Twenty-six

NEXT IT WILL BE ME!

It was rather horrible. Dr.?Leidner looked as though he were going to faint and I felt a bit sickmyself.

Dr.?Reilly examined it with professional gusto.

“No fingerprints¹, I presume?” he threw out.

“No fingerprints.”

Dr.?Reilly took out a pair of forceps and investigated delicately.

“H’m—a fragment of human tissue—and hair—fair blonde hair. That’s the unofficial verdict.

Of course, I’ll have to make a proper test, blood group, etc., but there’s not much doubt. Foundunder Miss?Johnson’s bed? Well, well—so that’s the big idea. She did the murder, and then, Godrest her, remorse² came to her and she finished herself off. It’s a theory—a pretty theory.”

Dr.?Leidner could only shake his head helplessly.

“Not Anne—not Anne,” he murmured.

“I don’t know where she hid this to begin with,” said Captain Maitland. “Every room wassearched after the first crime.”

Something jumped into my mind and I thought, “In the stationery³ cupboard,” but I didn’t sayanything.

“Wherever it was, she became dissatisfied with its hiding place and took it into her ownroom, which had been searched with all the rest. Or perhaps she did that after making up her mindto commit suicide.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said aloud.

And I couldn’t somehow believe that kind nice Miss?Johnson had battered⁵ out Mrs.?Leidner’sbrains. I just couldn’t see it happening! And yet it did fit in with some things—her fit of weepingthat night, for instance. After all, I’d said “remorse” myself — only I’d never thought it wasremorse for anything but the smaller, more insignificant⁶ crime.

“I don’t know what to believe,” said Captain Maitland. “There’s the French Father’sdisappearance to be cleared up too. My men are out hunting around in case he’s been knocked onthe head and his body rolled into a convenient irrigation ditch.”

“Oh! I remember now—” I began.

Everyone looked towards me inquiringly.

“It was yesterday afternoon,” I said. “He’d been cross-questioning me about the man with asquint who was looking in at the window that day. He asked me just where he’d stood on the pathand then he said he was going out to have a look round. He said in detective stories the criminalalways dropped a convenient clue.”

“Damned if any of my criminals ever do,” said Captain Maitland. “So that’s what he wasafter, was it? By Jove, I wonder if he did find anything. A bit of a coincidence if both he andMiss?Johnson discovered a clue to the identity of the murderer at practically the same time.”

He added irritably⁸, “Man with a squint⁷? Man with a squint? There’s more in this tale of thatfellow with a squint than meets the eye. I don’t know why the devil my fellows can’t lay hold ofhim!”

“Probably because he hasn’t got a squint,” said Poirot quietly.

“Do you mean he faked it? Didn’t know you could fake an actual squint.”

Poirot merely said: “A squint can be a very useful thing.”

“The devil it can! I’d give a lot to know where that fellow is now, squint or no squint!”

“At a guess,” said Poirot, “he has already passed the Syrian frontier.”

“We’ve warned Tell Kotchek and Abu Kemal—all the frontier posts, in fact.”

“I should imagine that he took the route through the hills. The route lorries sometimes takewhen running contraband⁹.”

Captain Maitland grunted¹⁰.

“Then we’d better telegraph Deir ez Zor?”

“I did so yesterday—warning them to look out for a car with two men in it whose passportswill be in the most impeccable order.”

Captain Maitland favoured him with a stare.

“You did, did you? Two men—eh?”

Poirot nodded.

“There are two men in this.”

“It strikes me, M.?Poirot, that you’ve been keeping quite a lot of things up your sleeve.”

Poirot shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Not really. The truth came to me only this morning when I was watching thesunrise. A very beautiful sunrise.”

I don’t think that any of us had noticed that Mrs.?Mercado was in the room. She must havecrept in when we were all taken aback by the production of that horrible great bloodstained stone.

But now, without the least warning, she set up a noise like a pig having its throat cut.

“Oh, my God!” she cried. “I see it all. I see it all now. It was Father Lavigny. He’s mad—religious mania¹¹. He thinks women are sinful. He’s killing¹² them all. First Mrs.?Leidner—thenMiss?Johnson. And next it will be me. .?.?.”

With a scream of frenzy¹³ she flung herself across the room and clutched Dr.?Reilly’s coat.

“I won’t stay here, I tell you! I won’t stay here a day longer. There’s danger. There’s dangerall round. He’s hiding somewhere—waiting his time. He’ll spring out on me!”

Her mouth opened and she began screaming again.

I hurried over to Dr.?Reilly, who had caught her by the wrists. I gave her a sharp slap on eachcheek and with Dr.?Reilly’s help I sat her down in a chair.

“Nobody’s going to kill you,” I said. “We’ll see to that. Sit down and behave yourself.”

She didn’t scream any more. Her mouth closed and she sat looking at me with startled, stupideyes.

Then there was another interruption. The door opened and Sheila Reilly came in.

Her face was pale and serious. She came straight to Poirot.

“I was at the post office early, M.?Poirot,” she said, “and there was a telegram there for you—so I brought it along.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle.”

He took it from her and tore it open while she watched his face.

It did not change, that face. He read the telegram, smoothed it out, folded it up neatly¹⁴ and putit in his pocket.

Mrs.?Mercado was watching him. She said in a choked voice: “Is that—from America?”

“No, madame,” he said. “It is from Tunis.”

She stared at him for a moment as though she did not understand, then with a long sigh, sheleant back in her seat.

“Father Lavigny,” she said. “I was right. I’ve always thought there was something queerabout him. He said things to me once—I suppose he’s mad .?.?.” She paused and then said, “I’ll bequiet. But I must leave this place. Joseph and I can go in and sleep at the Rest House.”

“Patience, madame,” said Poirot. “I will explain everything.”

Captain Maitland was looking at him curiously¹⁵.

“Do you consider you’ve definitely got the hang of this business?” he demanded.

Poirot bowed.

It was a most theatrical¹⁶ bow. I think it rather annoyed Captain Maitland.

“Well,” he barked. “Out with it, man.”

But that wasn’t the way Hercule Poirot did things. I saw perfectly¹⁷ well that he meant to makea song and dance of it. I wondered if he really did know the truth, or if he was just showing off.

He turned to Dr.?Reilly.

“Will you be so good, Dr.?Reilly, as to summon the others?”

Dr.?Reilly jumped up and went off obligingly. In a minute or two the other members of theexpedition began to file into the room. First Reiter and Emmott. Then Bill Coleman. Then RichardCarey and finally Mr.?Mercado.

Poor man, he really looked like death. I suppose he was mortally afraid that he’d get hauledover the coals for carelessness in leaving dangerous chemicals about.

Everyone seated themselves round the table very much as we had done on the day M.?Poirotarrived. Both Bill Coleman and David Emmott hesitated before they sat down, glancing towardsSheila Reilly. She had her back to them and was standing¹⁸ looking out of the window.

“Chair, Sheila?” said Bill.

David Emmott said in his low pleasant drawl, “Won’t you sit down?”

She turned then and stood for a minute looking at them. Each was indicating a chair, pushingit forward. I wondered whose chair she would accept.

In the end she accepted neither.

“I’ll sit here,” she said brusquely. And she sat down on the edge of a table quite close to thewindow.

“That is,” she added, “if Captain Maitland doesn’t mind my staying?”

I’m not quite sure what Captain Maitland would have said. Poirot forestalled¹⁹ him.

“Stay by all means, mademoiselle,” he said. “It is, indeed, necessary that you should.”

She raised her eyebrows²⁰.

“Necessary?”

“That is the word I used, mademoiselle. There are some questions I shall have to ask you.”

Again her eyebrows went up but she said nothing further. She turned her face to the windowas though determined²¹ to ignore what went on in the room behind her.

“And now,” said Captain Maitland, “perhaps we shall get at the truth!”

He spoke²² rather impatiently. He was essentially²³ a man of action. At this very moment I feltsure that he was fretting²⁴ to be out and doing things—directing the search for Father Lavigny’sbody, or alternatively sending out parties for his capture and arrest.

He looked at Poirot with something akin⁴ to dislike.

“If the beggar’s got anything to say, why doesn’t he say it?”

I could see the words on the tip of his tongue.

Poirot gave a slow appraising²⁵ glance at us all, then rose to his feet.

I don’t know what I expected him to say—something dramatic certainly. He was that kind ofperson.

But I certainly didn’t expect him to start off with a phrase in Arabic.

Yet that is what happened. He said the words slowly and solemnly — and really quitereligiously, if you know what I mean.

“Bismillahi ar rahman ar rahim.”

And then he gave the translation in English.

“In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate²⁶.”

 

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