Murder in Mesopotamia

As I looked at it I was in a privileged position. After all, you hear many a thing when a patient’s coming round after an anaesthetic. The patient wouldn’t want you to hear it – and usually has no idea you have heard it – but the fact remains you do hear it. I just took it that Mr Carey was the patient. He’d be none the worse for what he didn’t know about. And if you think that I was just curious, well, I’ll admit that I was curious. I didn’t want to miss anything I could help.

All this is just leading up to the fact that I turned aside and went by a round about way up behind the big dump until I was a foot from where they were, but concealed from them by the corner of the dump. And if anyone says it was dishonourable I just beg to disagree.Nothing ought to be hidden from the nurse in charge of the case, though, of course, it’s for the doctor to say what shall be done.

I don’t know, of course, what M. Poirot’s line of approach had been, but by the time I’d got there he was aiming straight for the bull’s eye, so to speak.

‘Nobody appreciates Dr Leidner’s devotion to his wife more than I do,’ he was saying. ‘But it is often the case that one learns more about a person from their enemies than from their friends.’

‘You suggest that their faults are more important than their virtues?’ said Mr Carey. His tone was dry and ironic.

‘Undoubtedly – when it comes to murder. It seems odd that as far as I know nobody has yet been murdered for having too perfect a character! And yet perfection is undoubtedly an irritating thing.’

‘I’m afraid I’m hardly the right person to help you,’ said Mr Carey. ‘To be perfectly honest, Mrs Leidner and I didn’t hit it off particularly well. I don’t mean that we were in any sense of the word enemies, but we were not exactly friends. Mrs Leidner was, perhaps, a shade jealous of my old friendship with her husband. I, for my part, although I admired her very much and thought she was an extremely attractive woman, was just a shade resentful of her influence over Leidner. As a result we were quite polite to each other, but not intimate.’

‘Admirably explained,’ said Poirot.

I could just see their heads, and I saw Mr Carey’s turn sharply as though something in M. Poirot’s detached tone struck him disagreeably.

M. Poirot went on: ‘Was not Dr Leidner distressed that you and his wife did not get on together better?’

Carey hesitated a minute before saying: ‘Really – I’m not sure. He never said anything. I always hoped he didn’t notice it. He was very wrapped up in his work, you know.’

‘So the truth, according to you, is that you did not really like Mrs Leidner?’

Carey shrugged his shoulders.

‘I should probably have liked her very much if she hadn’t been Leidner’s wife.’

He laughed as though amused by his own statement.

Poirot was arranging a little heap of broken potsherds. He said in a dreamy, far-away voice: ‘I talked to Miss Johnson this morning. She admitted that she was prejudiced against Mrs Leidner and did not like her very much, although she hastened to add that Mrs Leidner had always been charming to her.’

‘All quite true, I should say,’ said Carey.

‘So I believed. Then I had a conversation with Mrs Mercado. She told me at great length how devoted she had been to Mrs Leidner and how much she had admired her.’

Carey made no answer to this, and after waiting a minute or two Poirot went on: ‘That – I did not believe! Then I come to you and that which you tell me – well, again – I do not believe…’

Carey stiffened. I could hear the anger – repressed anger – in his voice.

‘I really cannot help your beliefs – or your disbeliefs, M. Poirot. You’ve heard the truth and you can take it or leave it as far as I am concerned.’

Poirot did not grow angry. Instead he sounded particularly meek and depressed.

‘Is it my fault what I do – or do not believe? I have a sensitive ear, you know. And then – there are always plenty of stories going about – rumours floating in the air. One listens – and perhaps – one learns something! Yes, there are stories…’

Carey sprang to his feet. I could see clearly a little pulse that beat in his temple. He looked simply splendid! So lean and so brown – and that wonderful jaw, hard and square. I don’t wonder women fell for that man.

‘What stories?’ he asked savagely.

Poirot looked sideways at him.

‘Perhaps you can guess. The usual sort of story – about you and Mrs Leidner.’

‘What foul minds people have!’

‘N’est ce pas? They are like dogs. However deep you bury an unpleasantness a dog will always root it up again.’

‘And you believe these stories?’

‘I am willing to be convinced – of the truth,’ said Poirot gravely.

‘I doubt if you’d know the truth if you heard it,’ Carey laughed rudely.

‘Try me and see,’ said Poirot, watching him.

‘I will then! You shall have the truth! I hated Louise Leidner – there’s the truth for you! I hated her like hell!’

Chapter 22. David Emmott, Father Lavigny and a Discovery