Murder in Mesopotamia: A Hercule Poirot Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  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, ’llo, ’llo! 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 houseboy 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 potboy, 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.

  Eleven

  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.

  “Sit down, man. I’m glad you’ve come. We shall want you. There’s something very queer about this business.”

  Dr. Leidner bowed his head.

  “I know.” He looked at me. “My wife confided the truth to Nurse Leatheran. We mustn’t keep anything back at this juncture, nurse, so please tell Captain Maitland and Dr. Reilly just what passed between you and my wife yesterday.”

  As nearly as possible I gave our conversation verbatim.

  Captain Maitland uttered an occasional ejaculation. When I had finished he turned to Dr. Leidner.

  “And this is all true, Leidner—eh?”

  “Every word Nurse Leatheran has told you is correct.”

  “What an extraordinary story!” said Dr. Reilly. “You can produce these letters?”

  “I have no doubt they will be found amongst my wife’s belongings.”

  “She took them out of the attaché case on her table,” I said.

  “Then they are probably still there.”

  He turned to Captain Maitland and his usually gentle face grew hard and stern.

  “There must be no question of hushing this story up, Captain Maitland. The one thing necessary is for this man to be caught and punished.”

  “You believe it actually is Mrs. Leidner’s former husband?” I asked.

  “Don’t you think so, nurse?” asked Captain Maitland.

  “Well, I think it is open to doubt,” I said hesitatingly.

  “In any case,” said Dr. Leidner, “the man is a murderer—and I should say a dangerous lunatic also. He must be found, Captain Maitland. He must. It should not be difficult.”

  Dr. Reilly said slowly: “It may be more difficult than you think .
. . eh, Maitland?”

  Captain Maitland tugged at his moustache without replying.

  Suddenly I gave a start.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but there’s something perhaps I ought to mention.”

  I told my story of the Iraqi we had seen trying to peer through the window, and of how I had seen him hanging about the place two days ago trying to pump Father Lavigny.

  “Good,” said Captain Maitland, “we’ll make a note of that. It will be something for the police to go on. The man may have some connection with the case.”

  “Probably paid to act as a spy,” I suggested. “To find out when the coast was clear.”

  Dr. Reilly rubbed his nose with a harassed gesture.

  “That’s the devil of it,” he said. “Supposing the coast wasn’t clear—eh?”

  I stared at him in a puzzled fashion.

  Captain Maitland turned to Dr. Leidner.

  “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Leidner. This is a review of the evidence we’ve got up to date. After lunch, which was served at twelve o’clock and was over by five and twenty to one, your wife went to her room accompanied by Nurse Leatheran, who settled her comfortably. You yourself went up to the roof, where you spent the next two hours, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you come down from the roof at all during that time?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone come up to you?”

  “Yes, Emmott did pretty frequently. He went to and fro between me and the boy, who was washing pottery down below.”

  “Did you yourself look over into the courtyard at all?”

  “Once or twice—usually to call to Emmott about something.”

  “On each occasion the boy was sitting in the middle of the courtyard washing pots?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was the longest period of time when Emmott was with you and absent from the courtyard?”

  Dr. Leidner considered.

  “It’s difficult to say—perhaps ten minutes. Personally I should say two or three minutes, but I know by experience that my sense of time is not very good when I am absorbed and interested in what I am doing.”

  Captain Maitland looked at Dr. Reilly. The latter nodded. “We’d better get down to it,” he said.

  Captain Maitland took out a small notebook and opened it.

  “Look here, Leidner, I’m going to read to you exactly what every member of your expedition was doing between one and two this afternoon.”

  “But surely—”

  “Wait. You’ll see what I’m driving at in a minute. First Mr. and Mrs. Mercado. Mr. Mercado says he was working in his laboratory. Mrs. Mercado says she was in her bedroom shampooing her hair. Miss Johnson says she was in the living room taking impressions of cylinder seals. Mr. Reiter says he was in the dark-room developing plates. Father Lavigny says he was working in his bedroom. As to the two remaining members of the expedition, Carey and Coleman, the former was up on the dig and Coleman was in Hassanieh. So much for the members of the expedition. Now for the servants. The cook—your Indian chap—was sitting immediately outside the archway chatting to the guard and plucking a couple of fowls. Ibrahim and Mansur, the houseboys, joined him there at about 1:15. They both remained there laughing and talking until 2:30—by which time your wife was already dead.”

  Dr. Leidner leaned forward.

  “I don’t understand—you puzzle me. What are you hinting at?”

  “Is there any means of access to your wife’s room except by the door into the courtyard?”

  “No. There are two windows, but they are heavily barred—and besides, I think they were shut.”

  He looked at me questioningly.

  “They were closed and latched on the inside,” I said promptly.

  “In any case,” said Captain Maitland, “even if they had been open, no one could have entered or left the room that way. My fellows and I have assured ourselves of that. It is the same with all the other windows giving on the open country. They all have iron bars and all the bars are in good condition. To have got into your wife’s room, a stranger must have come through the arched doorway into the courtyard. But we have the united assurance of the guard, the cook and the houseboy that nobody did so.”

  Dr. Leidner sprang up.

  “What do you mean? What do you mean?”

  “Pull yourself together, man,” said Dr. Reilly quietly. “I know it’s a shock, but it’s got to be faced. The murderer didn’t come from outside—so he must have come from inside. It looks as though Mrs. Leidner must have been murdered by a member of your own expedition.”

  Twelve

  “I DIDN’T BELIEVE. . . .”

  “No. No!”

  Dr. Leidner sprang up and walked up and down in an agitated manner.

  “It’s impossible what you say, Reilly. Absolutely impossible. One of us? Why, every single member of the expedition was devoted to Louise!”

  A queer little expression pulled down the corners of Dr. Reilly’s mouth. Under the circumstances it was difficult for him to say anything, but if ever a man’s silence was eloquent his was at that minute.

  “Quite impossible,” reiterated Dr. Leidner. “They were all devoted to her, Louise had such wonderful charm. Everyone felt it.”

  Dr. Reilly coughed.

  “Excuse me, Leidner, but after all that’s only your opinion. If any member of the expedition had disliked your wife they would naturally not advertise the fact to you.”

  Dr. Leidner looked distressed.

  “True—quite true. But all the same, Reilly, I think you are wrong. I’m sure everyone was fond of Louise.”

  He was silent for a moment or two and then burst out:

  “This idea of yours is infamous. It’s—it’s frankly incredible.”

  “You can’t get away from—er—the facts,” said Captain Maitland.

  “Facts? Facts? Lies told by an Indian cook and a couple of Arab house-boys. You know these fellows as well as I do, Reilly, so do you, Maitland. Truth as truth means nothing to them. They say what you want them to say as a mere matter of politeness.”

  “In this case,” said Dr. Reilly dryly, “they are saying what we don’t want them to say. Besides, I know the habits of your household fairly well. Just outside the gate is a kind of social club. Whenever I’ve been over here in the afternoon I’ve always found most of your staff there. It’s the natural place for them to be.”

  “All the same I think you are assuming too much. Why shouldn’t this man—this devil—have got in earlier and concealed himself somewhere?”

  “I agree that that is not actually impossible,” said Dr. Reilly coolly. “Let us assume that a stranger did somehow gain admission unseen. He would have to remain concealed until the right moment (and he certainly couldn’t have done so in Mrs. Leidner’s room, there is no cover there) and take the risk of being seen entering the room and leaving it—with Emmott and the boy in the courtyard most of the time.”

  “The boy. I’d forgotten the boy,” said Dr. Leidner. “A sharp little chap. But surely, Maitland, the boy must have seen the murderer go into my wife’s room?”

  “We’ve elucidated that. The boy was washing pots the whole afternoon with one exception. Somehow around half past one—Emmott can’t put it closer than that—he went up to the roof and was with you for ten minutes—that’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t have told you the exact time but it must have been about that.”

  “Very good. Well, during that ten minutes, the boy, seizing his chance to be idle, strolled out and joined the others outside the gate for a chat. When Emmott came down he found the boy absent and called him angrily, asking him what he meant leaving his work. As far as I can see, your wife must have been murdered during that ten minutes.”

  With a groan Dr. Leidner sat down and hid his face in his hands.

  Dr. Reilly took up the tale, his voice quiet and matter-of-

  fact.

  “T
he time fits in with my evidence,” he said. “She’d been dead about three hours when I examined her. The only question is—who did it?”

  There was a silence. Dr. Leidner sat up in his chair and passed a hand over his forehead.

  “I admit the force of your reasoning, Reilly,” he said quietly. “It certainly seems as though it were what people call ‘an inside job.’ But I feel convinced that somewhere or other there is a mistake. It’s plausible but there must be a flaw in it. To begin with, you are assuming that an amazing coincidence has occurred.”

  “Odd that you should use that word,” said Dr. Reilly.

  Without paying any attention Dr. Leidner went on: “My wife receives threatening letters. She has reason to fear a certain person. Then she is—killed. And you ask me to believe that she is killed—not by that person—but by someone entirely different! I say that that is ridiculous.”

  “It seems so—yes,” said Reilly meditatively.

  He looked at Captain Maitland. “Coincidence—eh? What do you say, Maitland? Are you in favour of the idea? Shall we put it up to Leidner?”

  Captain Maitland gave a nod.

  “Go ahead,” he said shortly.

  “Have you ever heard of a man called Hercule Poirot Leidner?”

  Dr. Leidner stared at him, puzzled.

  “I think I have heard the name, yes,” he said vaguely. “I once heard a Mr. Van Aldin speak of him in very high terms. He is a private detective, is he not?”

  “That’s the man.”

  “But surely he lives in London, so how will that help us?”

  “He lives in London, true,” said Dr. Reilly, “but this is where the coincidence comes in. He is now, not in London, but in Syria, and he will actually pass through Hassanieh on his way to Baghdad tomorrow!”

  “Who told you this?”

  “Jean Berat, the French consul. He dined with us last night and was talking about him. It seems he has been disentangling some military scandal in Syria. He’s coming through here to visit Baghdad, and afterwards returning through Syria to London. How’s that for a coincidence?”