I jumped in my chair. What a coincidence his saying that!
"Your daughter - I am not indiscreet - she has perhaps a tendresse for one of the young men out there?"
"Oh, I don't suppose so. She's had Emmott and Coleman dancing attendance on her as a matter of course. I don't know that she cares for one more than the other. There are a couple of young Air Force chaps too. I fancy all's fish that comes to her net at present. No, I think it's age daring to defeat youth that annoys her so much! She doesn't know as much of the world as I do. It's when you get to my age that you really appreciate a schoolgirl complexion and a clear eye and a firmly knit young body. But a woman over thirty can listen with rapt attention and throw in a word here and there to show the talker what a fine fellow he is - and few young men can resist that! Sheila's a pretty girl - but Louise Leidner was beautiful. Glorious eyes and that amazing golden fairness. Yes, she was a beautiful woman."
Yes, I thought to myself, he's right. Beauty's a wonderful thing. She had been beautiful. It wasn't the kind of looks you were jealous of - you just sat back and admired. I felt that first day I met her that I'd do anything for Mrs. Leidner!
All the same, that night as I was being driven back to the Tell Yarimjah (Dr. Reilly made me stay for an early dinner) one or two things came back to my mind and made me rather uncomfortable. At the time I hadn't believed a word of all Sheila Reilly's outpouring. I'd taken it for sheer spite and malice.
But now I suddenly remembered the way Mrs. Leidner had insisted on going for a stroll by herself that afternoon and wouldn't hear of me coming with her. I couldn't help wondering if perhaps, after all, she had been going to meet Mr. Carey... And of course, it was a little odd, really, the way he and she spoke to each other so formally. Most of the others she called by their Christian names.
He never seemed to look at her, I remembered. That might be because he disliked her - or it might be just the opposite...
I gave myself a little shake. Here I was fancying and imagining all sorts of things - all because of a girl's spiteful outbursts! It just showed how unkind and dangerous it was to go about saying that kind of thing.
Mrs. Leidner hadn't been like that at all...
Of course, she hadn't liked Sheila Reilly. She'd really been almost catty about her that day at lunch to Mr. Emmott.
Funny, the way he'd looked at her. The sort of way that you couldn't possibly tell what he was thinking. You never could tell what Mr. Emmott was thinking. He was so quiet. But very nice. A nice dependable person.
Now Mr. Coleman was a foolish young man if there ever was one!
I'd got to that point in my meditations when we arrived. It was just on nine o'clock and the big door was closed and barred.
Ibrahim came running with his great key to let me in.
We all went to bed early at Tell Yarimjah. There weren't any lights showing in the living-room. There was a light in the drawing-office and one in Dr. Leidner's office, but nearly all the other windows were dark. Every one must have gone to bed even earlier than usual.
As I passed the drawing-office to go to my room I looked in. Mr. Carey was in his shirtsleeves working over his big plan.
Terribly ill, he looked, I thought. So strained and worn. It gave me quite a pang. I don't know what there was about Mr. Carey - it wasn't what he said because he hardly said anything - and that of the most ordinary nature, and it wasn't what he did, for that didn't amount to much either - and yet you just couldn't help noticing him, and everything about him seemed to matter more than it would have about anyone else. He just counted, if you know what I mean.
He turned his head and saw me. He removed his pipe from his mouth and said:
"Well, Nurse, back from Hassanieh?"
"Yes, Mr. Carey. You're up working late. Everybody else seems to have gone to bed."
"I thought I might as well get on with things," he said. "I was a bit behind-hand. And I shall be out on the dig all tomorrow. We're starting digging again."
"Already?" I asked, shocked.
He looked at me rather queerly.
"It's the best thing, I think. I put it up to Leidner. He'll be in Hassanieh most of tomorrow seeing to things. But the rest of us will carry on here. You know it's not too easy all sitting around and looking at each other as things are."
He was right there, of course. Especially in the nervy, jumpy state every one was in.
"Well, of course, you're right in a way," I said. "It takes one's mind off if one's got something to do."
The funeral, I knew, was to be the day after tomorrow.
He had bent over his plan again. I don't know why, but my heart just ached for him. I felt certain that he wasn't going to get any sleep.
"If you'd like a sleeping draught, Mr. Carey?" I said hesitatingly.
He shook his head with a smile.
"I'll carry on, Nurse. Bad habit, sleeping draughts."
"Well, good-night, Mr. Carey," I said. "If there's anything I can do -"
"Don't think so, thank you, Nurse. Good-night."
"I'm terribly sorry," I said, rather too impulsively I suppose.
"Sorry?" He looked surprised.
"For - for everybody. It's all so dreadful. But especially for you."
"For me? Why for me?"
"Well, you're such an old friend of them both."
"I'm an old friend of Leidner's. I wasn't a friend of hers particularly."
He spoke as though he had actually disliked her. Really, I wished Miss Reilly could have heard him!
"Well, good-night," I said and hurried along to my room.
I fussed around a bit in my room before undressing. Washed out some handkerchiefs and a pair of wash-leather gloves and wrote up my diary. I just looked out of my door again before I really started to get ready for bed. The lights were still on in the drawing-office and in the south building.
I supposed Dr. Leidner was still up and working in his office. I wondered whether I ought to go and say goodnight to him. I hesitated about it - I didn't want to seem officious. He might be busy and not want to be disturbed. In the end, however, a sort of uneasiness drove me on. After all, it couldn't do any harm. I'd just say good-night, ask if there was anything I could do and come away.
But Dr. Leidner wasn't there. The office itself was lit up but there was no one in it except Miss Johnson. She had her head down on the table and was crying as though her heart would break.
It gave me quite a turn. She was such a quiet, self-controlled woman. It was pitiful to see her.
"Whatever is it, my dear?" I cried. I put my arm round her and patted her. "Now, now, this won't do at all... You mustn't sit here crying all by yourself."
She didn't answer and I felt the dreadful shuddering sobs that were racking her.
"Don't, my dear, don't," I said. "Take a hold on yourself. I'll go and make you a cup of nice hot tea."
She raised her head and said:
"No, no, it's all right, Nurse. I'm being a fool."
"What's upset you, my dear?" I asked.
She didn't answer at once, then she said:
"It's all too awful..."
"Now don't start thinking of it," I told her. "What's happened has happened and can't be mended. It's no use fretting."
She sat up straight and began to pat her hair.
"I'm making rather a fool of myself," she said in her gruff voice. "I've been clearing up and tidying the office. Thought it was best to do something. And then - it all came over me suddenly -"
"Yes, yes," I said hastily. "I know. A nice strong cup of tea and a hot-water bottle in your bed is what you want," I said.
And she had them too. I didn't listen to any protests.
"Thank you, Nurse," she said when I'd settled her in bed, and she was sipping her tea and the hot-water bottle was in. "You're a nice kind sensible woman. It's not often I make such a fool of myself."
"Oh, anybody's liable to do that at a time like this," I said, "what with one thing and another. The strain and the shock and the police here, there and everywhere. Why, I'm quite jumpy myself."
She said slowly in rather a queer voice:
"What you said in there is true. What's happened has happened and can't be mended..."
She was silent for a minute or two and then said - rather oddly, I thought:
"She was never a nice woman!"
Well, I didn't argue the point. I'd always felt it was quite natural for Miss Johnson and Mrs. Leidner not to hit it off.
I wondered if, perhaps, Miss Johnson had secretly had a feeling that she was pleased Mrs. Leidner was dead, and had then been ashamed of herself for the thought.
I said:
"Now you go to sleep and don't worry about anything."
I just picked up a few things and set the room to rights. Stockings over the back of the chair and coat and skirt on a hanger. There was a little ball of crumpled paper on the floor where it must have fallen out of a pocket.
I was just smoothing it out to see whether I could safely throw it away when she quite startled me.
"Give that to me!"
I did so - rather taken aback. She'd called out so peremptorily. She snatched it from me - fairly snatched it - and then held it in the candle flame till it was burnt to ashes.
As I say, I was startled - and I just stared at her.
I hadn't had time to see what the paper was - she'd snatched it so quick. But funnily enough, as it burned it curled over towards me and I just saw that there were words written in ink on the paper.
It wasn't till I was getting into bed that I realized why they'd looked sort of familiar to me.
It was the same handwriting as that of the anonymous letters.
Was that why Miss Johnson had given way to a fit of remorse? Had it been her all along who had written those anonymous letters?
Chapter 20
MISS JOHNSON, MRS. MERCADO, MR. REITER
I don't mind confessing that the idea came as a complete shock to me. I'd never thought of associating Miss Johnson with the letters. Mrs. Mercado, perhaps. But Miss Johnson was a real lady, and so self-controlled and sensible.
But I reflected, remembering the conversation I had listened to that evening between M. Poirot and Dr. Reilly, and that might be just why.
If it were Miss Johnson who had written the letters it explained a lot. Mind you, I didn't think for a minute Miss Johnson had had anything to do with the murder. But I did see that her dislike of Mrs. Leidner might have made her succumb to the temptation of well - putting the wind up her - to put it vulgarly.
She might have hoped to frighten away Mrs. Leidner from the dig.
But then Mrs. Leidner had been murdered and Miss Johnson had felt terrible pangs of remorse - first for her cruel trick and also, perhaps, because she realized that those letters were acting as a very good shield to the actual murderer. No wonder she had broken down so utterly. She was, I was sure, a decent soul at heart. And it explained, too, why she had caught so eagerly at my consolation of "what's happened's happened and can't be amended."
And then her cryptic remark - her vindication of herself - "She was never a nice woman!"
The question was, what was I to do about it?
I tossed and turned for a good while and in the end decided I'd let M. Poirot know about it at the first opportunity.
He came out next day but I didn't get a chance of speaking to him what you might call privately.
We had just a minute alone together and before I could collect myself to know how to begin, he had come close to me and was whispering instructions in my ear.
"Me, I shall talk to Miss Johnson - and others, perhaps, in the living-room. You have the key of Mrs. Leidner's room still?"
"Yes," I said.
"Très bien. Go there, shut the door behind you and give a cry - not a scream - a cry. You understand what I mean - it is alarm - surprise that I want you to express - not mad terror. As for the excuse if you are heard - I leave that to you - the stepped toe or what you will."
At that moment Miss Johnson came out into the courtyard and there was no time for more.
I understood well enough what M. Poirot was after. As soon as he and Miss Johnson had gone into the living-room I went across to Mrs. Leidner's room and, unlocking the door, went in and pulled the door to behind me.
I can't say I didn't feel a bit of a fool standing up in an empty room and giving a yelp all for nothing at all. Besides, it wasn't so easy to know just how loud to do it. I gave a pretty loud "Oh" and then tried it a bit higher and a bit lower.
Then I came out again and prepared my excuse of a stepped (stubbed I suppose he meant!) toe.
But it soon appeared that no excuse would be needed. Poirot and Miss Johnson were talking together earnestly and there had clearly been no interruption.
"Well," I thought, "that settles that. Either Miss Johnson imagined that cry she heard or else it was something quite different."
I didn't like to go in and interrupt them. There was a deck-chair on the porch so I sat down there. Their voices floated out to me.
"The position is delicate, you understand," Poirot was saying. "Dr. Leidner - obviously he adored his wife -"
"He worshipped her," said Miss Johnson.
"He tells me, naturally, how fond all his staff was of her! As for them, what can they say! Naturally they say the same thing. It is politeness. It is decency. It may also be the truth! But also it may not! And I am convinced, mademoiselle, that the key to this enigma lies in a complete understanding of Mrs. Leidner's character. If I could get the opinion - the honest opinion - of every member of the staff, I might, from the whole, build up a picture. Frankly, that is why I am here today. I knew Dr. Leidner would be in Hassanieh. That makes it easy for me to have a interview with each of you here in turn, and beg your help."
"That's all very well," began Miss Johnson and stopped.
"Do not make me the British clichés. " Poirot begged. "Do not say it is not the cricket or the football, that to speak anything but well of the dead is not done - that - enfin - there is loyalty! Loyalty, it is a pestilential thing in crime. Again and again it obscures the truth."
