Cards on the Table by Agatha Christie

whitened, the brass of the knocker and handle gleamed in the afternoon sun.
    The door was opened by an elderly parlourmaid with an immaculate white cap and apron.
    In answer to Poirot’s inquiry she said that her mistress was at home.
    She preceded him up the narrow staircase.
    â€œWhat name, sir?”
    â€œM. Hercule Poirot.”
    He was ushered into a drawing room of the usual L shape. Poirot looked about him, noting details. Good furniture, well polished, of the old family type. Shiny chintz on the chairs and settees. A few silver photograph frames about in the old-fashioned manner. Otherwise an agreeable amount of space and light, and some really beautiful chrysanthemums arranged in a tall jar.
    Mrs. Lorrimer came forward to meet him.
    She shook hands without showing any particular surprise at seeing him, indicated a chair, took one herself and remarked favourably on the weather.
    There was a pause.
    â€œI hope, madame,” said Hercule Poirot, “that you will forgive this visit.”
    Looking directly at him, Mrs. Lorrimer asked:
    â€œIs this a professional visit?”
    â€œI confess it.”
    â€œYou realize, I suppose, M. Poirot, that though I shall naturally give Superintendent Battle and the official police any information and help they may require, I am by no means bound to do the same for any unofficial investigator?”
    â€œI am quite aware of that fact, madame. If you show me the door, me, I march to that door with complete submission.”
    Mrs. Lorrimer smiled very slightly.
    â€œI am not yet prepared to go to those extremes, M. Poirot. I can give you ten minutes. At the end of that time I have to go out to a bridge party.”
    â€œTen minutes will be ample for my purpose. I want you to describe to me, madame, the room in which you played bridge the other evening—the room in which Mr. Shaitana was killed.”
    Mrs. Lorrimer’s eyebrows rose.
    â€œWhat an extraordinary question! I do not see the point of it.”
    â€œMadame, if when you were playing bridge, someone were to say to you—why do you play that ace or why do you put on the knave that is taken by the queen and not the king which wouldtake the trick? If people were to ask you such questions, the answers would be rather long and tedious, would they not?”
    Mrs. Lorrimer smiled slightly.
    â€œMeaning that in this game you are the expert and I am the novice. Very well.” She reflected a minute. “It was a large room. There were a good many things in it.”
    â€œCan you describe some of those things?”
    â€œThere were some glass flowers—modern—rather beautiful … And I think there were some Chinese or Japanese pictures. And there was a bowl of tiny red tulips—amazingly early for them.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œI’m afraid I didn’t notice anything in detail.”
    â€œThe furniture—do you remember the colour of the upholstery?”
    â€œSomething silky, I think. That’s all I can say.”
    â€œDid you notice any of the small objects?”
    â€œI’m afraid not. There were so many. I know it struck me as quite a collector’s room.”
    There was silence for a minute. Mrs. Lorrimer said with a faint smile:
    â€œI’m afraid I have not been very helpful.”
    â€œThere is something else.” He produced the bridge scores. “Here are the first three rubbers played. I wondered if you could help me with the aid of these scores to reconstruct the hands.”
    â€œLet me see.” Mrs. Lorrimer looked interested. She bent over the scores.
    â€œThat was the first rubber. Miss Meredith and I were playing against the two men. The first game was played in four spades. We made it and an over trick. Then the next hand was left at two diamonds and Dr. Roberts went down one trick on it. There was quite a lot of bidding on the third hand, I remember. Miss Meredith passed. Major Despard went a heart.