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It wasn’t till I was getting into bed that I realized why they’d looked sort of familiar to me.
It was the same handwriting as that of the anonymous letters.
Was that why Miss Johnson had given way to a fit of remorse? Had it been her all along who had written those anonymous letters?
Twenty
MISS JOHNSON,
MRS. MERCADO, MR. REITER
I don’t mind confessing that the idea came as a complete shock to me. I’d never thought of associating Miss Johnson with the letters. Mrs. Mercado, perhaps. But Miss Johnson was a real lady, and so self-controlled and sensible.
But I reflected, remembering the conversation I had listened to that evening between M. Poirot and Dr. Reilly, that that might be just why.
If it were Miss Johnson who had written the letters it explained a lot, mind you. I didn’t think for a minute Miss Johnson had had anything to do with the murder. But I did see that her dislike of Mrs. Leidner might have made her succumb to the temptation of, well—putting the wind up her—to put it vulgarly.
She might have hoped to frighten away Mrs. Leidner from the dig.
But then Mrs. Leidner had been murdered and Miss Johnson had felt terrible pangs of remorse—first for her cruel trick and also, perhaps, because she realized that those letters were acting as a very good shield to the actual murderer. No wonder she had broken down so utterly. She was, I was sure, a decent soul at heart. And it explained, too, why she had caught so eagerly at my consolation of “what’s happened’s happened and can’t be mended.”
And then her cryptic remark—her vindication of herself—“she was never a nice woman!”
The question was, what was I to do about it?
I tossed and turned for a good while and in the end decided I’d let M. Poirot know about it at the first opportunity.
He came out next day, but I didn’t get a chance of speaking to him what you might call privately.
We had just a minute alone together and before I could collect myself to know how to begin, he had come close to me and was whispering instructions in my ear.
“Me, I shall talk to Miss Johnson—and others, perhaps, in the living room. You have the key of Mrs. Leidner’s room still?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Très bien. Go there, shut the door behind you and give a cry—not a scream—a cry. You understand what I mean—it is alarm—surprise that I want you to express—not mad terror. As for the excuse if you are heard—I leave that to you—the stepped toe or what you will.”
At that moment Miss Johnson came out into the courtyard and there was no time for more.
I understood well enough what M. Poirot was after. As soon as he and Miss Johnson had gone into the living room I went across to Mrs. Leidner’s room and, unlocking the door, went in and pulled the door to behind me.
I can’t say I didn’t feel a bit of a fool standing up in an empty room and giving a yelp all for nothing at all. Besides, it wasn’t so easy to know just how loud to do it. I gave a pretty loud “Oh” and then tried it a bit higher and a bit lower.
Then I came out again and prepared my excuse of a stepped (stubbed I suppose he meant!) toe.
But it soon appeared that no excuse would be needed. Poirot and Miss Johnson were talking together earnestly and there had clearly been no interruption.
“Well,” I thought, “that settles that. Either Miss Johnson imagined that cry she heard or else it was something quite different.”
I didn’t like to go in and interrupt them. There was a deck chair on the porch so I sat down there. Their voices floated out to me.
“The position is delicate, you understand,” Poirot was saying. “Dr. Leidner—obviously he adored his wife—”
“He worshipped her,” said Miss Johnson.
“He tells me, naturally, how fond all his staff was of her! As for them, what can they say? Naturally they say the same thing. It is politeness. It is decency. It may also be the truth! But also it may not! And I am convinced, mademoiselle, that the key to this enigma lies in a complete understanding of Mrs. Leidner’s character. If I could get the opinion—the honest opinion—of every member of the staff, I might, from the whole, build up a picture. Frankly, that is why I am here today. I knew Dr. Leidner would be in Hassanieh. That makes it easy for me to have an interview with each of you here in turn, and beg your help.”
“That’s all very well,” began Miss Johnson and stopped.
