“But naturally it was not like that at all. Now we can be brutal and impersonal and say what we think. We have no longer to consider people’s feelings. And that is where Nurse Leatheran is going to help us. She is, I am sure, a very good observer.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said.
Dr. Reilly handed me a plate of hot scones—“To fortify yourself,” he said. They were very good scones.
“Come now,” said M. Poirot in a friendly, chatty way. “You shall tell me, ma soeur, exactly what each member of the expedition felt towards Mrs. Leidner.”
“I was only there a week, M. Poirot,” I said.
“Quite long enough for one of your intelligence. A nurse sums up quickly. She makes her judgments and abides by them. Come, let us make a beginning. Father Lavigny, for instance?”
“Well, there now, I really couldn’t say. He and Mrs. Leidner seemed to like talking together. But they usually spoke French and I’m not very good at French myself though I learnt it as a girl at school. I’ve an idea they talked mainly about books.”
“They were, as you might say, companionable together—yes?”
“Well, yes, you might put it that way. But, all the same, I think Father Lavigny was puzzled by her and—well—almost annoyed by being puzzled, if you know what I mean.”
And I told him of the conversation I had had with him out on the dig that first day when he had called Mrs. Leidner a “dangerous woman.”
“Now that is very interesting,” M. Poirot said. “And she—what do you think she thought of him?”
“That’s rather difficult to say, too. It wasn’t easy to know what Mrs. Leidner thought of people. Sometimes, I fancy, he puzzled her. I remember her saying to Dr. Leidner that he was unlike any priest she had ever known.”
“A length of hemp to be ordered for Father Lavigny,” said Dr. Reilly facetiously.
“My dear friend,” said Poirot. “Have you not, perhaps, some patients to attend? I would not for the world detain you from your professional duties.”
“I’ve got a whole hospital of them,” said Dr. Reilly.
And he got up and said a wink was as good as a nod to a blind horse, and went out laughing.
“That is better,” said Poirot. “We will have now an interesting conversation tête-à-tête. But you must not forget to eat your tea.”
He passed me a plate of sandwiches and suggested my having a second cup of tea. He really had very pleasant, attentive manners.
“And now,” he said, “let us continue with your impressions. Who was there who in your opinion did not like Mrs. Leidner?”
“Well,” I said, “it’s only my opinion and I don’t want it repeate
d as coming from me.”
“Naturally not.”
“But in my opinion little Mrs. Mercado fairly hated her!”
“Ah! And Mr. Mercado?”
“He was a bit soft on her,” I said. “I shouldn’t think women, apart from his wife, had ever taken much notice of him. And Mrs. Leidner had a nice kind way of being interested in people and the things they told her. It rather went to the poor man’s head, I fancy.”
“And Mrs. Mercado—she was not pleased?”
“She was just plain jealous—that’s the truth of it. You’ve got to be very careful when there’s a husband and wife about, and that’s a fact. I could tell you some surprising things. You’ve no idea the extraordinary things women get into their heads when it’s a question of their husbands.”
“I do not doubt the truth of what you say. So Mrs. Mercado was jealous? And she hated Mrs. Leidner?”
“I’ve seen her look at her as though she’d have liked to kill her—oh, gracious!” I pulled myself up. “Indeed, M. Poirot, I didn’t mean to say—I mean, that is, not for one moment—”
“No, no. I quite understand. The phrase slipped out. A very convenient one. And Mrs. Leidner, was she worried by this animosity of Mrs. Mercado’s?”