Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Bridge

The host and guest returned to the living room, and the bridge table was already set.Let's all drink coffee. Mr. Shaitana asked, "Who likes bridge? Mrs. Lorrimer, I know. And Dr. Roberts. Miss Meredith, do you play?" "Hit, it's just that the technique is not very good." "Excellent. Where's Major Desper? Well, you four fight this way." Mrs. Lorrimer turned sideways to Poirot and said: "Blessed is bridge. I'm the most serious bridge fan ever. I'm in love with bridge. Now I don't go to a dinner party without a game! I'll fall asleep." It’s a shame, it’s a pity that’s the way it is.”

They cut their cards and choose a partner.Old Lady Lorrimer was with Anne Meredith against Major Desper and Dr. Roberts.Mrs. Lorrimer sat down, shuffled the cards expertly, and said, "Female against male. Blue card, what do you think, partner? I'm the two up." call out.) Mrs. Oliver, her feminist sentiments on the rise, said: "You must win. Let the men see, they can't get everything they want." Dr. Roberts shuffled another deck, and said cheerfully, "Poor baby, there's no hope for them. Mrs. Lorrimer, I'll see you sort the cards." Major Desper sat down slowly.He looked at Anne Meredith as if he had just discovered that she was surprisingly beautiful.

Mrs. Lorrimer said impatiently, "Cut the cards, please." He apologetically cut all the cards she offered. Mrs. Lorrimer dealt cards very skillfully. "There's a bridge table in another room," Mr. Shaitana said. He went to another door, and the other four followed him into a small, comfortably furnished smoking room, where another bridge table stood. Colonel Race said, "We've got to cut the cards." Mr. Shaitana shook his head."I don't play. Bridge is not my game," he said. The guests all pleaded that they didn't want to fight either, but he persisted, and they sat down at last--Poirot and Mrs. Oliver against Bart and Rhys.

Mr. Shaitana watched for a while, seeing what card Mrs. Oliver used to call "No King 2", he couldn't help showing a devilish smile, and then silently turned to another room. The people over there played cards brilliantly, with serious expressions, and called cards extremely fast. "Heart 1". "give up". "Plum Blossom 3". "3 of spades". "Block 4". "double". "Heart 4". Mr. Shaitana stood watching for a moment, smiling to himself.Then he crossed the room and sat down in a large chair by the fire.The waiter brought the drink on a tray and placed it on an adjacent table.The firelight illuminated the crystal cork.

Mr. Shaitana has always been a lighting artist, replicating interiors lit only by firelight.If he wanted to read, a small shaded lamp at his elbow gave him light.Discreet vanadium lamps give the interior a soft red glow.Another, slightly stronger electric light shone on the bridge table, where the calling continued. "No King 1"-clear and decisive-is Mrs. Lorrimer. "Three of Hearts"—very positive in tone—was Dr. Roberts. "No barking"--the voice was even and quiet--it was Anne Meredith. Desper always hesitated for a moment before speaking, not so much because he was slow in thinking, but because he liked to be sure before speaking.

"Heart 4". "double". The flickering firelight illuminated Mr. Shaitana's face, and he smiled.Smiling, always smiling, his eyelids quivered. He thought this banquet was very fun. Colonel Race said: "Five of diamonds. Bet on winning or losing, two out of three." Then he said to Poirot: "I don't think you can do it. It's a good thing they didn't have spades." "I don't see much difference," said Inspector Bart, with a magnanimous air. He called spades.His partner, Mrs. Oliver, has spades, but she gets clubs "by some instinct" - with disastrous results.

Colonel Race looked at his watch. "Twelve past ten. Any time for another game?" Inspector Bart said, "I beg your pardon. I'm a morning person." "Me too," said Hercule Poirot. "We'd better do the math," Reese said. Tonight's five-set men's big win.Mrs. Oliver lost three pounds and seven shillings, which was won by the other three.The one with the most wins was Colonel Race. Mrs. Oliver's cards were poor, but she lost easily.She readily paid. She said, "I don't get things going tonight. Sometimes it does. Yesterday I had great luck. Three big one hundred and fifty in a row." She got up to pack her embroidered dinner bag and was about to brush The strands of hair on his face were restrained in time.

"Our host is probably next door," she said. She went through the connecting door, and several others followed her. Mr. Shaitana sat in a chair by the fire.The men at the bridge table concentrate on their games. "Double five of clubs," Mrs. Lorrimer was saying in her cool sharp voice. "No King 5". "No king 5 doubles". Mrs. Oliver went to the card table.It's probably going to be an exciting lap. Inspector Bart came with her. Colonel Race approached Mr. Shaitana, followed by Poirot."I gotta go, Shaitana," Reese said. Mr. Shaitana didn't answer.He seemed to be asleep with his head hanging forward.Reese gave Poirot a strange look, and took a few steps closer.Suddenly he let out a muffled cry and leaned forward.Poirot stood next to him for a moment, and also looked at what Colonel Race was pointing at--it looked like a particularly ornate shirt button--but it was not.

Poirot stooped and took Mr. Shaitana's hand, then lowered it.He met Reese's questioning eyes and nodded.Reese raised his voice. "Inspector Bart, come here." The inspector walked to them.Mrs. Oliver continued to look at the "No King 5 Double" card.Detective Bart looks dull, but he is actually a very agile person.He stood with them, raised his eyebrows and whispered, "Is there a problem?" Colonel Race nodded and pointed to the silent body on the chair. Bart leaned over to watch, and Poirot looked thoughtfully at Mr. Shaitana's face.The face looked so stupid now, with the mouth drooping and open -- the diabolical look was gone.

Hercule Poirot shook his head. Inspector Bart straightened up.He examined what looked like a stud on Mr. Shaitana's shirt, but didn't touch it; it wasn't a special stud.He once took the other party's limp hand and put it down again. Now he was on his feet, calm, competent, soldierly - intending to really take control of the situation. "Take up a minute, everyone, please," he said. His raised voice sounded businesslike. Unlike before, everyone at the card table turned to look at him. Anne Meredith was about to take an ace of spades from "The Dreamer" when her hand stopped in the air.

"I regret that our host, Mr. Shaitana, has passed away," he said. Mrs. Lorrimer and Dr. Roberts rose.Despar frowned.Anne Meredith drew a breath. "Are you sure, man?" This situation aroused Dr. Roberts' professional instinct, and he walked over at the brisk pace of a doctor "intervening in a death incident". "Wait a minute, Dr. Roberts. Could you just tell me who's been in or out of this room tonight?" Roberts glared at him. "In and out? I don't know what you mean. No one is in or out." The inspector shifted his gaze. "Is he right, Mrs. Lorrimer?" "correct." "Neither did the steward or any of the other servants come in?" "No. The steward brought that tray into the room when we were sitting at the card table. It hasn't been in since." Inspector Bart looked at Despar. Despar nodded in agreement. Anne said breathlessly, "Yes—yes, nothing wrong." Roberts said impatiently, "Dude, what the hell is going on. Let me check him out—maybe just a faint." "Not a faint, sorry—nobody can until the precinct medical examiner comes. Touch him. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Shaitana was murdered." "Murder?..." Anne sighed in horror and disbelief. Despar stared blankly. Mrs. Lorrimer said sharply, "Murder?" Dr. Roberts said, "My God!" Inspector Bart nodded slowly.He looked exactly like a Chinese clay official statue, with a confused expression. "Stabbed. That's it. Stabbed," he said. Then he asked, "Has any of you ever left a poker table at night?" He saw the expressions of the four people softened—shaken.He saw emotions such as fear—worry—indignation—depression—terror, but found no useful clues. "how?" There was a moment of silence at the scene, and Major Despar had stood up at this moment, standing like a soldier in the ranks, turned his shrewd narrow face to Bart, and said calmly: "I think everyone left the card table for a while - to get drinks Or add some kindling to the fire. I've done both. When I got to the fire, Mr. Shaitana was asleep in the chair." "Fell asleep?" "I think so—yes." Bart said, "Maybe he was asleep, maybe he was dead by then. We'll investigate right away. Now I'm going to invite you to the next room." He turned to the silent man. "Colonel Race, you will probably go with them?" Reese understood and nodded quickly. "Yes, Inspector." The four card-playing guests walked slowly through the door. Mrs. Oliver sat on a chair across the room and began to weep quietly. Bart picked up the receiver and spoke. Then he said: "The local police are coming at once. There's an order from the head office for me to take on the case. The branch coroner will come as soon as possible. Mr. Poirot, how long do you think he's been dead? I think it's probably more than an hour." "I thought so too. Pity I couldn't be more precise—can't say the man was dead for an hour and twenty-forty seconds." Bart nodded absently. "He sat in front of the fire, which made a little difference. I guarantee the doctor would have said an hour, not two-and-a-half. May yell." "But he didn't. The murderer was lucky. You are right, my friend. It was a desperate act." "Mr. Poirot, have you thought about it? About motives?" Poirot said slowly: "Yes, I have something to report in this regard. Excuse me—hasn't Mr. Shaitana hinted at what kind of dinner he's inviting you to today?" Inspector Bart watched him curiously. "No, M. Poirot, he didn't say anything. What?" A bell rang in the distance, and someone knocked on the door knocker. Inspector Bart said, "Our people. I'll go get them in. We'll hear from you later. We have to go through the formalities first." Poirot nodded.Bart stepped out of the room. Mrs. Oliver was crying all the time. Poirot went to the card table.He didn't touch anything, just checked the score paper with his eyes and shook his head once or twice. "Stupid little man! Oh, stupid little man. Dressed up as a devil. Trying to frighten people. How childish!" whispered Hercule Poirot. The door opened.The station coroner walks in with a tote bag; the station chief follows, talking to Bart.Then came a photographer.A policeman stood guard in the lobby. The routine procedure of criminal investigation has begun.