Twenty

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 ofassociating Miss?Johnson with the letters. Mrs.?Mercado, perhaps. But Miss?Johnson was a reallady, and so self-controlled and sensible.

But I reflected, remembering the conversation I had listened to that evening betweenM.?Poirot and Dr.?Reilly, that that might be just why.

If it were Miss?Johnson who had written the letters it explained a lot, mind you. I didn’t thinkfor a minute Miss?Johnson had had anything to do with the murder. But I did see that her dislike ofMrs.?Leidner might have made her succumb¹ 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 pangs² ofremorse—first for her cruel trick and also, perhaps, because she realized that those letters wereacting as a very good shield to the actual murderer. No wonder she had broken down so utterly³.

She was, I was sure, a decent soul at heart. And it explained, too, why she had caught so eagerly atmy consolation⁴ of “what’s happened’s happened and can’t be mended.”

And then her cryptic⁵ remark—her vindication⁶ 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 decided⁷ I’d let M.?Poirot know about it atthe first opportunity.

He came out next day, but I didn’t get a chance of speaking to him what you might callprivately.

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 keyof 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. Youunderstand what I mean—it is alarm—surprise that I want you to express—not mad terror. As forthe 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 hadgone into the living room I went across to Mrs.?Leidner’s room and, unlocking the door, went inand pulled the door to behind me.

I can’t say I didn’t feel a bit of a fool standing⁸ up in an empty room and giving a yelp⁹ all fornothing 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 talkingtogether earnestly and there had clearly been no interruption.

“Well,” I thought, “that settles that. Either Miss?Johnson imagined that cry she heard or else itwas something quite different.”

I didn’t like to go in and interrupt them. There was a deck chair on the porch so I sat downthere. Their voices floated out to?me.

“The position is delicate, you understand,” Poirot was saying. “Dr.?Leidner—obviously headored 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 decency¹⁰. It may also be the truth! But alsoit may not! And I am convinced, mademoiselle, that the key to this enigma¹¹ lies in a completeunderstanding of Mrs.?Leidner’s character. If I could get the opinion—the honest opinion—ofevery member of the staff, I might, from the whole, build up a picture. Frankly¹², that is why I amhere today. I knew Dr.?Leidner would be in Hassanieh. That makes it easy for me to have aninterview 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 thefootball, that to speak anything but well of the dead is not done—that—enfin—there is loyalty¹³!

Loyalty it is a pestilential thing in crime. Again and again it obscures the truth.”

“I’ve no particular loyalty to Mrs.?Leidner,” said Miss?Johnson dryly. There was indeed asharp and acid tone in her voice. “Dr.?Leidner’s a different matter. And, after all, she was hiswife.”

“Precisely—precisely. I understand that you would not wish to speak against your chief’swife. But this is not a question of a testimonial. It is a question of sudden and mysterious death. IfI am to believe that it is a martyred angel who has been killed it does not add to the easiness of mytask.”

“I certainly shouldn’t call her an angel,” said Miss?Johnson and the acid tone was even morein evidence.

“Tell me your opinion, frankly, of Mrs.?Leidner—as a woman.”

“H’m! To begin with, M.?Poirot, I’ll give you this warning. I’m prejudiced. I am—we allwere—devoted¹⁴ to Dr.?Leidner. And, I suppose, when Mrs.?Leidner came along, we were jealous.

We resented the demands she made on his time and attention. The devotion he showed herirritated us. I’m being truthful¹⁵, M.?Poirot, and it isn’t very pleasant for me. I resented her presencehere—yes, I did, though, of course, I tried never to show it. It made a difference to us, you see.”

“Us? You say us?”

“I mean Mr.?Carey and myself. We’re the two old-timers, you see. And we didn’t much carefor the new order of things. I suppose that’s natural, though perhaps it was rather petty of us. But itdid make a difference.”

“What kind of a difference?”

“Oh! to everything. We used to have such a happy time. A good deal of fun, you know, andrather silly jokes, like people do who work together. Dr.?Leidner was quite lighthearted—just likea boy.”

“And when Mrs.?Leidner came she changed all that?”

“Well, I suppose it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t so bad last year. And please believe, M.?Poirot,that it wasn’t anything she did. She’s always been charming to me—quite charming. That’s whyI’ve felt ashamed sometimes. It wasn’t her fault that little things she said and did seemed to rubme up the wrong way. Really, nobody could be nicer than she was.”

“But nevertheless things were changed this season? There was a different atmosphere.”

“Oh, entirely¹⁶. Really. I don’t know what it was. Everything seemed to go wrong—not withthe work—I mean with us—our tempers and our nerves. All on edge. Almost the sort of feelingyou get when there is a thunderstorm coming.”

“And you put that down to Mrs.?Leidner’s influence?”

“Well, it was never like that before she came,” said Miss?Johnson dryly. “Oh! I’m a cross-grained, complaining old dog. Conservative—liking things always the same. You really mustn’ttake any notice of me, M.?Poirot.”

“How would you describe to me Mrs.?Leidner’s character and temperament¹⁷?”

Miss?Johnson hesitated for a moment. Then she said slowly: “Well, of course, she wastemperamental. A lot of ups and downs. Nice to people one day and perhaps wouldn’t speak tothem the next. She was very kind, I think. And very thoughtful for others. All the same you couldsee she had been thoroughly¹⁸ spoilt all her life. She took Dr.?Leidner’s waiting on her hand andfoot as perfectly¹⁹ natural. And I don’t think she ever really appreciated what a very remarkable—what a really great—man she had married. That used to annoy me sometimes. And of course shewas terribly highly strung and nervous. The things she used to imagine and the states she used toget into! I was thankful when Dr.?Leidner brought Nurse Leatheran here. It was too much for himhaving to cope both with his work and with his wife’s fears.”

“What is your own opinion of these anonymous²⁰ letters she received?”

I had to do it. I leaned forward in my chair till I could just catch sight of Miss?Johnson’sprofile turned to Poirot in answer to his question.

She was looking perfectly cool and collected.

“I think someone in America had a spite against her and was trying to frighten or annoy her.”

“Pas plus sérieux que ?a?”

“That’s my opinion. She was a very handsome woman, you know, and might easily have hadenemies. I think, those letters were written by some spiteful woman. Mrs.?Leidner being of anervous temperament took them seriously.”

“She certainly did that,” said Poirot. “But remember—the last of them arrived by hand.”

“Well, I suppose that could have been managed if anyone had given their minds to it. Womenwill take a lot of trouble to gratify their spite, M.?Poirot.”

They will indeed, I thought to myself!

“Perhaps you are right, mademoiselle. As you say, Mrs.?Leidner was handsome. By the way,you know Miss?Reilly, the doctor’s daughter?”

“Sheila Reilly? Yes, of course.”

Poirot adopted a very confidential²¹, gossipy tone.

“I have heard a rumour²² (naturally I do not like to ask the doctor) that there was a tendressebetween her and one of the members of Dr.?Leidner’s staff. Is that so, do you know?”

Miss?Johnson appeared rather amused.

“Oh, young Coleman and David Emmott were both inclined to dance attendance. I believethere was some rivalry²³ as to who was to be her partner in some event at the club. Both the boyswent in on Saturday evenings to the club as a general rule. But I don’t know that there wasanything in it on her side. She’s the only young creature in the place, you know, and so she’s byway of being the belle²⁴ of it. She’s got the Air Force dancing attendance on her as well.”

“So you think there is nothing in it?”

“Well—I don’t know.” Miss?Johnson became thoughtful. “It is true that she comes out thisway fairly often. Up to the dig and all that. In fact, Mrs.?Leidner was chaffing David Emmott aboutit the other day—saying the girl was running after him. Which was rather a catty thing to say, Ithought, and I don’t think he liked it .?.?. Yes, she was here a good deal. I saw her riding towardsthe dig on that awful afternoon.” She nodded her head towards the open window. “But neitherDavid Emmott nor Coleman were on duty that afternoon. Richard Carey was in charge. Yes,perhaps she is attracted to one of the boys—but she’s such a modern unsentimental young womanthat one doesn’t know quite how seriously to take her. I’m sure I don’t know which of them it is.

Bill’s a nice boy, and not nearly such a fool as he pretends to be. David Emmott is a dear—andthere’s a lot to him. He is the deep, quiet kind.”

Then she looked quizzically at Poirot and said: “But has this any bearing on the crime,M.?Poirot?”

M.?Poirot threw up his hands in a very French fashion.

“You make me blush, mademoiselle,” he said. “You expose me as a mere²⁵ gossip. But whatwill you, I am interested always in the love affairs of young people.”

“Yes,” said Miss?Johnson with a little sigh. “It’s nice when the course of true love runssmooth.”

Poirot gave an answering sigh. I wondered if Miss?Johnson was thinking of some love affairof her own when she was a girl. And I wondered if M.?Poirot had a wife, and if he went on in theway you always hear foreigners do, with mistresses and things like that. He looked so comic Icouldn’t imagine it.

“Sheila Reilly has a lot of character,” said Miss?Johnson. “She’s young and she’s crude, butshe’s the right sort.”

“I take your word for it, mademoiselle,” said Poirot.

He got up and said, “Are there any other members of the staff in the house?”

“Marie Mercado is somewhere about. All the men are up on the dig today. I think theywanted to get out of the house. I don’t blame them. If you’d like to go up to the dig—”

She came out on the verandah and said, smiling to me: “Nurse Leatheran won’t mind takingyou, I dare say.”

“Oh, certainly, Miss?Johnson,” I said.

“And you’ll come back to lunch, won’t you, M.?Poirot?”

“Enchanted, mademoiselle.”

Miss?Johnson went back into the living room where she was engaged in cataloguing.

“Mrs.?Mercado’s on the roof,” I said. “Do you want to see her first?”

“It would be as well, I think. Let us go up.”

As we went up the stairs I said: “I did what you told me. Did you hear anything?”

“Not a sound.”

“That will be a weight off Miss?Johnson’s mind at any rate,” I said. “She’s been worrying thatshe might have done something about it.”

Mrs.?Mercado was sitting on the parapet, her head bent²⁶ down, and she was so deep in thoughtthat she never heard us till Poirot halted opposite her and bade her good morning.

Then she looked up with a start.

She looked ill this morning, I thought, her small face pinched and wizened²⁷ and great darkcircles under her eyes.

“Encore moi,” said Poirot. “I come today with a special object.”

And he went on much in the same way as he had done to Miss?Johnson, explaining hownecessary it was that he should get a true picture of Mrs.?Leidner.

Mrs.?Mercado, however, wasn’t as honest as Miss?Johnson had been. She burst into fulsomepraise which, I was pretty sure, was quite far removed from her real feelings.

“Dear, dear Louise! It’s so hard to explain her to someone who didn’t know her. She wassuch an exotic creature. Quite different from anyone else. You felt that, I’m sure, nurse? A martyrto nerves, of course, and full of fancies, but one put up with things in her one wouldn’t fromanyone else. And she was so sweet to us all, wasn’t she, nurse? And so humble²⁸ about herself—Imean she didn’t know anything about archaeology²⁹, and she was so eager to learn. Always askingmy husband about the chemical processes for treating the metal objects and helping³⁰ Miss?Johnsonto mend pottery³¹. Oh, we were all devoted to her.”

“Then it is not true, madame, what I have heard, that there was a certain tenseness—anuncomfortable atmosphere—here?”

Mrs.?Mercado opened her opaque³² black eyes very wide.

“Oh! who can have been telling you that? Nurse? Dr.?Leidner? I’m sure he would nevernotice anything, poor man.”

And she shot a thoroughly unfriendly glance at me.

Poirot smiled easily.

“I have my spies, madame,” he declared gaily³³. And just for a minute I saw her eyelids³⁴ quiverand blink.

“Don’t you think,” asked Mrs.?Mercado with an air of great sweetness, “that after an event ofthis kind, everyone always pretends a lot of things that never were? You know — tension,atmosphere, a ‘feeling that something was going to happen?’ I think people just make up thesethings afterwards.”

“There is a lot in what you say, madame,” said Poirot.

“And it really wasn’t true! We were a thoroughly happy family here.”

“That woman is one of the most utter liars³⁵ I’ve ever known,” I said indignantly, whenM.?Poirot and I were clear of the house and walking along the path to the dig. “I’m sure she simplyhated Mrs.?Leidner really!”

“She is hardly the type to whom one would go for the truth,” Poirot agreed.

“Waste of time talking to her,” I snapped.

“Hardly that—hardly that. If a person tells you lies with her lips she is sometimes telling youtruth with her eyes. What is she afraid of, little Madame Mercado? I saw fear in her eyes. Yes—decidedly she is afraid of something. It is very interesting.”

“I’ve got something to tell you, M.?Poirot,” I said.

Then I told him all about my return the night before and my strong belief that Miss?Johnsonwas the writer of the anonymous letters.

“So she’s a liar³⁶ too!” I said. “The cool way she answered you this morning about these sameletters!”

“Yes,” said Poirot. “It was interesting, that. For she let out the fact she knew all about thoseletters. So far they have not been spoken of in the presence of the staff. Of course, it is quitepossible that Dr.?Leidner told her about them yesterday. They are old friends, he and she. But if hedid not—well—then it is curious and interesting, is it not?”

My respect for him went up. It was clever the way he had tricked her into mentioning theletters.

“Are you going to tackle her about them?” I asked.

M.?Poirot seemed quite shocked by the idea.

“No, no, indeed. Always it is unwise to parade one’s knowledge. Until the last minute I keepeverything here,” he tapped his forehead. “At the right moment—I make the spring—like thepanther—and, mon Dieu! the consternation³⁸!”

I couldn’t help laughing to myself at little M.?Poirot in the role of a panther.

We had just reached the dig. The first person we saw was Mr.?Reiter, who was busyphotographing some walling.

It’s my opinion that the men who were digging just hacked³⁹ out walls wherever they wantedthem. That’s what it looked like anyway. Mr.?Carey explained to me that you could feel thedifference at once with a pick, and he tried to show me—but I never saw. When the man said“Libn”—mud-brick—it was just ordinary dirt and mud as far as I could see.

Mr.?Reiter finished his photographs and handed over the camera and the plate to his boy andtold him to take them back to the house.

Poirot asked him one or two questions about exposures and film packs and so on which heanswered very readily. He seemed pleased to be asked about his work.

He was just tendering his excuses for leaving us when Poirot plunged⁴⁰ once more into his setspeech. As a matter of fact it wasn’t quite a set speech because he varied⁴¹ it a little each time to suitthe person he was talking to. But I’m not going to write it all down every time. With sensiblepeople like Miss?Johnson he went straight to the point, and with some of the others he had to beatabout the bush a bit more. But it came to the same in the end.

“Yes, yes, I see what you mean,” said Mr.?Reiter. “But indeed, I do not see that I can bemuch help to you. I am new here this season and I did not speak much with Mrs.?Leidner. I regret,but indeed I can tell you nothing.”

There was something a little stiff and foreign in the way he spoke³⁷, though, of course, hehadn’t got any accent—except an American one, I mean.

“You can at least tell me whether you liked or disliked her?” said Poirot with a smile.

Mr.?Reiter got quite red and stammered⁴²: “She was a charming person—most charming. Andintellectual. She had a very fine brain—yes.”

“Bien! You liked her. And she liked you?”

Mr.?Reiter got redder still.

“Oh, I—I don’t know that she noticed me much. And I was unfortunate once or twice. I wasalways unlucky when I tried to do anything for her. I’m afraid I annoyed her by my clumsiness. Itwas quite unintentional .?.?. I would have done anything—”

Poirot took pity on his flounderings.

“Perfectly — perfectly. Let us pass to another matter. Was it a happy atmosphere in thehouse?”

“Please?”

“Were you all happy together? Did you laugh and talk?”

“No—no, not exactly that. There was a little—stiffness.”

He paused, struggling with himself, and then said: “You see, I am not very good in company.

I am clumsy. I am shy. Dr.?Leidner always he has been most kind to me. But—it is stupid—Icannot overcome my shyness. I say always the wrong thing. I upset water jugs⁴³. I am unlucky.”

He really looked like a large awkward child.

“We all do these things when we are young,” said Poirot, smiling. “The poise⁴⁴, the savoirfaire, it comes later.”

Then with a word of farewell we walked on.

He said: “That, ma soeur, is either an extremely simple young man or a very remarkableactor.”

I didn’t answer. I was caught up once more by the fantastic notion that one of these peoplewas a dangerous and cold-blooded murderer. Somehow, on this beautiful still sunny morning itseemed impossible.

 

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