Twenty-three

I GO PSYCHIC¹

The funeral was, I thought, a very affecting affair. As well as ourselves, all the English people inHassanieh attended it. Even Sheila Reilly was there, looking quiet and subdued² in a dark coat andskirt. I hoped that she was feeling a little remorseful³ for all the unkind things she had said.

When we got back to the house I followed Dr.?Leidner into the office and broached⁵ thesubject of my departure. He was very nice about it, thanked me for what I had done (Done! I hadbeen worse than useless) and insisted on my accepting an extra week’s salary.

I protested because really I felt I’d done nothing to earn it.

“Indeed, Dr.?Leidner, I’d rather not have any salary at all. If you’ll just refund⁶ me mytravelling expenses, that’s all I want.”

But he wouldn’t hear of that.

“You see,” I said, “I don’t feel I deserve it, Dr.?Leidner. I mean, I’ve—well, I’ve failed. She—my coming didn’t save her.”

“Now don’t get that idea into your head, nurse,” he said earnestly. “After all, I didn’t engageyou as a female detective. I never dreamt my wife’s life was in danger. I was convinced it was allnerves and that she’d worked herself up into a rather curious mental state. You did all anyonecould do. She liked and trusted you. And I think in her last days she felt happier and safer becauseof your being here. There’s nothing for you to reproach yourself with.”

His voice quivered a little and I knew what he was thinking. He was the one to blame for nothaving taken Mrs.?Leidner’s fears seriously.

“Dr.?Leidner,” I said curiously⁷. “Have you ever come to any conclusion about thoseanonymous letters?”

He said with a sigh: “I don’t know what to believe. Has M.?Poirot come to any definiteconclusion?”

“He hadn’t yesterday,” I said, steering⁹ rather neatly¹⁰, I thought, between truth and fiction.

After all, he hadn’t until I told him about Miss?Johnson.

It was on my mind that I’d like to give Dr.?Leidner a hint and see if he reacted. In thepleasure of seeing him and Miss?Johnson together the day before, and his affection and reliance onher, I’d forgotten all about the letters. Even now I felt it was perhaps rather mean of me to bring itup. Even if she had written them, she had had a bad time after Mrs.?Leidner’s death. Yet I did wantto see whether that particular possibility had ever entered Dr.?Leidner’s head.

“Anonymous⁸ letters are usually the work of a woman,” I said. I wanted to see how he’d takeit.

“I suppose they are,” he said with a sigh. “But you seem to forget, nurse, that these may begenuine. They may actually be written by Frederick Bosner.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” I said. “But I can’t believe somehow that that’s the realexplanation.”

“I do,” he said. “It’s all nonsense, his being one of the expedition staff. That is just aningenious theory of M.?Poirot’s. I believe that the truth is much simpler. The man is a madman, ofcourse. He’s been hanging round the place—perhaps in disguise of some kind. And somehow orother he got in on that fatal afternoon. The servants may be lying—they may have been bribed¹¹.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” I said doubtfully.

Dr.?Leidner went on with a trace of irritability¹².

“It is all very well for M.?Poirot to suspect the members of my expedition. I am perfectlycertain none of them have anything to do with it! I have worked with them. I know them!”

He stopped suddenly, then he said: “Is that your experience, nurse? That anonymous lettersare usually written by women?”

“It isn’t always the case,” I said. “But there’s a certain type of feminine spitefulness that findsrelief that way.”

“I suppose you are thinking of Mrs.?Mercado?” he said.

Then he shook his head.

“Even if she were malicious¹⁴ enough to wish to hurt Louise she would hardly have thenecessary knowledge,” he said.

I remembered the earlier letters in the attaché case.

If Mrs.?Leidner had left that unlocked and Mrs.?Mercado had been alone in the house one daypottering about, she might easily have found them and read them. Men never seem to think of thesimplest possibilities!

“And apart from her there is only Miss?Johnson,” I said, watching him.

“That would be quite ridiculous!”

The little smile with which he said it was quite conclusive¹⁵. The idea of Miss?Johnson beingthe author of the letters had never entered his head! I hesitated just for a minute—but I didn’t sayanything. One doesn’t like giving away a fellow woman, and besides, I had been a witness ofMiss?Johnson’s genuine and moving remorse⁴. What was done was done. Why expose Dr.?Leidnerto a fresh disillusion¹⁶ on top of all his other troubles?

It was arranged that I should leave on the following day, and I had arranged throughDr.?Reilly to stay for a day or two with the matron of the hospital whilst I made arrangements forreturning to England either via Baghdad or direct via Nissibin by car and train.

Dr.?Leidner was kind enough to say that he would like me to choose a memento¹⁷ fromamongst his wife’s things.

“Oh, no, really, Dr.?Leidner,” I said. “I couldn’t. It’s much too kind of you.”

He insisted.

“But I should like you to have something. And Louise, I am sure, would have wished it.”

Then he went on to suggest that I should have her tortoiseshell toilet set!

“Oh, no, Dr.?Leidner! Why, that’s a most expensive set. I couldn’t, really.”

“She had no sisters, you know—no one who wants these things. There is no one else to havethem.”

I could quite imagine that he wouldn’t want them to fall into Mrs.?Mercado’s greedy littlehands. And I didn’t think he’d want to offer them to Miss?Johnson.

He went on kindly¹⁸: “You just think it over. By the way, here is the key of Louise’s jewelcase. Perhaps you will find something there you would rather have. And I should be very gratefulif you would pack up—all her clothes. I daresay Reilly can find a use for them amongst some ofthe poor Christian¹⁹ families in Hassanieh.”

I was very glad to be able to do that for him, and I expressed my willingness.

I set about it at once.

Mrs.?Leidner had only had a very simple wardrobe with her and it was soon sorted andpacked up into a couple of suitcases. All her papers had been in the small attaché case. The jewelcase contained a few simple trinkets—a pearl ring, a diamond brooch, a small string of pearls, andone or two plain gold bar brooches of the safety pin type, and a string of large amber²⁰ beads²¹.

Naturally I wasn’t going to take the pearls or the diamonds, but I hesitated a bit between theamber beads and the toilet set. In the end, however, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t take the latter. Itwas a kindly thought on Dr.?Leidner’s part, and I was sure there wasn’t any patronage²² about it. I’dtake it in the spirit it had been offered, without any false pride. After all, I had been fond of her.

Well, that was all done and finished with. The suitcases packed, the jewel case locked upagain and put separate to give to Dr.?Leidner with the photograph of Mrs.?Leidner’s father and oneor two other personal little odds²³ and ends.

The room looked bare and forlorn emptied of all its accoutrements, when I’d finished. Therewas nothing more for me to do—and yet somehow or other I shrank from leaving the room. Itseemed as though there was something still to do there—something I ought to see—or something Iought to have known. I’m not superstitious²⁴, but the idea did pop into my head that perhapsMrs.?Leidner’s spirit was hanging about the room and trying to get in touch with me.

I remember once at the hospital some of us girls got a planchette and really it wrote somevery remarkable²⁵ things.

Perhaps, although I’d never thought of such a thing, I might be mediumistic.

As I say, one gets all worked up to imagine all sorts of foolishness sometimes.

I prowled round the room uneasily, touching²⁶ this and that. But, of course, there wasn’tanything in the room but bare furniture. There was nothing slipped behind drawers or tuckedaway. I couldn’t hope for anything of that kind.

In the end (it sounds rather batty, but as I say, one gets worked up) I did rather a queer thing.

I went and lay down in the bed and closed my eyes.

I deliberately²⁷ tried to forget who and what I was. I tried to think myself back to that fatalafternoon. I was Mrs.?Leidner lying here resting, peaceful and unsuspicious.

It’s extraordinary how you can work yourself up.

I’m a perfectly¹³ normal matter-of-fact individual—not the least bit spooky, but I tell you thatafter I’d lain there about five minutes I began to feel spooky.

I didn’t try to resist. I deliberately encouraged the feeling.

I said to myself: “I’m Mrs.?Leidner. I’m Mrs.?Leidner. I’m lying here—half asleep. Presently—very soon now—the door’s going to open.”

I kept on saying that—as though I were hypnotizing myself.

“It’s just about half past one .?.?. it’s just about the time .?.?. The door is going to open .?.?. thedoor is going to open .?.?. I shall see who comes in. .?.?.”

I kept my eyes glued on that door. Presently it was going to open. I should see it open. And Ishould see the person who opened it.

I must have been a little overwrought that afternoon to imagine I could solve the mystery thatway.

But I did believe it. A sort of chill passed down my back and settled in my legs. They feltnumb—paralysed.

“You’re going into a trance,” I said. “And in that trance you’ll?see .?.?.”

And once again I repeated monotonously²⁸ again and again:

“The door is going to open—the door is going to open. .?.?.”

The cold numbed²⁹ feeling grew more intense.

And then, slowly, I saw the door just beginning to open.

It was horrible.

I’ve never known anything so horrible before or since.

I was paralysed—chilled through and through. I couldn’t move. For the life of me I couldn’thave moved.

And I was terrified. Sick and blind and dumb with terror.

That slowly opening door.

So noiseless.

In a minute I should see. .?.?.

Slowly—slowly—wider and wider.

Bill Coleman came quietly in.

He must have had the shock of his life!

I bounded off the bed with a scream of terror and hurled³⁰ myself across the room.

He stood stock-still, his blunt pink face pinker and his mouth opened wide with surprise.

“Hallo-allo-allo,” he said. “What’s up, nurse?”

I came back to reality with a crash.

“Goodness, Mr.?Coleman,” I said. “How you startled me!”

“Sorry,” he said with a momentary³¹ grin.

I saw then that he was holding a little bunch of scarlet³² ranunculus in his hand. They werepretty little flowers and they grew wild on the sides of the Tell. Mrs.?Leidner had been fond ofthem.

He blushed and got rather red as he said: “One can’t get any flowers or things in Hassanieh.

Seemed rather rotten not to have any flowers for the grave. I thought I’d just nip in here and put alittle posy in that little pot thing she always had flowers in on her table. Sort of show she wasn’tforgotten—eh? A bit asinine³³, I know, but—well—I mean to say.”

I thought it was very nice of him. He was all pink with embarrassment³⁴ like Englishmen arewhen they’ve done anything sentimental³⁵. I thought it was a very sweet thought.

“Why, I think that’s a very nice idea, Mr.?Coleman,” I said.

And I picked up the little pot and went and got some water in it and we put the flowers in.

I really thought much more of Mr.?Coleman for this idea of his. It showed he had a heart andnice feelings about things.

He didn’t ask me again what made me let out such a squeal³⁶ and I’m thankful he didn’t. Ishould have felt a fool explaining.

“Stick to common sense in future, woman,” I said to myself as I settled my cuffs³⁷ andsmoothed my apron³⁸. “You’re not cut out for this psychic stuff.”

I bustled³⁹ about doing my own packing and kept myself busy for the rest of the day.

Father Lavigny was kind enough to express great distress⁴⁰ at my leaving. He said mycheerfulness and common sense had been such a help to everybody. Common sense! I’m glad hedidn’t know about my idiotic⁴¹ behaviour in Mrs.?Leidner’s room.

“We have not seen M.?Poirot today,” he remarked.

I told him that Poirot had said he was going to be busy all day sending off telegrams.

Father Lavigny raised his eyebrows⁴².

“Telegrams? To America?”

“I suppose so. He said, ‘All over the world!’ but I think that was rather a foreignexaggeration.”

And then I got rather red, remembering that Father Lavigny was a foreigner himself.

He didn’t seem offended though, just laughed quite pleasantly and asked me if there were anynews of the man with the squint⁴³.

I said I didn’t know but I hadn’t heard of any.

Father Lavigny asked me again about the time Mrs.?Leidner and I had noticed the man andhow he had seemed to be standing⁴⁴ on tiptoe and peering through the window.

“It seems clear the man had some overwhelming interest in Mrs.?Leidner,” he saidthoughtfully. “I have wondered since whether the man could possibly have been a European gotup to look like an Iraqi?”

That was a new idea to me and I considered it carefully. I had taken it for granted that theman was a native, but of course when I came to think of it, I was really going by the cut of hisclothes and the yellowness of his skin.

Father Lavigny declared his intention of going round outside the house to the place whereMrs.?Leidner and I had seen the man standing.

“You never know, he might have dropped something. In the detective stories the criminalalways does.”

“I expect in real life criminals are more careful,” I said.

I fetched some socks I had just finished darning and put them on the table in the living roomfor the men to sort out when they came in, and then, as there was nothing much more to do, I wentup on the roof.

Miss?Johnson was standing there but she didn’t hear me. I got right up to her before shenoticed me.

But long before that I’d seen that there was something very wrong.

She was standing in the middle of the roof staring straight in front of her, and there was themost awful look on her face. As though she’d seen something she couldn’t possibly believe.

It gave me quite a shock.

Mind you, I’d seen her upset the other evening, but this was quite different.

“My dear,” I said, hurrying to her, “whatever’s the matter?”

She turned her head at that and stood looking at me—almost as if she didn’t see me.

“What is it?” I persisted.

She made a queer sort of grimace—as though she were trying to swallow but her throat weretoo dry. She said hoarsely⁴⁵: “I’ve just seen something.”

“What have you seen? Tell me. Whatever can it be? You look all in.”

She gave an effort to pull herself together, but she still looked pretty dreadful.

She said, still in that same dreadful choked voice: “I’ve seen how someone could come infrom outside—and no one would ever guess.”

I followed the direction of her eyes but I couldn’t see anything.

Mr.?Reiter was standing in the door of the photographic room and Father Lavigny was justcrossing the courtyard—but there was nothing else.

I turned back puzzled and found her eyes fixed⁴⁶ on mine with the strangest expression in them.

“Really,” I said, “I don’t see what you mean. Won’t you explain?”

But she shook her head.

“Not now. Later. We ought to have seen. Oh, we ought to have seen!”

“If you’d only tell me—”

But she shook her head.

“I’ve got to think it out first.”

And pushing past me, she went stumbling down the stairs.

I didn’t follow her as she obviously didn’t want me with her. Instead I sat down on theparapet and tried to puzzle things out. But I didn’t get anywhere. There was only the one way intothe courtyard—through the big arch. Just outside it I could see the water boy and his horse and theIndian cook talking to him. Nobody could have passed them and come in without their seeing him.

I shook my head in perplexity and went downstairs again.

 

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