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“That is valuable testimony coming from an outsider,” said Poirot politely. “Well, let us proceed. Under the heading of means and opportunity we have seven names. Nurse Leatheran, Miss Johnson, Mrs. Mercado, Mr. Mercado, Mr. Reiter, Mr. Emmott and Father Lavigny.”
Once more he cleared his throat. I’ve always noticed that foreigners can make the oddest noises.
“Let us for the moment assume that our third theory is correct. That is that the murderer is Frederick or William Bosner, and that Frederick or William Bosner is a member of the expedition staff. By comparing both lists we can narrow down our suspects on this count to four. Father Lavigny, Mr. Mercado, Carl Reiter and David Emmott.”
“Father Lavigny is out of the question,” said Dr. Leidner with decision. “He is one of the Pères Blancs in Carthage.”
“And his beard’s quite real,” I put in.
“Ma soeur,” said Poirot, “a murderer of the first class never wears a false beard!”
“How do you know the murderer is of the first class?” I asked rebelliously.
“Because if he were not, the whole truth would be plain to me at this instant—and it is not.”
That’s pure conceit, I thought to myself.
“Anyway,” I said, reverting to the beard, “it must have taken quite a time to grow.”
“That is a practical observation,” said Poirot.
Dr. Leidner said irritably: “But it’s ridiculous—quite ridiculous. Both he and Mercado are well-known men. They’ve been known for years.”
Poirot turned to him.
“You have not the true version. You do not appreciate an important point. If Frederick Bosner is not dead—what has he been doing all these years? He must have taken a different name. He must have built himself up a career.”
“As a Père Blanc?” asked Dr. Reilly sceptically.
“It is a little fantastic that, yes,” confessed Poirot. “But we cannot put it right out of court. Besides, these other possibilities.”
“The young ’uns?” said Reilly. “If you want my opinion, on the face of it there’s only one of your suspects that’s even plausible.”
“And that is?”
“Young Carl Reiter. There’s nothing actually against him, but come down to it and you’ve got to admit a few things—he’s the right age, he’s got a German name, he’s new this year and he had the opportunity all right. He’d only got to pop out of his photographic place, cross the courtyard to do his dirty work and hare back again while the coast was clear. If anyone were to have dropped into the photographic room while he was out of it, he can always say later that he was in the dark-room. I don’t say he’s your man but if you are going to suspect someone I say he’s by far and away the most likely.”
M. Poirot didn’t seem very receptive. He nodded gravely but doubtfully.
“Yes,” he said. “He is the most plausible, but it may not be so simple as all that.”
Then he said: “Let us say no more at present. I would like now, if I may, to examine the room where the crime took place.”
“Certainly.” Dr. Leidner fumbled in his pockets, then loo
ked at Dr. Reilly.
“Captain Maitland took it,” he said.
“Maitland gave it to me,” said Reilly. “He had to go off on that Kurdish business.”
He produced the key.
Dr. Leidner said hesitatingly: “Do you mind—if I don’t—Perhaps, nurse—”
“Of course. Of course,” said Poirot. “I quite understand. Never do I wish to cause you unnecessary pain. If you will be good enough to accompany me, ma soeur.”
“Certainly,” I said.
