Chapter 20. 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 justwhy.

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.

‘Tres 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.

‘Do not make me the British cliches,’ Poirot begged. ‘Do not say it is not the cricket or the football, that to speak anything but well of the dead is not done – that – enfin – there is loyalty! Loyalty it is a pestilential thing in crime. Again and again it obscures the truth.’

‘I’ve no particular loyalty to Mrs Leidner,’ said Miss Johnson dryly. There was indeed a sharp and acid tone in her voice. ‘Dr Leidner’s a different matter. And, after all, she was his wife.’

‘Precisely – precisely. I understand that you would not wish to speak against your chief ’s wife. But this is not a question of a testimonial. It is a question of sudden and mysterious death. If I am to believe that it is a martyred angel who has been killed it does not add to the easiness of my task.’

‘I certainly shouldn’t call her an angel,’ said Miss Johnson and the acid tone was even more in evidence.

‘Tell me your opinion, frankly, of Mrs Leidner – as a woman.’

‘H’m! To begin with, M. Poirot, I’ll give you this warning. I’m prejudiced. I am – we all were – devoted to Dr Leidner. And, I suppose, when Mrs Leidner came along, we were jealous. We resented the demands she made on his time and attention. The devotion he showed her irritated us. I’m being truthful, M. Poirot, and it isn’t very pleasant for me. I resented her presence here – yes, I did, though, of course, I tried never to show it. It made a difference to us, you see.’

‘Us? You say us?’

‘I mean Mr Carey and myself. We’re the two old-timers, you see. And we didn’t much care for the new order of things. I suppose that’s natural, though perhaps it was rather petty of us. But it did make a difference.’

‘What kind of a difference?’

‘Oh! to everything. We used to have such a happy time. A good deal of fun, you know, and rather silly jokes, like people do who work together. Dr Leidner was quite light-hearted – just like a boy.’

‘And when Mrs Leidner came she changed all that?’

‘Well, I suppose it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t so bad last year. And please believe, M. Poirot, that it wasn’t anything she did. She’s always been charming to me – quite charming. That’s why I’ve felt ashamed sometimes. It wasn’t her fault that little things she said and did seemed to rub me up the wrong way. Really, nobody could be nicer than she was.’

‘But nevertheless things were changed this season? There was a different atmosphere.’

‘Oh, entirely. Really. I don’t know what it was. Everything seemed to go wrong – not with the work – I mean with us – our tempers and our nerves. All on edge. Almost the sort of feeling you get when there is a thunderstorm coming.’

‘And you put that down to Mrs Leidner’s influence?’

‘Well, it was never like that before she came,’ said Miss Johnson dryly. ‘Oh! I’m a cross-grained, complaining old dog. Conservative – liking things always the same. You really mustn’t take any notice of me, M. Poirot.’

‘How would you describe to me Mrs Leidner’s character and temperament?’

Miss Johnson hesitated for a moment. Then she said slowly: ‘Well, of course, she was temperamental. A lot of ups and downs. Nice to people one day and perhaps wouldn’t speak to them the next. She was very kind, I think. And very thoughtful for others. All the same you could see she had been thoroughly spoilt all her life. She took Dr Leidner’s waiting on her hand and foot as perfectly natural. And I don’t think she ever really appreciated what a very remarkable – what a really great – man she had married. That used to annoy me sometimes. And of course she was terribly highly strung and nervous. The things she used to imagine and the states she used to get into! I was thankful when Dr Leidner brought Nurse Leatheran here. It was too much for him having to cope both with his work and with his wife’s fears.’