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

All the same I thought a good deal about what had been said. Dr. Leidner’s curious use of the word “safer” recurred to me. Was it his wife’s secret fear, unacknowledged or expressed perhaps, that was reacting on the rest of the party? Or was it the actual tension (or perhaps the unknown cause of it) that was reacting on her nerves?

I looked up the word allumeuse that Mrs. Kelsey had used in a dictionary, but couldn’t get any sense out of it.

“Well,” I thought to myself, “I must wait and see.”

Four

I ARRIVE IN HASSANIEH

Three days later I left Baghdad.

I was sorry to leave Mrs. Kelsey and the baby, who was a little love and was thriving splendidly, gaining her proper number of ounces every week. Major Kelsey took me to the station and saw me off. I should arrive at Kirkuk the following morning, and there someone was to meet me.

I slept badly, I never sleep very well in a train and I was troubled by dreams. The next morning, however, when I looked out of the window it was a lovely day and I felt interested and curious about the people I was going to see.

As I stood on the platform hesitating and looking about me I saw a young man coming towards me. He had a round pink face, and really, in all my life, I have never seen anyone who seemed so exactly like a young man out of one of Mr. P. G. Wodehouse’s books.

“Hallo, ’allo, ’allo,” he said. “Are you Nurse Leatheran? Well, I mean you must be—I can see that. Ha ha! My name’s Coleman. Dr. Leidner sent me along. How are you feeling? Beastly journey and all that? Don’t I know these trains! Well, here we are—had any breakfast? This your kit? I say, awfully modest, aren’t you? Mrs. Leidner has four suitcases and a trunk—to say nothing of a hatbox and a patent pillow, and this, that and the other. Am I talking too much? Come along to the old bus.”

There was what I heard called later a station wagon waiting outside. It was a little like a wagonette, a little like a lorry and a little like a car. Mr. Coleman helped me in, explaining that I had better sit next to the driver so as to get less jolting.

Jolting! I wonder the whole contraption didn’t fall to pieces! And nothing like a road—just a sort of track all ruts and holes. Glorious East indeed! When I thought of our splendid arterial roads in England it made me quite homesick.

Mr. Coleman leaned forward from his seat behind me and yelled in my ear a good deal.

“Track’s in pretty good condition,” he shouted just after we had been thrown up in our seats till we nearly touched the roof.

And apparently he was speaking quite seriously.

“Very good for you—jogs the liver,” he said. “You ought to know that, nurse.”

“A stimulated liver won’t be much good to me if my head’s split open,” I observed tartly.

“You should come along here after it’s rained! The skids are glorious. Most of the time one’s going sideways.”

To this I did not respond.

Presently we had to cross the river, which we did on the craziest ferryboat you can imagine. It was a mercy we ever got across, but everyone seemed to think it was quite usual.

It took us about four hours to get to Hassanieh, which, to my surprise, was quite a big place. Very pretty it looked, too, before we got there from the other side of the river—standing up quite white and fairy-like with minarets. It was a bit different, though, when one had crossed the bridge and come right into it. Such a smell and everything ramshackle and tumbledown, and mud and mess everywhere.

Mr. C

oleman took me to Dr. Reilly’s house, where, he said, the doctor was expecting me to lunch.

Dr. Reilly was just as nice as ever, and his house was nice too, with a bathroom and everything spick and span. I had a nice bath, and by the time I got back into my uniform and came down I was feeling fine.

Lunch was just ready and we went in, the doctor apologizing for his daughter, who he said was always late. We’d just had a very good dish of eggs in sauce when she came in and Dr. Reilly said, “Nurse, this is my daughter Sheila.”

She shook hands, hoped I’d had a good journey, tossed off her hat, gave a cool nod to Mr. Coleman and sat down.

“Well, Bill,” she said. “How’s everything?”

He began to talk to her about some party or other that was to come off at the club, and I took stock of her.

I can’t say I took to her much. A thought too cool for my liking. An offhand sort of girl, though good-looking. Black hair and blue eyes—a pale sort of face and the usual lipsticked mouth. She’d a cool, sarcastic way of talking that rather annoyed me. I had a probationer like her under me once—a girl who worked well, I’ll admit, but whose manner always riled me.

It looked to me rather as though Mr. Coleman was gone on her. He stammered a bit, and his conversation became slightly more idiotic than it was before, if that was possible! He reminded me of a large stupid dog wagging its tail and trying to please.