Cards on the Table Read Free Page B

cheerfully as he started shuffling the other pack. “Your deal, I think, Mrs. Lorrimer.”
    Major Despard sat down rather slowly. He was looking at Anne Meredith as though he had just made the discovery that she was remarkably pretty.
    â€œCut, please,” said Mrs. Lorrimer impatiently. And with a start of apology he cut the pack she was presenting to him.
    Mrs. Lorrimer began to deal with a practised hand.
    â€œThere is another bridge table in the other room,” said Mr. Shaitana.
    He crossed to a second door and the other four followed him into a small comfortably furnished smoking room where a second bridge table was set ready.
    â€œWe must cut out,” said Colonel Race.
    Mr. Shaitana shook his head.
    â€œI do not play,” he said. “Bridge is not one of the games that amuse me.”
    The others protested that they would much rather not play, but he overruled them firmly and in the end they sat down. Poirot and Mrs. Oliver against Battle and Race.
    Mr. Shaitana watched them for a little while, smiled in a Mephistophelian manner as he observed on what hand Mrs. Oliver declared Two No Trumps, and then went noiselessly through into the other room.
    There they were well down to it, their faces serious, the bids coming quickly. “One heart.” “Pass.” “Three clubs.” “Three spades.” “Four diamonds.” “Double.” “Four hearts.”
    Mr. Shaitana stood watching a moment, smiling to himself.
    Then he crossed the room and sat down in a big chair by the fireplace. A tray of drinks had been brought in and placed on an adjacent table. The firelight gleamed on the crystal stoppers.
    Always an artist in lighting, Mr. Shaitana had simulated the appearance of a merely firelit room. A small shaded lamp at his elbow gave him light to read by if he so desired. Discreet floodlighting gave the room a subdued look. A slightly stronger light shone over the bridge table, from whence the monotonous ejaculations continued.
    â€œOne no trump”—clear and decisive—Mrs. Lorrimer.
    â€œThree hearts”—an aggressive note in the voice—Dr. Roberts.
    â€œNo bid”—a quiet voice—Anne Meredith’s.
    A slight pause always before Despard’s voice came. Not so much a slow thinker as a man who liked to be sure before he spoke.
    â€œFour hearts.”
    â€œDouble.”
    His face lit up by the flickering firelight, Mr. Shaitana smiled.
    He smiled and he went on smiling. His eyelids flickered a little….
    His party was amusing him.
    II
    â€œFive diamonds. Game and rubber,” said Colonel Race.
    â€œGood for you, partner,” he said to Poirot. “I didn’t think you’d do it. Lucky they didn’t lead a spade.”
    â€œWouldn’t have made much difference, I expect,” said Superintendent Battle, a man of gentle magnanimity.
    He had called spades. His partner, Mrs. Oliver, had had a spade, but “something had told her” to lead a club—with disastrous results.
    Colonel Race looked at his watch.
    â€œTen past twelve. Time for another?”
    â€œYou’ll excuse me,” said Superintendent Battle. “But I’m by way of being an ‘early-to-bed’ man.”
    â€œI, too,” said Hercule Poirot.
    â€œWe’d better add up,” said Race.
    The result of the evening’s five rubbers was an overwhelming victory for the male sex. Mrs. Oliver had lost three pounds and seven shillings to the other three. The biggest winner was Colonel Race.
    Mrs. Oliver, though a bad bridge player, was a sporting loser. She paid up cheerfully.
    â€œEverything went wrong for me tonight,” she said. “It is like that sometimes. I held the most beautiful cards yesterday. A hundred and fifty honours three times running.”
    She rose and gathered up her embroidered evening bag, just refraining in time from stroking her hair off her brow.
    â€œI suppose