"He has been with me two seasons, remember."
"He is a young man with the gift of patience. If he committed a crime, it would not be in a hurry. All would be very well prepared."
Dr. Leidner made a gesture of despair.
"And lastly, William Coleman," continued Poirot.
"He is an Englishman."
"Pourquoi pas? Did not Mrs. Leidner say that the boy left America and could not be traced? He might easily have been brought up in England."
"You have an answer to everything," said Dr. Leidner.
I was thinking hard. Right from the beginning I had thought Mr. Coleman's manner rather more like a P.G. Wodehouse book than like a real live young man. Had he really been playing a part all the time?
Poirot was writing in a little book.
"Let us proceed with order and method," he said. "On the first count we have two names. Father Lavigny and Mr. Mercado. On the second we have Coleman, Emmott and Reiter.
"Now let us pass to the opposite aspect of the matter - means and opportunity. Who amongst the expedition had the means and the opportunity of committing the crime? Carey was on the dig, Coleman was in Hassanieh, you yourself were on the roof. That leaves us Father Lavigny, Mr. Mercado, Mrs. Mercado, David Emmott, Carl Reiter, Miss Johnson and Nurse Leatheran."
"Oh!" I exclaimed, and I bounded in my chair.
Mr. Poirot looked at me with twinkling eyes.
"Yes, I'm afraid, ma soeur, that you have got to be included. It would have been quite easy for you to have gone along and killed Mrs. Leidner while the courtyard was empty. You have plenty of muscle and strength, and she would have been quite unsuspicious until the moment the blow was struck."
I was so upset that I couldn't get a word out. Dr. Reilly, I noticed, was looking highly amused.
"Interesting case of a nurse who murdered her patients one by one," he murmured.
Such a look as I gave him!
Dr. Leidner's mind had been running on a different track.
"Not Emmott, M. Poirot," he objected. "You can't include him. He was on the roof with me, remember, during that ten minutes."
"Nevertheless we cannot exclude him. He could have come down, gone straight to Mrs. Leidner's room, killed her, and then called the boy back. Or he might have killed her on one of the occasions when he had sent the boy up to you."
Dr. Leidner shook his head, murmuring:
"What a nightmare! It's all so - fantastic."
To my surprise Poirot agreed.
"Yes, that is true. This is a fantastic crime. One does not often come across them. Usually murder is very sordid - very simple. But this is unusual murder... I suspect, Dr. Leidner, that your wife was an unusual woman."
He had hit the nail on the head with such accuracy that I jumped.
"Is that true, nurse?" he asked.
Dr. Leidner said quietly:
"Tell him what Louise was like, nurse. You are unprejudiced."
I spoke quite frankly.
"She was very lovely," I said. "You couldn't help admiring her and wanting to do things for her. I've never met anyone like her before."
"Thank you," said Dr. Leidner and smiled at me.
"That is valuable testimony coming from an outsider," said Poirot politely. "Well, let us proceed. Under the heading of means and opportunity we have seven names. Nurse Leatheran, Miss Johnson, Mrs. Mercado, Mr. Mercado, Mr. Reiter, Mr. Emmott and Father Lavigny."
Once more he cleared his throat. I've always noticed that foreigners can make the oddest noises.
"Let us for the moment assume that our third theory is correct. That is, that the murderer is Frederick or William Bosner, and that Frederick or William Bosner is a member of the expedition staff. By comparing both lists we can narrow down our suspects on this count to four. Father Lavigny, Mr. Mercado, Carl Reiter and David Emmott."
"Father Lavigny is out of the question," said Dr. Leidner with decision. "He is one of the Pères Blancs in Carthage."
"And his beard's quite real," I put in.
"Ma soeur, " said Poirot, "a murderer of the first class never wears a false beard!"
"How do you know the murderer is of the first class?" I asked rebelliously.
"Because if he were not, the whole truth would be plain to me at this instant - and it is not."
That's pure conceit, I thought to myself.
"Anyway," I said, reverting to the beard, "it must have taken quite a time to grow."
"That is a practical observation," said Poirot. Dr. Leidner said irritably:
"But it's ridiculous - quite ridiculous. Both he and Mercado are well-known men. They've been known for years."
Poirot turned to him.
"You have not the true vision. You do not appreciate an important point. If Frederick Bosner is not dead - what has he been doing all these years? He must have taken a different name. He must have built himself up a career."
"As a Père Blanc?" asked Dr. Reilly sceptically.
"It is a little fantastic that, yes," confessed Poirot. "But we cannot put it right out of court. Besides, there are other possibilities."
"The young 'uns?" said Reilly. "If you want my opinion, on the face of it there's only one of your suspects that's even plausible,"
"And that is?"
"Young Carl Reiter. There's nothing actually against him, but come down to it and you've got to admit a few things - he's the right age, he's got a German name, he's new this year and he had the opportunity all right. He'd only got to pop out of his photographic place, cross the courtyard to do his dirty work and hare back again while the coast was clear. If anyone were to have dropped into the photographic room while he was out of it, he can always say later that he was in the dark-room. I don't say he's your man but if you are going to suspect some one I say he's by far and away the most likely."
M. Poirot didn't seem very receptive. He nodded gravely but doubtfully.
"Yes," he said. "He is the most plausible, but it may not be so simple as all that."
Then he said:
"Let us say no more at present. I would like now if I may to examine the room where the crime took place."
"Certainly." Dr. Leidner fumbled in his pockets then looked at Dr. Reilly.
"Captain Maitland took it," he said.
"Maitland gave it to me," said Reilly. "He had to go off on that Kurdish business."
He produced the key.
Dr. Leidner said hesitatingly:
"Do you mind - if I don't - Perhaps, nurse -"
"Of course. Of course," said Poirot. "I quite understand. Never do I wish to cause you unnecessary pain. If you will be good enough to accompany me, ma soeur."
"Certainly," I said.
Chapter 17
THE STAIN BY THE WASH-STAND
Mrs. Leidner's body had been taken to Hassanieh for the post-mortem, but otherwise her room had been left exactly as it was. There was so little in it that it had not taken the police long to go over it.
To the right of the door as you entered was the bed. Opposite the door were the two barred windows giving on the countryside. Between them was a plain oak table with two drawers that served Mrs. Leidner as a dressing-table. On the east wall there was a line of hooks with dresses hung up protected by cotton bags and a deal chest of drawers. Immediately to the left of the door was the wash-stand. In the middle of the room was a good-sized plain oak table with a blotter and inkstand and a small attaché-case. It was in the latter that Mrs. Leidner had kept the anonymous letters. The curtains were short strips of native material - white striped with orange. The floor was of stone with some goatskin rugs on it, three narrow ones of brown striped with white in front of the two windows and the wash-stand, and a larger better quality one of white with brown stripes lying between the bed and the writing-table.
There were no cupboards or alcoves or long curtains - nowhere, in fact, where anyone could have hidden. The bed was a plain iron one with a printed cotton quilt. The only trace of luxury in the room were three pillows all made of the best soft and billowy down. Nobody but Mrs. Leidner had pillows like these.
In a few brief dry words Dr. Reilly explained where Mrs. Leidner's body had been found - in a heap on the rug beside the bed.
To illustrate his account, he beckoned me to come forward.
"If you don't mind, nurse?" he said.
I'm not squeamish. I got down on the floor and arranged myself as far as possible in the attitude in which Mrs. Leidner's body had been found.
"Leidner lifted her head when he found her," said the doctor. "But I questioned him closely and it's obvious that he didn't actually change her position."
"It seems quite straightforward," said Poirot. "She was lying on the bed, asleep or resting - someone opens the door, she looks up, rises to her feet -"
"And he struck her down," finished the doctor. "The blow would produce unconsciousness and death would follow very shortly. You see -"
He explained the injury in technical language.
"Not much blood, then?" said Poirot.
"No, the blood escaped internally into the brain."
"Eh bien." said Poirot, "that seems straightforward enough - except for one thing. If the man who entered was a stranger, why did not Mrs. Leidner cry out at once for help? If she had screamed she would have been heard. Nurse Leatheran here would have heard her, and Emmott and the boy."
"That's easily answered," said Dr. Reilly dryly. "Because it wasn't a stranger."
Poirot nodded.
"Yes," he said meditatively. "She may have been surprised to see the person - but she was not afraid. Then, as he struck, she may have uttered a half cry - too late."
"The cry Miss Johnson heard?"
"Yes, if she did hear it. But on the whole I doubt it. These mud walls are thick and the windows were closed."
He stepped up to the bed.
"You left her actually lying down?" he asked me. I explained exactly what I had done.
"Did she mean to sleep or was she going to read?"
"I gave her two books - a light one and a volume of memoirs. She usually read for a while and then sometimes dropped off for a short sleep."
"And she was - what shall I say - quite as usual?"
I considered.
"Yes. She seemed quite normal and in good spirits," I said. "Just a shade off-hand, perhaps, but I put that down to her having confided in me the day before. It makes people a little uncomfortable sometimes."
Poirot's eyes twinkled.
"Ah, yes, indeed, me, I know that well."
He looked round the room.
"And when you came in here after the murder, was everything as you had seen it before?"
I looked round also.
"Yes, I think so. I don't remember anything being different."
"There was no sign of the weapon with which she was struck?"
"No."
Poirot looked at Dr. Reilly.
"What was it in your opinion?"
The doctor replied promptly.
"Something pretty powerful of a fair size and without any sharp corners or edges. The rounded base of a statue, say - something like that. Mind you, I'm not suggesting that that was it. But that type of thing. The blow was delivered with great force."
"Struck by a strong arm? A man's arm?"
"Yes - unless -"
"Unless - what?"
Dr. Reilly said slowly:
"It is just possible that Mrs. Leidner might have been on her knees - in which case, the blow being delivered from above with a heavy implement, the force needed would not have been so great."
"On her knees," mused Poirot. "It is an idea - that."
"It's only an idea, mind," the doctor hastened to point out. "There's absolutely nothing to indicate it."
"But it's possible."
"Yes. And after all, in view of the circumstances, it's not fantastic. Her fear might have led her to kneel in supplication rather than to scream when her instinct would tell her it was too late - that nobody could get there in time."
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "It is an idea..."
It was a very poor one, I thought. I couldn't for one moment imagine Mrs. Leidner on her knees to anyone.
Poirot made his way slowly round the room. He opened the windows, tested the bars, passed his head through and satisfied himself that by no means could his shoulders be made to follow his head.
"The windows were shut when you found her," he said. "Were they also shut when you left her at a quarter to one?"
"Yes, they were always shut in the afternoon. There is no gauze over these windows as there is in the living-room and dining-room. They are kept shut to keep out the flies."
"And in any case no one could get in that way," mused Poirot. "And the walls are of the most solid mud-brick - and there are no trap-doors and no sky-lights. No, there is only one way into this room - through the door. And there is only one way to the door - through the courtyard. And there is only one entrance to the courtyard - through the archway. And outside the archway there were five people and they all tell the same story, and I do not think, me, that they are lying... No, they are not lying. They are not bribed to silence. The murderer was here..."
I didn't say anything. Hadn't I felt the same thing just now when we were all cooped up round that table?
Slowly Poirot prowled round the room. He took up a photograph from the chest of drawers. It was of an elderly man with a white goatee beard. He looked inquiringly at me.
"Mrs. Leidner's father," I said. "She told me so."
He put it down again and glanced over the articles on the dressing-table - all of plain tortoiseshell - simple but good. He looked up at a row of books on a shelf, repeating the titles aloud.
"Who Were the Greeks? Introduction to Relativity. Life of Lady Hester Stanhope. Crewe Train. Back to Methuselah. Linda Condon. Yes, they tell us something, perhaps.
"She was not a fool, your Mrs. Leidner. She had a mind."
