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“Well,” I said, reflecting, “I don’t really think she was worried at all. In fact, I don’t even know whether she noticed it. I thought once of just giving her a hint—but I didn’t like to. Least said soonest mended. That’s what I say.”
“You are doubtless wise. Can you give me any instances of how Mrs. Mercado showed her feelings?”
I told him about our conversation on the roof.
“So she mentioned Mrs. Leidner’s first marriage,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “Can you remember—in mentioning it—did she look at you as though she wondered whether you had heard a different version?”
“You think she may have known the truth about it?”
“It is a possibility. She may have written those letters—and engineered a tapping hand and all the rest of it.”
“I wondered something of the same kind myself. It seemed the kind of petty revengeful thing she might do.”
“Yes. A cruel streak, I should say. But hardly the temperament for cold-blooded, brutal murder unless, of course—”
He paused and then said: “It is odd, that curious thing she said to you. ‘I know why you are here.’ What did she mean by it?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said frankly.
“She thought you were there for some ulterior reason apart from the declared one. What reason? And why should she be so concerned in the matter. Odd, too, the way you tell me she stared at you all through tea the day you arrived.”
“Well, she’s not a lady, M. Poirot,” I said primly.
“That, ma soeur, is an excuse but not an explanation.”
I wasn’t quite sure for the minute what he meant. But he went on quickly.
“And the other members of the staff?”
I considered.
“I don’t think Miss Johnson liked Mrs. Leidner either very much. But she was quite open and aboveboard about it. She as good as admitted she was prejudiced. You see, she’s very devoted to Dr. Leidner and had worked with him for years. And of course, marriage does change things—there’s no denying it.”
“Yes,” said Poirot. “And from Miss Johnson’s point of view it would be an unsuitable marriage. It would really have been much more suitable if Dr. Leidner had married her.”
“It would really,” I agreed. “But there, that’s a man all over. Not one in a hundred considers suitability. And one can’t really blame Dr. Leidner. Miss Johnson, poor soul, isn’t so much to look at. Now Mrs. Leidner was really beautiful—not young, of course—but oh! I wish you’d known her. There was something about her . . . I remember Mr. Coleman saying she was like a thingummyjig that came to lure people into marshes. That wasn’t a very good way of putting it, but—oh, well—you’ll laugh at me, but there was something about her that was—well—unearthly.”
“She could cast a spell—yes, I understand,” said Poirot.
“Then I don’t think she and Mr. Carey got on very well either,” I went on. “I’ve an idea he was jealous just like Miss Johnson. He was always very stiff with her and so was she with him. You know—she passed him things and was very polite and called him Mr. Carey rather formally. He was an old friend of her husband’s of course, and some women can’t stand their husband’s old friends. They don’t like to think that anyone knew them before they did—at least that’s rather a muddled way of putting it—”
“I quite understand. And the three young men? Coleman, you say, was inclined to be poetic about her.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“It was funny, M. Poirot,” I said. “He’s such a matter-of-fact young man.”
“And the other two?”
“I don’t really know about Mr. Emmott. He’s always so quiet and never says much. She was very nice to him always. You know—friendly—called him David and used to tease him about Miss Reilly and things like that.”
“Ah, really? And did he enjoy that?”
“I don’t quite know,” I said doubtfully. “He’d just look at her. Rather funnily. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking.”
“And Mr. Reiter?”
“She wasn’t always very kind to him,” I said slowly. “I think he got on her nerves. She used to say quite sarcastic things to him.”
