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“Down by the river.”
“Not back towards the house?”
“No.”
“I suppose,” said Miss Reilly, “that you were waiting for someone who didn’t come.”
He looked at her but didn’t answer.
Poirot did
not press the point. He spoke once more to the girl.
“Did you see anything else, mademoiselle?”
“Yes. I was not far from the expedition house when I noticed the expedition lorry drawn up in a wadi. I thought it was rather queer. Then I saw Mr. Coleman. He was walking along with his head down as though he were searching for something.”
“Look here,” burst out Mr. Coleman, “I—”
Poirot stopped him with an authoritative gesture.
“Wait. Did you speak to him, Miss Reilly?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Why?”
The girl said slowly: “Because, from time to time, he started and looked round with an extraordinary furtive look. It—gave me an unpleasant feeling. I turned my horse’s head and rode away. I don’t think he saw me. I was not very near and he was absorbed in what he was doing.”
“Look here,” Mr. Coleman was not to be hushed any longer. “I’ve got a perfectly good explanation for what—I admit—looks a bit fishy. As a matter of fact, the day before I had slipped a jolly fine cylinder seal into my coat pocket instead of putting it in the antika room—forgot all about it. And then I discovered I’d been and lost it out of my pocket—dropped it somewhere. I didn’t want to get into a row about it so I decided I’d have a jolly good search on the quiet. I was pretty sure I’d dropped it on the way to or from the dig. I rushed over my business in Hassanieh. Sent a walad to do some of the shopping and got back early. I stuck the bus where it wouldn’t show and had a jolly good hunt for over an hour. And didn’t find the damned thing at that! Then I got into the bus and drove on to the house. Naturally, everyone thought I’d just got back.”
“And you did not undeceive them?” asked Poirot sweetly.
“Well, that was pretty natural under the circumstances, don’t you think?”
“I hardly agree,” said Poirot.
“Oh, come now—don’t go looking for trouble—that’s my motto! But you can’t fasten anything on me. I never went into the courtyard, and you can’t find anyone who’ll say I did.”
“That, of course, has been the difficulty,” said Poirot. “The evidence of the servants that no one entered the courtyard from outside. But it occurred to me, upon reflection, that that was really not what they had said. They had sworn that no stranger had entered the premises. They had not been asked if a member of the expedition had done so.”
“Well, you ask them,” said Coleman. “I’ll eat my hat if they saw me or Carey either.”
“Ah! but that raises rather an interesting question. They would notice a stranger undoubtedly—but would they have even noticed a member of the expedition? The members of the staff are passing in and out all day. The servants would hardly notice their going and coming. It is possible, I think, that either Mr. Carey or Mr. Coleman might have entered and the servants’ minds would have no remembrance of such an event.”
“Bunkum!” said Mr. Coleman.
Poirot went on calmly: “Of the two, I think Mr. Carey was the least likely to be noticed going or coming. Mr. Coleman had started to Hassanieh in the car that morning and he would be expected to return in it. His arrival on foot would therefore be noticeable.”
“Of course it would!” said Coleman.
Richard Carey raised his head. His deep-blue eyes looked straight at Poirot.
“Are you accusing me of murder, M. Poirot?” he asked.
His manner was quite quiet but his voice had a dangerous undertone.
Poirot bowed to him.
