Part 5 (1/2)

”No, M. Poirot. He didn't say anything at all. Why?”

A bell whirred in the distance and a knocker was plied.

”That's our people,” said Superintendent Battle. ”I'll go and let 'em in. We'll

have your story presently. Must get on with the routine work.”

Poirot nodded.

Battle left the room.

Mrs. Oliver continued to sob.

Poirot went over to the bridge table. Without touching anything, he examined the scores. He shook his head once or twice.

”The stupid little man! Oh, the stupid little man,” murmured Hercule Poirot. ”To dress up as the devil and try to frighten people. Quel enfantillage!”

The door opened, The divisional surgeon came in, bag in hand. He was followed by the divisional inspector, talking to Battle. A camera man came next.

There was a constable in the hall.

The routine of the detection of crime had begun.

CHAPTER 4

First Murderer?

Hercule Poirot, Mrs. Oliver, Colonel Race and Superintendent Battle sat round the dining-room table.

It was an hour later. The body had been examined, photographed and

removed. A fingerprint expert had been and gone.

Superintendent Battle looked at Poirot.

”Before I have those four in, I want to hear what you've got to tell me.

According to you there was something behind this party tonight?”

Very deliberately and carefully Poirot retold the conversation he had held with Shaitana at Wess.e.x House.

Superintendent Battle pursed his lips. He verynead'y whistled.

”Exhibitsh? Murderers all alive oh! And yiu think he meant it? You don't

think he was pulling your leg?”

Poirot shook his head.

”Oh, no, he meant it. Sbaitana was a man who prided himself on his Mephistophelian att.i.tude to life. He was a man of great vanity. He was also a stupid man--that is why he is dead.”

”I get you,” said Superintendent Battle, following things out in his mind. ”A party of eight and himself. Four 'sleuths,' so to speak--and four murderers!”

”It's impossible!” cried Mrs. Oliver. ”Absolutely impossible. None of those people can be criminals.”

Superintendent Battle shook his head thoughtfully.

”I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mrs. Oliver. Murderers look and behave very much like everybody else. Nice, quiet, well-behaved, reasonable folk very often.”

”In that case, it's Dr. Roberts,” said Mrs. Oliver firmly. ”I felt instinctively that there was something wrong with that man as soon as I saw him. My instincts never lie.”