Poirot did not grow angry. Instead he sounded particularly meek and depressed.

‘Is it my fault what I do – or do not believe? I have a sensitive ear, you know. And then – there are always plenty of stories going about – rumours floating in the air. One listens – and perhaps – one learns something! Yes, there are stories…’

Carey sprang to his feet. I could see clearly a little pulse that beat in his temple. He looked simply splendid! So lean and so brown – and that wonderful jaw, hard and square. I don’t wonder women fell for that man.

‘What stories?’ he asked savagely.

Poirot looked sideways at him.

‘Perhaps you can guess. The usual sort of story – about you and Mrs Leidner.’

‘What foul minds people have!’

‘N’est ce pas? They are like dogs. However deep you bury an unpleasantness a dog will always root it up again.’

‘And you believe these stories?’

‘I am willing to be convinced – of the truth,’ said Poirot gravely.

‘I doubt if you’d know the truth if you heard it,’ Carey laughed rudely.

‘Try me and see,’ said Poirot, watching him.

‘I will then! You shall have the truth! I hated Louise Leidner – there’s the truth for you! I hated her like hell!’

Chapter 22. David Emmott, Father Lavigny and a Discovery

Turning abruptly away, Carey strode off with long, angry strides.

Poirot sat looking after him and presently he murmured: ‘Yes – I see…’

Without turning his head he said in a slightly louder voice: ‘Do not come round the corner for a minute, nurse. In case he turns his head. Now it is all right. You have my handkerchief? Many thanks. You are most amiable.’

He didn’t say anything at all about my having been listening – and how he knew I was listening I can’t think. He’d never once looked in that direction. I was rather relieved he didn’t say anything. I mean, I felt all right with myself about it, but it might have been a little awkward explaining to him. So it was a good thing he didn’t seem to want explanations.

‘Do you think he did hate her, M. Poirot?’ I asked.

Nodding his head slowly with a curious expression on his face, Poirot answered.

‘Yes – I think he did.’

Then he got up briskly and began to walk to where the men were working on the top of the mound. I followed him. We couldn’t see anyone but Arabs at first, but we finally found Mr Emmott lying face downwards blowing dust off a skeleton that had just been uncovered.

He gave his pleasant, grave smile when he saw us.

‘Have you come to see round?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be free in a minute.’

He sat up, took his knife and began daintily cutting the earth away from round the bones, stopping every now and then to use either a bellows or his own breath. A very insanitary proceeding the latter, I thought.

‘You’ll get all sorts of nasty germs in your mouth, Mr Emmott,’ I protested.

‘Nasty germs are my daily diet, nurse,’ he said gravely. ‘Germs can’t do anything to an archaeologist – they just get naturally discouraged trying.’

He scraped a little more away round the thigh bone. Then he spoke to the foreman at his side, directing him exactly what he wanted done.

‘There,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘That’s ready for Reiter to photograph after lunch. Rather nice stuff she had in with her.’

He showed us a little verdigris copper bowl and some pins. And a lot of gold and blue things that had been her necklace of beads.

The bones and all the objects were brushed and cleaned with a knife and kept in position ready to be photographed.

‘Who is she?’ asked Poirot.

‘First millennium. A lady of some consequence perhaps. Skull looks rather odd – I must get Mercado to look at it. It suggests death by foul play.’

‘A Mrs Leidner of two thousand odd years ago?’ said Poirot.

‘Perhaps,’ said Mr Emmott.

Bill Coleman was doing something with a pick to a wall face.

David Emmott called something to him which I didn’t catch and then started showing M. Poirot round.

When the short explanatory tour was over, Emmott looked at his watch.

‘We knock off in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘Shall we walk back to the house?’

‘That will suit me excellently,’ said Poirot.

We walked slowly along the well-worn path.

‘I expect you are all glad to get back to work again,’ said Poirot.

Emmott replied gravely: ‘Yes, it’s much the best thing. It’s not been any too easy loafing about the house and making conversation.’

‘Knowing all the time that one of you was a murderer.’

Emmott did not answer. He made no gesture of dissent. I knew now that he had had a suspicion of the truth from the very first when he had questioned the house-boys.

After a few minutes he asked quietly: ‘Are you getting anywhere, M. Poirot?’

Poirot said gravely: ‘Will you help me to get somewhere?’

‘Why, naturally.’

Watching him closely, Poirot said: ‘The hub of the case is Mrs Leidner. I want to know about Mrs Leidner.’

David Emmott said slowly: ‘What do you mean by know about her?’

‘I do not mean where she came from and what her maiden name was. I do not mean the shape of her face and the colour of her eyes. I mean her – herself.’

‘You think that counts in the case?’

‘I am quite sure of it.’

Emmott was silent for a moment or two, then he said: ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘And that is where you can help me. You can tell me what sort of a woman she was.’

‘Can I? I’ve often wondered about it myself.’

‘Didn’t you make up your mind on the subject?’

‘I think I did in the end.’

‘Eh bien?’

But Mr Emmott was silent for some minutes, then he said: ‘What did nurse think of her? Women are said to sum up other women quickly enough, and a nurse has a wide experience of types.’

Poirot didn’t give me any chance of speaking even if I had wanted to. He said quickly: ‘What I want to know is what a man thought of her?’

Emmott smiled a little.

‘I expect they’d all be much the same.’ He paused and said, ‘She wasn’t young, but I think she was about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever come across.’

‘That’s hardly an answer, Mr Emmott.’

‘It’s not so far off one, M. Poirot.’

He was silent a minute or two and then he went on: ‘There used to be a fairy story I read when I was a kid. A Northern fairy tale about the Snow Queen and Little Kay. I guess Mrs Leidner was rather like that – always taking Little Kay for a ride.’

‘Ah yes, a tale of Hans Andersen, is it not? And there was a girl in it. Little Gerda, was that her name?’

‘Maybe. I don’t remember much of it.’

‘Can’t you go a little further, Mr Emmott?’

David Emmott shook his head.

‘I don’t even know if I’ve summed her up correctly. She wasn’t easy to read. She’d do a devilish thing one day, and a really fine one the next. But I think you’re about right when you say that she’s the hub of the case. That’s what she always wanted to be – at the centre of things. And she liked to get at other people – I mean, she wasn’t just satisfied with being passed the toast and the peanut butter, she wanted you to turn your mind and soul inside out for her to look at it.’

‘And if one did not give her that satisfaction?’ asked Poirot.

‘Then she could turn ugly!’

I saw his lips close resolutely and his jaw set.

‘I suppose, Mr Emmott, you would not care to express a plain unofficial opinion as to who murdered her?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Emmott. ‘I really haven’t the slightest idea. I rather think that, if I’d been Carl – Carl Reiter, I mean – I would have had a shot at murdering her. She was a pretty fair devil to him. But, of course, he asks for it by being so darned sensitive. Just invites you to give him a kick in the pants.’

‘And did Mrs Leidner give him – a kick in the pants?’ inquired Poirot.