I remembered Mrs. Mercado's story.
"You don't think," I said hesitatingly, "that you dreamt that?"
"I'm sure I didn't!"
I wasn't so sure. It was the kind of nightmare that was quite likely under the circumstances and that easily might be taken for a waking occurrence. However, I never contradict a patient. I soothed Mrs. Leidner as best I could and pointed out that if any stranger arrived in the neighbourhood it was pretty sure to be known.
I left her, I think, a little comforted, and I went in search of Dr. Leidner and told him of our conversation.
"I'm glad she's told you," he said simply. "It has worried me dreadfully. I feel sure that all those faces and tappings on the window-pane have been sheer imagination on her part. I haven't known what to do for the best. What do you think of the whole thing?"
I didn't quite understand the tone in his voice, but I answered promptly enough.
"It's possible," I said, "that these letters may be just a cruel and malicious hoax."
"Yes, that is quite likely. But what are we to do? They are driving her mad. I don't know what to think."
I didn't either. It had occurred to me that possibly a woman might be concerned. Those letters had a feminine note about them. Mrs. Mercado was at the back of my mind.
Supposing that by some chance she had learnt the facts of Mrs. Leidner's first marriage. She might be indulging her spite by terrorizing the other woman.
I didn't quite like to suggest such a thing to Dr. Leidner. It's so difficult to know how people are going to take things.
"Oh, well," I said cheerfully, "we must hope for the best. I think Mrs. Leidner seems happier already from just talking about it. That's always a help, you know.
It's bottling things up that makes them get on your nerves."
"I'm very glad she has told you," he repeated. "It's a good sign. It shows she likes and trusts you. I've been at my wit's end to know what to do for the best."
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him whether he'd thought of giving a discreet hint to the local police, but afterwards I was glad I hadn't done so.
What happened was this. On the following day Mr. Coleman was going in to Hassanieh to get the work-men's pay. He was also taking in all our letters to catch the air mail.
The letters, as written, were dropped into a wooden box on the dining-room window-sill. Last thing that night Mr. Coleman took them out and was sorting them out into bundles and putting rubber-bands round them.
Suddenly he gave a shout.
"What is it?" I asked.
He held out a letter with a grin.
"It's our Lovely Louise - she really is going balmy. She's addressed a letter to some one at 42nd Street, Paris, France. I don't think that can be right, do you? Do you mind taking it to her and asking what she does mean? She's just gone off to bed."
I took it from him and ran off to Mrs. Leidner with it and she amended the address.
It was the first time I had seen Mrs. Leidner's hand-writing, and I wondered idly where I had seen it before, for it was certainly quite familiar to me.
It wasn't till the middle of the night that it suddenly came to me.
Except that it was bigger and rather more straggling, it was extraordinarily like the writing on the anonymous letters.
New ideas flashed through my head.
Had Mrs. Leidner conceivably written those letters herself?
And did Dr. Leidner half suspect the fact?
Chapter 10
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Mrs. Leidner told me her story on a Friday. On Saturday morning there was a feeling of slight anti-climax in the air.
Mrs. Leidner, in particular, was inclined to be very off-hand with me and rather pointedly avoided any possibility of a tête-a-tête. Well, that didn't surprise me! I've had the same thing happen to me again and again. Ladies tell their nurses things in a sudden burst of confidence, and then, afterwards, they feel uncomfortable about it and wish they hadn't! It's only human nature.
I was very careful not to hint or remind her in any way of what she had told me. I purposely kept my conversation as matter-of-fact as possible.
Mr. Coleman had started in to Hassanieh in the morning, driving himself in the lorry with the letters in a knapsack. He also had one or two commissions to do for the members of the expedition. It was pay-day for the men, and he would have to go to the bank and bring out the money in coins of small denominations. All this was a long business and he did not expect to be back until the afternoon. I rather suspected he might be lunching with Sheila Reilly.
Work on the dig was usually not very busy on the afternoon of pay-day as at three-thirty the paying-out began.
The little boy, Abdullah, whose business it was to wash pots, was established as usual in the centre of the courtyard, and again as usual, kept up his queer nasal chant. Dr. Leidner and Mr. Emmott were going to put in some work on the pottery until Mr. Coleman returned, and Mr. Carey went up to the dig.
Mrs. Leidner went to her room to rest. I settled her as usual and then went to my own room, taking a book with me as I did not feel sleepy. It was then about a quarter to one, and a couple of hours passed quite pleasantly. I was reading Death in a Nursing Home - really a most exciting story - though I don't think the author knew much about the way nursing homes are run! At any rate I've never known a nursing home like that! I really felt inclined to write to the author and put him right about a few points.
When I put the book down at last (it was the red-haired parlourmaid and I'd never suspected her once!) and looked at my watch I was quite surprised to find it was twenty minutes to three!
I got up, straightened my uniform, and came out into the courtyard.
Abdullah was still scrubbing and still singing his depressing chant, and David Emmott was standing by him sorting the scrubbed pots, and putting the ones that were broken into boxes to await mending. I strolled over towards them just as Dr. Leidner came down the staircase from the roof.
"Not a bad afternoon," he said cheerfully. "I've made a bit of a clearance up there. Louise will be pleased. She's complained lately that there's not room to walk about. I'll go and tell her the good news."
He went over to his wife's door, tapped on it and went in.
It must, I suppose, have been about a minute and a half later that he came out again. I happened to be looking at the door when he did so. It was like a nightmare. He had gone in a brisk, cheerful man. He came out like a drunken one - reeling a little on his feet, and with a queer dazed expression on his face.
"Nurse -" he called in a queer, hoarse voice. "Nurse -"
I saw at once something was wrong, and I ran across to him. He looked awful - his face was all grey and twitching, and I saw he might collapse any minute.
"My wife..." he said. "My wife... Oh, my God..."
I pushed past him into the room. Then I caught my breath.
Mrs. Leidner was lying in a dreadful huddled heap by the bed.
I bent over her. She was quite dead - must have been dead an hour at least. The cause of death was perfectly plain - a terrific blow on the front of the head just over the right temple. She must have got up from the bed and been struck down where she stood.
I didn't handle her more than I could help.
I glanced round the room to see if there was anything that might give a clue, but nothing seemed out of place or disturbed. The windows were closed and fastened, and there was no place where the murderer could have hidden. Obviously he had been and gone long ago.
I went out, closing the door behind me.
Dr. Leidner had collapsed completely now. David Emmott was with him and turned a white, inquiring face to me.
In a few low words I told him what had happened.
As I always suspected, he was a first-class person to rely on in trouble. He was perfectly calm and self-possessed. Those blue eyes of his opened very wide, but otherwise he gave no sign at all.
He considered for a moment and then said:
"I suppose we must notify the police as soon as possible. Bill ought to be back any minute. What shall we do with Leidner?"
"Help me to get him into his room."
He nodded.
"Better lock this door first, I suppose," he said.
He turned the key in the lock of Mrs. Leidner's door, then drew it out and handed it to me.
"I guess you'd better keep this, nurse. Now then."
Together we lifted Dr. Leidner and carried him into his own room and laid him on his bed. Mr. Emmott went off in search of brandy. He returned, accompanied by Miss Johnson.
Her face was drawn and anxious, but she was calm and capable, and I felt satisfied to leave Dr. Leidner in her charge.
I hurried out into the courtyard. The station wagon was just coming in through the archway. I think it gave us all a shock to see Bill's pink, cheerful face as he jumped out with his familiar "Hallo, 'allo, 'allo! Here's the oof!" He went on gaily, "No highway robberies -"
He came to a halt suddenly. "I say, is anything up? What's the matter with you all? You look as though the cat had killed your canary."
Mr. Emmott said shortly:
"Mrs. Leidner's dead - killed."
"What?" Bill's jolly face changed ludicrously. He stared, his eyes goggling. "Mother Leidner dead! You're pulling my leg."
"Dead?" It was a sharp cry. I turned to see Mrs. Mercado behind me. "Did you say Mrs. Leidner had been killed?"
"Yes," I said. "Murdered."
"No!" she gasped. "Oh, no! I won't believe it. Perhaps she's committed suicide."
"Suicides don't hit themselves on the head," I said dryly. "It's murder all right, Mrs. Mercado."
She sat down suddenly on an upturned packing-case.
She said, "Oh, but this is horrible - horrible..."
Naturally it was horrible. We didn't need her to tell us so! I wondered if perhaps she was feeling a bit remorseful for the harsh feelings she had harboured against the dead woman, and all the spiteful things she had said.
After a minute or two she asked rather breathlessly:
"What are you going to do?"
Mr. Emmott took charge in his quiet way.
"Bill, you'd better get in again to Hassanieh as quick, as you can. I don't know much about the proper procedure. Better get hold of Captain Maitland, he's in charge of the police here, I think. Get Dr. Reilly first. He'll know what to do."
Mr. Coleman nodded. All the facetiousness was knocked out of him. He just looked young and frightened. Without a word he jumped into the station wagon and drove off.
Mr. Emmott said rather uncertainly, "I suppose we ought to have a hunt round." He raised his voice and called:
"Ibrahim!"
"Na'am."
The house-boy came running. Mr. Emmott spoke to him in Arabic. A vigorous colloquy passed between them. The boy seemed to be emphatically denying something.
At last Mr. Emmott said in a perplexed voice:
"He says there's not been a soul here this afternoon. No stranger of any kind. I suppose the fellow must have slipped in without their seeing him."
"Of course he did," said Mrs. Mercado. "He slunk in when the boys weren't looking."
"Yes," said Mr. Emmott.
The slight uncertainty in his voice made me look at him inquiringly.
He turned and spoke to the little pot-boy, Abdullah, asking him a question.
The boy replied vehemently at length.
The puzzled frown on Mr. Emmott's brow increased.
"I don't understand it," he murmured under his breath. "I don't understand it at all."
But he didn't tell me what he didn't understand.
Chapter 11
AN ODD BUSINESS
I'm adhering as far as possible to telling only my personal part in the business. I pass over the events of the next two hours, the arrival of Captain Maitland and the police and Dr. Reilly. There was a good deal of general confusion, questioning, all the routine business, I suppose.
In my opinion we began to get down to brass tacks about five o'clock when Dr. Reilly asked me to come with him into the office.
He shut the door, sat down in Dr. Leidner's chair, motioned me to sit down opposite him, and said briskly:
"Now, then, nurse, let's get down to it. There's something damned odd here."
I settled my cuffs and looked at him inquiringly.
He drew out a notebook.
"This is for my own satisfaction. Now, what time was it exactly when Dr. Leidner found his wife's body?"
"I should say it was almost exactly a quarter to three," I said.
"And how do you know that?"
"Well, I looked at my watch when I got up. It was twenty to three then."
"Let's have a look at this watch of yours."
I slipped it off my wrist and held it out to him.
"Right to the minute. Excellent woman. Good, that's that fixed. Now did you form any opinion as to how long she'd been dead?"
"Oh, really, doctor," I said, "I shouldn't like to say."
"Don't be so professional. I want to see if your estimate agrees with mine."
"Well, I should say she'd been dead at least an hour."
"Quite so. I examined the body at half-past four and I'm inclined to put the time of death between 1.15 and 1.45. We'll say half-past one at a guess. That's near enough."
He stopped and drummed thoughtfully with his fingers on the table.
"Damned odd, this business," he said. "Can you tell me about it - you were resting, you say? Did you hear anything?"
"At half-past one? No, doctor. I didn't hear anything at half-past one or at any other time. I lay on my bed from a quarter to one until twenty to three and I didn't hear anything except that droning noise the Arab boy makes, and occasionally Mr. Emmott shouting up to Dr. Leidner on the roof."
"The Arab boy - yes."
He frowned.
At that moment the door opened and Dr. Leidner and Captain Maitland came in. Captain Maitland was a fussy little man with a pair of shrewd grey eyes.
Dr. Reilly rose and pushed Dr. Leidner into his chair.
