Murder in Mesopotamia

Now Mr Coleman was a foolish young man if there ever was one!

I’d got to that point in my meditations when we arrived. It was just on nine o’clock and the big door was closed and barred.

Ibrahim came running with his great key to let me in.

We all went to bed early at Tell Yarimjah. There weren’t any lights showing in the living-room. There was a light in the drawing-office and one in Dr Leidner’s office, but nearly all the other windows were dark. Everyone must have gone to bed even earlier than usual.

As I passed the drawing-office to go to my room I looked in. Mr Carey was in his shirt sleeves working over his big plan.

Terribly ill, he looked, I thought. So strained and worn. It gave me quite a pang. I don’t know what there was about Mr Carey – it wasn’t what he said because he hardly said anything – and that of the most ordinary nature, and it wasn’t what he did, for that didn’t amount to much either – and yet you just couldn’t help noticing him, and everything about him seemed to matter more than it would have about anyone else. He just counted, if you know what I mean.

He turned his head and saw me. He removed his pipe from his mouth and said: ‘Well, nurse, back from Hassanieh?’

‘Yes, Mr Carey. You’re up working late. Everybody else seems to have gone to bed.’

‘I thought I might as well get on with things,’ he said.

‘I was a bit behind-hand. And I shall be out on the dig all tomorrow. We’re starting digging again.’

‘Already?’ I asked, shocked.

He looked at me rather queerly.

‘It’s the best thing, I think. I put it up to Leidner. He’ll be in Hassanieh most of tomorrow seeing to things. But the rest of us will carry on here. You know it’s not too easy all sitting round and looking at each other as things are.’

He was right there, of course. Especially in the nervy, jumpy state everyone was in.

‘Well, of course you’re right in a way,’ I said. ‘It takes one’s mind off if one’s got something to do.’

The funeral, I knew, was to be the day after tomorrow.

He had bent over his plan again. I don’t know why, but my heart just ached for him. I felt certain that he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

‘If you’d like a sleeping draught, Mr Carey?’ I said hesitatingly.

He shook his head with a smile.

‘I’ll carry on, nurse. Bad habit, sleeping draughts.’

‘Well, good night, Mr Carey,’ I said. ‘If there’s anything I can do–’

‘Don’t think so, thank you, nurse. Good night.’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said, rather too impulsively I suppose.

‘Sorry?’ He looked surprised.

‘For – for everybody. It’s all so dreadful. But especially for you.’

‘For me? Why for me?’

‘Well, you’re such an old friend of them both.’

‘I’m an old friend of Leidner’s. I wasn’t a friend of hers particularly.’

He spoke as though he had actually disliked her. Really, I wished Miss Reilly could have heard him!

‘Well, good night,’ I said and hurried along to my room.

I fussed around a bit in my room before undressing. Washed out some handkerchiefs and a pair of wash-leather gloves and wrote up my diary. I just looked out of my door again before I really started to get ready for bed. The lights were still on in the drawing-office and in the south building.

I suppose Dr Leidner was still up and working in his office. I wondered whether I ought to go and say goodnight to him. I hesitated about it – I didn’t want to seem officious. He might be busy and not want to be disturbed. In the end, however, a sort of uneasiness drove me on. After all, it couldn’t do any harm. I’d just say goodnight, ask if there was anything I could do and come away.

But Dr Leidner wasn’t there. The office itself was lit up but there was no one in it except Miss Johnson. She had her head down on the table and was crying as though her heart would break.

It gave me quite a turn. She was such a quiet, self-controlled woman. It was pitiful to see her.

‘Whatever is it, my dear?’ I cried. I put my arm round her and patted her. ‘Now, now, this won’t do at all…You mustn’t sit here crying all by yourself.’

She didn’t answer and I felt the dreadful shuddering sobs that were racking her.

‘Don’t, my dear, don’t,’ I said. ‘Take a hold on yourself. I’ll go and make you a cup of nice hot tea.’

She raised her head and said: ‘No, no, its all right, nurse. I’m being a fool.’

‘What’s upset you, my dear?’ I asked.

She didn’t answer at once, then she said: ‘It’s all too awful…’

‘Now don’t start thinking of it,’ I told her. ‘What’s happened has happened and can’t be mended. It’s no use fretting.’

She sat up straight and began to pat her hair.

‘I’m making rather a fool of myself,’ she said in her gruff voice. ‘I’ve been clearing up and tidying the office. Thought it was best to do something. And then – it all came over me suddenly–’

‘Yes, yes,’ I said hastily. ‘I know. A nice strong cup of tea and a hot-water bottle in your bed is what you want,’ I said.

And she had them too. I didn’t listen to any protests.