Murder in Mesopotamia: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot 14)
“Fears of what, Dr. Leidner?”
He said vaguely, “Oh, just—nervous terrors, you know.”
Ten to one, I thought to myself, it’s drugs. And he doesn’t realize it! Lots of men don’t. Just wonder why their wives are so jumpy and have such extraordinary changes of mood.
I asked whether Mrs. Leidner herself approved of the idea of my coming.
His face lighted up.
“Yes. I was surprised. Most pleasurably surprised. She said it was a very good idea. She said she would feel very much safer.”
The word struck me oddly. Safer. A very queer word to use. I began to surmise that Mrs. Leidner might be a mental case.
He went on with a kind of boyish eagerness.
“I’m sure you’ll get on very well with her. She’s really a very charming woman.” He smiled disarmingly. “She feels you’ll be the greatest comfort to her. I felt the same as soon as I saw you. You look, if you will allow me to say so, so splendidly healthy and full of common sense. I’m sure you’re just the person for Louise.”
“Well, we can but try, Dr. Leidner,” I said cheerfully. “I’m sure I hope I can be of use to your wife. Perhaps she’s nervous of natives and coloured people?”
“Oh, dear me no.” He shook his head, amused at the idea. “My wife likes Arabs very much—she appreciates their simplicity and their sense of humour. This is only her second season—we have been married less than two years—but she already speaks quite a fair amount of Arabic.”
I was silent for a moment or two, then I had one more try.
“Can’t you tell me at all what it is your wife is afraid of, Dr. Leidner?” I asked.
He hesitated. Then he said slowly, “I hope—I believe—that s
he will tell you that herself.”
And that’s all I could get out of him.
Three
GOSSIP
It was arranged that I should go to Tell Yarimjah the following week.
Mrs. Kelsey was settling into her house at Alwiyah, and I was glad to be able to take a few things off her shoulders.
During that time I heard one or two allusions to the Leidner expedition. A friend of Mrs. Kelsey’s, a young squadron leader, pursed his lips in surprise as he exclaimed: “Lovely Louise. So that’s her latest!” He turned to me. “That’s our nickname for her, nurse. She’s always known as Lovely Louise.”
“Is she so very handsome then?” I asked.
“It’s taking her at her own valuation. She thinks she is!”
“Now don’t be spiteful, John,” said Mrs. Kelsey. “You know it’s not only she who thinks so! Lots of people have been very smitten by her.”
“Perhaps you’re right. She’s a bit long in the tooth, but she has a certain attraction.”
“You were completely bowled over yourself,” said Mrs. Kelsey, laughing.
The squadron leader blushed and admitted rather shamefacedly: “Well, she has a way with her. As for Leidner himself, he worships the ground she walks on—and all the rest of the expedition has to worship too! It’s expected of them!”
“How many are there altogether?” I asked.
“All sorts and nationalities, nurse,” said the squadron-leader cheerfully. “An English architect, a French Father from Carthage—he does the inscriptions—tablets and things, you know. And then there’s Miss Johnson. She’s English too—sort of general bottle-washer. And a little plump man who does the photography—he’s an American. And the Mercados. Heaven knows what nationality they are—Dagos of some kind! She’s quite young—a snaky-looking creature—and oh! doesn’t she hate Lovely Louise! And there are a couple of youngsters and that’s the lot. A few odd fish, but nice on the whole—don’t you agree, Pennyman?”
He was appealing to an elderly man who was sitting thoughtfully twirling a pair of pince-nez.