Murder in Mesopotamia: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot 14)

Funny, the way he’d looked at her. The sort of way that you couldn’t possibly tell what he was thinking. You never could tell what Mr. Emmott was thinking. He was so quiet. But very nice. A nice dependable person.

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!