Cards on the Table Read Online Free

our host is next door,” she said.
    She went through the communicating door, the others behind her.
    Mr. Shaitana was in his chair by the fire. The bridge players were absorbed in their game.
    â€œDouble five clubs,” Mrs. Lorrimer was saying in her cool, incisive voice.
    â€œFive No Trumps.”
    â€œDouble five No Trumps.”
    Mrs. Oliver came up to the bridge table. This was likely to be an exciting hand.
    Superintendent Battle came with her.
    Colonel Race went towards Mr. Shaitana, Poirot behind him.
    â€œGot to be going, Shaitana,” said Race.
    Mr. Shaitana did not answer. His head had fallen forward, and he seemed to be asleep. Race gave a momentary whimsical glance at Poirot and went a little nearer. Suddenly he uttered a muffled exclamation, bent forward. Poirot was beside him in a minute, he, too, looking where Colonel Race was pointing—something that might have been a particularly ornate shirt stud—but was not….
    Poirot bent, raised one of Mr. Shaitana’s hands, then let it fall. He met Race’s inquiring glance and nodded. The latter raised his voice.
    â€œSuperintendent Battle, just a minute.”
    The superintendent came over to them. Mrs. Oliver continued to watch the play of Five No Trumps doubled.
    Superintendent Battle, despite his appearance of stolidity, was a very quick man. His eyebrows went up and he said in a low voice as he joined them:
    â€œSomething wrong?”
    With a nod Colonel Race indicated the silent figure in the chair.
    As Battle bent over it, Poirot looked thoughtfully at what he could see of Mr. Shaitana’s face. Rather a silly face it looked now, the mouth drooping open—the devilish expression lacking….
    Hercule Poirot shook his head.
    Superintendent Battle straightened himself. He had examined,without touching, the thing which looked like an extra stud in Mr. Shaitana’s shirt—and it was not an extra stud. He had raised the limp hand and let it fall.
    Now he stood up, unemotional, capable, soldierly—prepared to take charge efficiently of the situation.
    â€œJust a minute, please,” he said.
    And the raised voice was his official voice, so different that all the heads at the bridge table turned to him, and Anne Meredith’s hand remained poised over an ace of spades in dummy.
    â€œI’m sorry to tell you all,” he said, “that our host, Mr. Shaitana, is dead.”
    Mrs. Lorrimer and Dr. Roberts rose to their feet. Despard stared and frowned. Anne Meredith gave a little gasp.
    â€œAre you sure, man?”
    Dr. Roberts, his professional instincts aroused, came briskly across the floor with a bounding medical “in-at-the-death” step.
    Without seeming to, the bulk of Superintendent Battle impeded his progress.
    â€œJust a minute, Dr. Roberts. Can you tell me first who’s been in and out of this room this evening?”
    Roberts stared at him.
    â€œIn and out? I don’t understand you. Nobody has.”
    The superintendent transferred his gaze.
    â€œIs that right, Mrs. Lorrimer?”
    â€œQuite right.”
    â€œNot the butler nor any of the servants?”
    â€œNo. The butler brought in that tray as we sat down to bridge. He has not been in since.”
    Superintendent Battle looked at Despard.
    Despard nodded in agreement.
    Anne said rather breathlessly, “Yes—yes, that’s right.”
    â€œWhat’s all this, man,” said Roberts impatiently. “Just let me examine him; maybe just a fainting fit.”
    â€œIt isn’t a fainting fit, and I’m sorry— but nobody’s going to touch him until the divisional surgeon comes. Mr. Shaitana’s been murdered, ladies and gentlemen .”
    â€œMurdered?” A horrified incredulous sigh from Anne.
    A stare—a very blank stare—from Despard.
    A sharp incisive “Murdered?” from Mrs. Lorrimer.
    A “Good God!” from Dr. Roberts.
    Superintendent Battle