Cards on the Table. Агата Кристи

      ‘Oh,’ cried Mrs Oliver. ‘I’ve got a plan. There are four of us—four sleuths, as you might say—and four of them! How would it be if we each took one. Backed our fancy! Colonel Race takes Major Despard, Superintendent Battle takes Dr Roberts, I’ll take Anne Meredith, and M. Poirot takes Mrs Lorrimer. Each of us to follow our own line!’

      Superintendent Battle shook his head decisively.

      ‘Couldn’t quite do that, Mrs Oliver. That is official, you see. I’m in charge. I’ve got to investigate all lines. Besides, it’s all very well to say back your fancy. Two of us might want to back the same horse! Colonel Race hasn’t said he suspects Major Despard. And M. Poirot mayn’t be putting his money on Mrs Lorrimer.’

      Mrs Oliver sighed.

      ‘It was such a good plan,’ she sighed regretfully. ‘So neat.’ Then she cheered up a little. ‘But you don’t mind me doing a little investigating on my own, do you?’

      ‘No,’ said Superintendent Battle slowly. ‘I can’t say I object to that. In fact, it’s out of my power to object. Having been at this party tonight, you’re naturally free to do anything your own curiosity or interest suggests. But I’d like to point out to you, Mrs Oliver, that you’d better be a little careful.’

      ‘Discretion itself,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘I shan’t breathe a word of—of anything—’ she ended a little lamely.

      ‘I do not think that was quite Superintendent Battle’s meaning,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘He meant that you will be dealing with a person who has already, to the best of our belief, killed twice. A person, therefore, who will not hesitate to kill a third time—if he considers it necessary.’