Eighteen

TEA AT DR.?REILLY’S

Before leaving, Poirot made a round of the expedition house and the outbuildings. He also asked afew questions of the servants at second hand—that is to say, Dr.?Reilly translated the questionsand answers from English to Arabic and vice¹ versa.

These questions dealt mainly with the appearance of the stranger Mrs.?Leidner and I had seenlooking through the window and to whom Father Lavigny had been talking on the following day.

“Do you really think that fellow had anything to do with it?” asked Dr.?Reilly when we werebumping along in his car on our way to Hassanieh.

“I like all the information there is,” was Poirot’s reply.

And really, that described his methods very well. I found later that there wasn’t anything—nosmall scrap² of insignificant³ gossip—in which he wasn’t interested. Men aren’t usually so gossipy.

I must confess I was glad of my cup of tea when we got to Dr.?Reilly’s house. M.?Poirot, Inoticed, put five lumps of sugar in?his.

Stirring it carefully with his teaspoon⁴ he said: “And now we can talk, can we not? We canmake up our minds who is likely to have committed the crime.”

“Lavigny, Mercado, Emmott or Reiter?” asked Dr.?Reilly.

“No, no—that was theory number three. I wish to concentrate now on theory number two—leaving aside all question of a mysterious husband or brother-in-law turning up from the past. Letus discuss now quite simply which member of the expedition had the means and opportunity tokill Mrs.

Leidner, and who is likely to have done so.”

“I thought you didn’t think much of that theory.”

“Not at all. But I have some natural delicacy,” said Poirot reproachfully. “Can I discuss in thepresence of Dr.?Leidner the motives⁵ likely to lead to the murder of his wife by a member of theexpedition? That would not have been delicate at all. I had to sustain the fiction that his wife wasadorable and that everyone adored?her!

“But naturally it was not like that at all. Now we can be brutal⁶ and impersonal⁷ and say whatwe think. We have no longer to consider people’s feelings. And that is where Nurse Leatheran isgoing to help us. She is, I am sure, a very good observer.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said.

Dr.?Reilly handed me a plate of hot scones⁸—“To fortify⁹ yourself,” he said. They were verygood scones.

“Come now,” said M.?Poirot in a friendly, chatty way. “You shall tell me, ma soeur, exactlywhat each member of the expedition felt towards Mrs.?Leidner.”

“I was only there a week, M.?Poirot,” I said.

“Quite long enough for one of your intelligence. A nurse sums up quickly. She makes herjudgments and abides¹⁰ by them. Come, let us make a beginning. Father Lavigny, for instance?”

“Well, there now, I really couldn’t say. He and Mrs.?Leidner seemed to like talking together.

But they usually spoke¹¹ French and I’m not very good at French myself though I learnt it as a girlat school. I’ve an idea they talked mainly about books.”

“They were, as you might say, companionable together—yes?”

“Well, yes, you might put it that way. But, all the same, I think Father Lavigny was puzzledby her and—well—almost annoyed by being puzzled, if you know what I mean.”

And I told him of the conversation I had had with him out on the dig that first day when hehad called Mrs.?Leidner a “dangerous woman.”

“Now that is very interesting,” M.?Poirot said. “And she—what do you think she thought ofhim?”

“That’s rather difficult to say, too. It wasn’t easy to know what Mrs.?Leidner thought ofpeople. Sometimes, I fancy, he puzzled her. I remember her saying to Dr.?Leidner that he wasunlike any priest she had ever known.”

“A length of hemp¹² to be ordered for Father Lavigny,” said Dr.?Reilly facetiously¹³.

“My dear friend,” said Poirot. “Have you not, perhaps, some patients to attend? I would notfor the world detain you from your professional duties.”

“I’ve got a whole hospital of them,” said Dr.?Reilly.

And he got up and said a wink¹⁴ was as good as a nod to a blind horse, and went out laughing.

“That is better,” said Poirot. “We will have now an interesting conversation tête-à-tête. Butyou must not forget to eat your tea.”

He passed me a plate of sandwiches and suggested my having a second cup of tea. He reallyhad very pleasant, attentive¹⁵ manners.

“And now,” he said, “let us continue with your impressions. Who was there who in youropinion did not like Mrs.?Leidner?”

“Well,” I said, “it’s only my opinion and I don’t want it repeated as coming from me.”

“Naturally not.”

“But in my opinion little Mrs.?Mercado fairly hated her!”

“Ah! And Mr.?Mercado?”

“He was a bit soft on her,” I said. “I shouldn’t think women, apart from his wife, had evertaken much notice of him. And Mrs.?Leidner had a nice kind way of being interested in people andthe things they told her. It rather went to the poor man’s head, I fancy.”

“And Mrs.?Mercado—she was not pleased?”

“She was just plain jealous—that’s the truth of it. You’ve got to be very careful when there’sa husband and wife about, and that’s a fact. I could tell you some surprising things. You’ve noidea the extraordinary things women get into their heads when it’s a question of their husbands.”

“I do not doubt the truth of what you say. So Mrs.?Mercado was jealous? And she hatedMrs.?Leidner?”

“I’ve seen her look at her as though she’d have liked to kill her—oh, gracious!” I pulledmyself up. “Indeed, M.?Poirot, I didn’t mean to say—I mean, that is, not for one moment—”

“No, no. I quite understand. The phrase slipped out. A very convenient one. AndMrs.?Leidner, was she worried by this animosity of Mrs.?Mercado’s?”

“Well,” I said, reflecting, “I don’t really think she was worried at all. In fact, I don’t evenknow whether she noticed it. I thought once of just giving her a hint—but I didn’t like to. Leastsaid soonest mended. That’s what I say.”

“You are doubtless wise. Can you give me any instances of how Mrs.?Mercado showed herfeelings?”

I told him about our conversation on the roof.

“So she mentioned Mrs.?Leidner’s first marriage,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “Can youremember—in mentioning it—did she look at you as though she wondered whether you had hearda different version?”

“You think she may have known the truth about it?”

“It is a possibility. She may have written those letters—and engineered a tapping hand and allthe rest of it.”

“I wondered something of the same kind myself. It seemed the kind of petty revengeful thingshe might do.”

“Yes. A cruel streak¹⁶, I should say. But hardly the temperament¹⁷ for cold-blooded, brutalmurder unless, of course—”

He paused and then said: “It is odd, that curious thing she said to you. ‘I know why you arehere.’ What did she mean by it?”

“I can’t imagine,” I said frankly¹⁸.

“She thought you were there for some ulterior reason apart from the declared one. Whatreason? And why should she be so concerned in the matter. Odd, too, the way you tell me shestared at you all through tea the day you arrived.”

“Well, she’s not a lady, M.?Poirot,” I said primly¹⁹.

“That, ma soeur, is an excuse but not an explanation.”

I wasn’t quite sure for the minute what he meant. But he went on quickly.

“And the other members of the staff?”

I considered.

“I don’t think Miss?Johnson liked Mrs.?Leidner either very much. But she was quite open andaboveboard about it. She as good as admitted she was prejudiced. You see, she’s very devoted²⁰ toDr.?Leidner and had worked with him for years. And of course, marriage does change things—there’s no denying it.”

“Yes,” said Poirot. “And from Miss?Johnson’s point of view it would be an unsuitablemarriage. It would really have been much more suitable if Dr.?Leidner had married her.”

“It would really,” I agreed. “But there, that’s a man all over. Not one in a hundred considerssuitability. And one can’t really blame Dr.?Leidner. Miss?Johnson, poor soul, isn’t so much to lookat. Now Mrs.?Leidner was really beautiful—not young, of course—but oh! I wish you’d knownher. There was something about her .?.?. I remember Mr.?Coleman saying she was like athingummyjig that came to lure²¹ people into marshes²². That wasn’t a very good way of putting it,but — oh, well — you’ll laugh at me, but there was something about her that was — well —unearthly.”

“She could cast a spell—yes, I understand,” said Poirot.

“Then I don’t think she and Mr.?Carey got on very well either,” I went on. “I’ve an idea hewas jealous just like Miss?Johnson. He was always very stiff with her and so was she with him.

You know—she passed him things and was very polite and called him Mr.?Carey rather formally.

He was an old friend of her husband’s of course, and some women can’t stand their husband’s oldfriends. They don’t like to think that anyone knew them before they did—at least that’s rather amuddled way of putting it—”

“I quite understand. And the three young men? Coleman, you say, was inclined to be poeticabout her.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“It was funny, M.?Poirot,” I said. “He’s such a matter-of-fact young man.”

“And the other two?”

“I don’t really know about Mr.?Emmott. He’s always so quiet and never says much. She wasvery nice to him always. You know—friendly—called him David and used to tease him aboutMiss?Reilly and things like that.”

“Ah, really? And did he enjoy that?”

“I don’t quite know,” I said doubtfully. “He’d just look at her. Rather funnily. You couldn’ttell what he was thinking.”

“And Mr.?Reiter?”

“She wasn’t always very kind to him,” I said slowly. “I think he got on her nerves. She usedto say quite sarcastic²³ things to him.”

“And did he mind?”

“He used to get very pink, poor boy. Of course, she didn’t mean to be unkind.”

And then suddenly, from feeling a little sorry for the boy, it came over me that he was verylikely a cold-blooded murderer and had been playing a part all the time.

“Oh, M.?Poirot,” I exclaimed. “What do you think really happened?”

He shook his head slowly and thoughtfully.

“Tell me,” he said. “You are not afraid to go back there tonight?”

“Oh no,” I said. “Of course, I remember what you said, but who would want to murder me?”

“I do not think that anyone could,” he said slowly. “That is partly why I have been so anxiousto hear all you could tell me. No, I think—I am sure—you are quite safe.”

“If anyone had told me in Baghdad—” I began and stopped.

“Did you hear any gossip about the Leidners and the expedition before you came here?” heasked.

I told him about Mrs.?Leidner’s nickname and just a little of what Mrs.

Kelsey had said about her.

In the middle of it the door opened and Miss?Reilly came in. She had been playing tennis andhad her racquet in her hand.

I gathered Poirot had already met her when he arrived in Hassanieh.

She said how-do-you-do to me in her usual offhand²⁴ manner and picked up a sandwich.

“Well, M.?Poirot,” she said. “How are you getting on with our local mystery?”

“Not very fast, mademoiselle.”

“I see you’ve rescued nurse from the wreck²⁵.”

“Nurse Leatheran has been giving me valuable information about the various members of theexpedition. Incidentally I have learnt a good deal — about the victim. And the victim,mademoiselle, is very often the clue to the mystery.”

Miss?Reilly said: “That’s rather clever of you, M.?Poirot. It’s certainly true that if ever awoman deserved to be murdered Mrs.?Leidner was that woman!”

“Miss?Reilly!” I cried, scandalized.

She laughed, a short, nasty laugh.

“Ah!” she said. “I thought you hadn’t been hearing quite the truth. Nurse Leatheran, I’mafraid, was quite taken in, like many other people. Do you know, M.?Poirot, I rather hope that thiscase isn’t going to be one of your successes. I’d quite like the murderer of Louise Leidner to getaway with it. In fact, I wouldn’t much have objected to putting her out of the way myself.”

I was simply disgusted with the girl. M.?Poirot, I must say, didn’t turn a hair. He just bowedand said quite pleasantly:

“I hope, then, that you have an alibi²⁶ for yesterday afternoon?”

There was a moment’s silence and Miss?Reilly’s racquet went clattering²⁷ down on to the floor.

She didn’t bother to pick it up. Slack and untidy like all her sort! She said in a rather breathlessvoice: “Oh, yes, I was playing tennis at the club. But, seriously, M.?Poirot, I wonder if you knowanything at all about Mrs.?Leidner and the kind of woman she was?”

Again he made a funny little bow and said: “You shall inform me, mademoiselle.”

She hesitated a minute and then spoke with a callousness²⁸ and lack of decency²⁹ that reallysickened me.

“There’s a convention that one doesn’t speak ill of the dead. That’s stupid, I think. Thetruth’s always the truth. On the whole it’s better to keep your mouth shut about living people. Youmight conceivably injure them. The dead are past that. But the harm they’ve done lives after themsometimes. Not quite a quotation³⁰ from Shakespeare but very nearly! Has nurse told you of thequeer atmosphere there was at Tell Yarimjah? Has she told you how jumpy they all were? Andhow they all used to glare at each other like enemies? That was Louise Leidner’s doing. When Iwas a kid out here three years ago they were the happiest, jolliest lot imaginable. Even last yearthey were pretty well all right. But this year there was a blight³¹ over them—and it was her doing.

She was the kind of woman who won’t let anybody else be happy! There are women like that andshe was one of them! She wanted to break up things always. Just for fun—or for the sense ofpower—or perhaps just because she was made that way. And she was the kind of woman who hadto get hold of every male creature within reach!”

“Miss?Reilly,” I cried, “I don’t think that’s true. In fact I know it isn’t.”

She went on without taking the least notice of me.

“It wasn’t enough for her to have her husband adore her. She had to make a fool of that long-legged shambling idiot of a Mercado. Then she got hold of Bill. Bill’s a sensible cove³², but she wasgetting him all mazed³³ and bewildered. Carl Reiter she just amused herself by tormenting³⁴. It waseasy. He’s a sensitive boy. And she had a jolly good go at David.

“David was better sport to her because he put up a fight. He felt her charm—but he wasn’thaving any. I think because he’d got sense enough to know that she didn’t really care a damn. Andthat’s why I hate her so. She’s not sensual. She doesn’t want affairs. It’s just cold- bloodedexperiment on her part and the fun of stirring people up and setting them against each other. Shedabbled in that too. She’s the sort of woman who’s never had a row with anyone in her life—butrows always happen where she is! She makes them happen. She’s a kind of female Iago. She musthave drama. But she doesn’t want to be involved herself. She’s always outside pulling strings—looking on—enjoying it. Oh, do you see at all what I mean?”

“I see, perhaps, more than you know, mademoiselle,” said Poirot.

I couldn’t make his voice out. He didn’t sound indignant. He sounded—oh, well, I can’texplain it.

Sheila Reilly seemed to understand, for she flushed all over her face.

“You can think what you choose,” she said. “But I’m right about her. She was a cleverwoman and she was bored and she experimented—with people—like other people experimentwith chemicals. She enjoyed working on poor old Johnson’s feelings and seeing her bite on thebullet and control herself like the old sport she is. She liked goading³⁵ little Mercado into a white-hot frenzy³⁶. She liked flicking³⁷ me on the raw—and she could do it too, every time! She likedfinding out things about people and holding it over them. Oh, I don’t mean crude blackmail—Imean just letting them know that she knew—and leaving them uncertain what she meant to doabout it. My God, though, that woman was an artist! There was nothing crude about her methods!”

“And her husband?” asked Poirot.

“She never wanted to hurt him,” said Miss?Reilly slowly. “I’ve never known her anything butsweet to him. I suppose she was fond of him. He’s a dear—wrapped up in his own world—hisdigging and his theories. And he worshipped her and thought her perfection. That might haveannoyed some women. It didn’t annoy her. In a sense he lived in a fool’s paradise—and yet itwasn’t a fool’s paradise because to him she was what he thought her. Though it’s hard to reconcilethat with—”

She stopped.

“Go on, mademoiselle,” said Poirot.

She turned suddenly on me.

“What have you said about Richard Carey?”

“About Mr.?Carey?” I asked, astonished.

“About her and Carey?”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve mentioned that they didn’t hit it off very well—”

To my surprise she broke into a fit of laughter.

“Didn’t hit it off very well! You fool! He’s head over ears in love with her. And it’s tearinghim to pieces—because he worships Leidner too. He’s been his friend for years. That would beenough for her, of course. She’s made it her business to come between them. But all the same I’vefancied—”

“Eh bien?”

She was frowning, absorbed in thought.

“I’ve fancied that she’d gone too far for once—that she was not only biter but bit! Carey’sattractive. He’s as attractive as hell .?.?. She was a cold devil—but I believe she could have lost hercoldness with him. .?.?.”

“I think it’s just scandalous what you’re saying,” I cried. “Why, they hardly spoke to eachother!”

“Oh, didn’t they?” She turned on me. “A hell of a lot you know about it. It was ‘Mr.?Carey’

and ‘Mrs.?Leidner’ in the house, but they used to meet outside. She’d walk down the path to theriver. And he’d leave the dig for an hour at a time. They used to meet among the fruit trees.

“I saw him once just leaving her, striding back to the dig, and she was standing³⁸ looking afterhim. I was a female cad, I suppose. I had some glasses with me and I took them out and had agood look at her face. If you ask me, I believe she cared like hell for Richard Carey. .?.?.”

She broke off and looked at Poirot.

“Excuse my butting³⁹ in on your case,” she said with a sudden rather twisted grin, “but Ithought you’d like to have the local colour correct.”

And she marched out of the room.

“M.?Poirot,” I cried. “I don’t believe one word of it all!”

He looked at me and he smiled, and he said (very queerly I thought): “You can’t deny, nurse,that Miss?Reilly has shed a certain—illumination on the case.”

 

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