good eland head--no, that was in the hall. From Rowland Ward's, I expect."

"You do not think that the late Mr. Shaitana was one to go out and shoot wild beasts?"

"Not he.

Never potted anything but sitting game, I'll bet. What else was there? I'm sorry to fail you, but I really can't help much. Any amount of knickknacks lying about. Tables were thick with them. Only thing I noticed was a rather jolly idol.

Easter Island, I should say. Highly polished wood. You don't see many of them. There was some Malay stuff, too. No, I'm afraid I can't help you." "No matter," said Poirot, looking slightly crestfallen. He went on: "Do you know, Mrs. Lorrimer, she has the most amazing card memory! She could tell me the bidding and play of nearly every hand. It was astonis.h.i.+ng." Despard shrugged his shoulders.

"Some women are like that. Because they play pretty well all day long, I suppose."

"You could not do it, eh?"

The other shook his head.

"I just remember a couple of hands. One where I could have got game in diamonds--and Roberts bluffed me out of it. Went down himself, but we didn't double him, worse luck. I remember a no trumper, too. Tricky business every card wrong. We went down a couplelucky not to have gone down more."

"Do you play much bridge, Major Despard?"

"No, I'm not a regular player. It's a good game, though."

"You prefer it to poker?"

"I do personally. Poker's too much of a gamble."

Poirot said thoughtfully:

"I do not think Mr. Shaitana played any game any card game, that is."

"There's only one game that Shaitana played consistently," said Despard

grimly.

"And that?"

"A lowdown game."

Poirot was silent for a minute, then he said:

"Is it that you know that? Or do you just think it?"

Despard went brick red.

"Meaning one oughtn't to say things without giving chapter and verse? I

suppose that's true. Well, it's accurate enough. I happen to know. On the other

hand, I'm not prepared to give chapter and verse. Such information as I've got

came to me privately."

"Meaning a woman or women are concerned?"

"Yes. Shaitana, like the dirty dog he was, preferred to deal with women."

"You think he was a blackmailer? That is interesting."

Despard shook his head.

"No, no, you've misunderstood me. In a way, Shaitana was a blackmailer, but

not the common or garden sort. He wasn't after money. He was a spiritual

blackmailer, if there can be such a thing."

"And he got out of it--what?"

"He got a kick out of it. That's the only way I can put it. He got a thrill out of

seeing people quail and flinch. I suppose it made him feel less of a louse and more

of a man. And it's a very effective pose with women. He'd only got to hint that he

knew everything--and they'd start telling him a lot of things that perhaps he didn't

know. That would tickle his sense of humour. Then he'd strut about in his

Mephistophelian att.i.tude of 'I know everything! I am the great Shaitana!' The man

was an ape!"

"So you think that he frightened Miss Meredith that way," said Poirot slowly.

"Miss Meredith?" Despard stared. "I wasn't thinking of her. She isn't the kind

to be afraid of a man like Shaitana."

"Pardon. You meant Mrs. Lorrimer."

"No, no, no. You misunderstand me. I was speaking generally. It wouldn't be

easy to frighten Mrs. Lorrimer. And she's not the kind of woman who you can

imagine having a guilty secret. No, I was not thinking of any one in particular."

"It was the general method to which you referred?"

".Exactly."

"There is no doubt," said Poirot slowly, "that what you call a Dago often has a

very clever understanding of women. He knows how to approach them. He worms secrets out of {hem "

He paused.

Despard broke in impatiently: "It's absurd. The man was a mountebank--nothing, really dangerous about him. And yet women were afraid of him. Ridiculously so.