Murder in Mesopotamia: A Hercule Poirot Mystery

  “Menier and his accomplice arrived. The latter is seen when he is reconnoitring the antika room from outside. The plan is for Father Lavigny to take wax impressions. Ali then makes clever duplicates. There are always certain collectors who are willing to pay a good price for genuine antiques and will ask no embarrassing questions. Father Lavigny will effect the substitution of the fake for the genuine article—preferably at night.

  “And that is doubtless what he was doing when Mrs. Leidner heard him and gave the alarm. What can he do? He hurriedly makes up a story of having seen a light in the antika room.

  “That ‘went down,’ as you say, very well. But Mrs. Leidner was no fool. She may have remembered the trace of wax she had noticed and then put two and two together. And if she did, what will she do then? Would it not be dans son caracte“re to do nothing at once, but enjoy herself by letting hints slip to the discomfiture of Father Lavigny? She will let him see that she suspects—but not that she knows. It is, perhaps, a dangerous game, but she enjoys a dangerous game.

  “And perhaps she plays that game too long. Father Lavigny sees the truth, and strikes before she realizes what he means to do.

  “Father Lavigny is Raoul Menier—a thief. Is he also—a murderer?”

  Poirot paced the room. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his forehead and went on: “That was my position this morning. There were eight distinct possibilities and I did not know which of these possibilities was the right one. I still did not know who was the murderer.

  “But murder is a habit. The man or woman who kills once will kill again.

  “And by the second murder, the murderer was delivered into my hands.

  “All along it was ever present in the back of my mind that some one of these people might have knowledge that they had kept back—knowledge incriminating the murderer.

  “If so, that person would be in danger.

  “My solicitude was mainly on account of Nurse Leatheran. She had an energetic personality and a brisk inquisitive mind. I was terrified of her finding out more than it was safe for her to know.

  “As you all know, a second murder did take place. But the victim was not Nurse Leatheran—it was Miss Johnson.

  “I like to think that I should have reached the correct solution anyway by pure reasoning, but it is certain that Miss Johnson’s murder helped me to it much quicker.

  “To begin with, one suspect was eliminated—Miss Johnson herself—for I did not for a moment entertain the theory of suicide.

  “Let us examine now the facts of this second murder.

  “Fact One: On Sunday evening Nurse Leatheran finds Miss Johnson in tears, and that same evening Miss Johnson burns a fragment of a letter which nurse believes to be in the same handwriting as that of the anonymous letters.

  “Fact Two: The evening before her death Miss Johnson is found by Nurse Leatheran standing on the roof in a state that nurse describes as one of incredulous horror. When nurse questions her she says, ‘I’ve seen how someone could come in from outside—and no one would ever guess.’ She won’t say any more. Father Lavigny is crossing the courtyard and Mr. Reiter is at the door of the photographic room.

  “Fact Three: Miss Johnson is found dying. The only words she can manage to articulate are ‘the window—the window—’

  “Those are the facts, and these are the problems with which we are faced:

  “What is the truth of the letters?

  “What did Miss Johnson see from the roof?

  “What did she mean by ‘the window—the window?’

  “Eh bien, let us take the second problem first as the easiest of solution. I went up with Nurse Leatheran and I stood where Miss Johnson had stood. From there she could see the courtyard and the archway and the north side of the building and two members of the staff. Had her words anything to do with either Mr. Reiter or Father Lavigny?

  “Almost at once a possible explanation leaped to my brain. If a stranger came in from outside he could only do so in disguise. And there was only one person whose general appearance lent itself to such an impersonation. Father Lavigny! With a sun helmet, sun glasses, black beard and a monk’s long woollen robe, a stranger could pass in without the servants realising that a stranger had entered.

  “Was that Miss Johnson’s meaning? Or had she gone further? Did she realize that Father Lavigny’s whole personality was a disguise? That he was someone other than he pretended to be?

  “Knowing what I did know about Father Lavigny, I was inclined to call the mystery solved. Raoul Menier was the murderer. He had killed Mrs. Leidner to silence her before she could give him away. Now another person lets him see that she has penetrated his secret. She, too, must be removed.

  “And so everything is explained! The second murder. Father Lavigny’s flight—minus robe and beard. (He and his friend are doubtless careering through Syria with excellent passports as two commercial travellers.) His action in placing the blood-stained quern under Miss Johnson’s bed.

  “As I say, I was almost satisfied—but not quite. For the perfect solution must explain everything—and this does not do so.

  “It does not explain, for instance, why Miss Johnson should say ‘the window,’ as she was dying. It does not explain her fit of weeping over the letter. It does not explain her mental attitude on the roof—her incredulous horror and her refusal to tell Nurse Leatheran what it was that she now suspected or knew.

  “It was a solution that fitted the outer facts, but it did not satisfy the psychological requirements.

  “And then, as I stood on the roof, going over in my mind those three points: the letters, the roof, the window, I saw—just as Miss Johnson had seen!

  “And this time what I saw explained everything!”

  Twenty-eight

  JOURNEY’S END

  Poirot looked round. Every eye was now fixed upon him. There had been a certain relaxation—a slackening of tension. Now the tension suddenly returned.

  There was something coming . . . something . . .

  Poirot’s voice, quiet and unimpassioned, went on: “The letters, the roof, ‘the window’ . . . Yes, everything was explained—everything fell into place.

  “I said just now that three men had alibis for the time of the crime. Two of those alibis I have shown to be worthless. I saw now my great—my amazing mistake. The third alibi was worthless too. Not only could Dr. Leidner have committed the murder—but I was convinced that he had committed it.”

  There was a silence, a bewildered, uncomprehending silence. Dr. Leidner said nothing. He seemed lost in his faraway world still. David Emmott, however, stirred uneasily and spoke.

  “I don’t know what you mean to imply, M. Poirot. I told you that Dr. Leidner never left the roof until at least a quarter to three. That is the absolute truth. I swear it solemnly. I am not lying. And it would have been quite impossible for him to have done so without my seeing him.”

  Poirot nodded.

  “Oh, I believe you. Dr. Leidner did not leave the roof. That is an undisputed fact. But what I saw—and what Miss Johnson had seen—was that Dr. Leidner could murder his wife from the roof without leaving it.”

  We all stared.

  “The window,” cried Poirot. “Her window! That is what I realized—just as Miss Johnson realized it. Her window was directly underneath, on the side away from the courtyard. And Dr. Leidner was alone up there with no one to witness his actions. And those heavy stone querns and grinders were up there all ready to his hand. So simple, so very simple, granted one thing—that the murderer had the opportunity to move the body before anyone else saw it . . . Oh, it is beautiful—of an unbelievable simplicity!

  “Listen—it went like this:

  “Dr. Leidner is on the roof working with the pottery. He calls you up, Mr. Emmott, and while he holds you in talk he notices that, as usually happens, the small boy takes advantage of your absence to leave his work and go outside the courtyard. He keeps you with him ten minutes, then he lets you go and as soon as you are
down below shouting to the boy he sets his plan in operation.

  “He takes from his pocket the plasticine-smeared mask with which he has already scared his wife on a former occasion and dangles it over the edge of the parapet till it taps on his wife’s window.

  “That, remember, is the window giving on the countryside facing the opposite direction to the courtyard.

  “Mrs. Leidner is lying on her bed half asleep. She is peaceful and happy. Suddenly the mask begins tapping on the window and attracts her attention. But it is not dusk now—it is broad daylight—there is nothing terrifying about it. She recognizes it for what it is—a crude form of trickery! She is not frightened but indignant. She does what any other woman would do in her place. Jumps off the bed, opens the window, passes her head through the bars and turns her face upward to see who is playing the trick on her.

  “Dr. Leidner is waiting. He has in his hands, poised and ready, a heavy quern. At the psychological moment he drops it. . . .

  “With a faint cry (heard by Miss Johnson) Mrs. Leidner collapses on the rug underneath the window.

  “Now there is a hole in this quern, and through that Dr. Leidner had previously passed a cord. He has now only to haul in the cord and bring up the quern. He replaces the latter neatly, bloodstained side down, amongst the other objects of that kind on the roof.

  “Then he continues his work for an hour or more till he judges the moment has come for the second act. He descends the stairs, speaks to Mr. Emmott and Nurse Leatheran, crosses the courtyard and enters his wife’s room. This is the explanation he himself gives of his movements there:

  “ ‘I saw my wife’s body in a heap by the bed. For a moment or two I felt paralysed as though I couldn’t move. Then at last I went and knelt down by her and lifted up her head. I saw she was dead . . . At last I got up. I felt dazed and as though I were drunk. I managed to get to the door and call out.’

  “A perfectly possible account of the actions of a grief-dazed man. Now listen to what I believe to be the truth. Dr. Leidner enters the room, hurries to the window, and, having pulled on a pair of gloves, closes and fastens it, then picks up his wife’s body and transports it to a position between the bed and the door. Then he notices a slight stain on the window-side rug. He cannot change it with the other rug, they are a different size, but he does the next best thing. He puts the stained rug in front of the washstand and the rug from the washstand under the window. If the stain is noticed, it will be connected with the washstand—not with the window—a very important point. There must be no suggestion that the window played any part in the business. Then he comes to the door and acts the part of the overcome husband, and that, I imagine, is not difficult. For he did love his wife.”

  “My good man,” cried Dr. Reilly impatiently, “if he loved her, why did he kill her? Where’s the motive? Can’t you speak, Leidner? Tell him he’s mad.”

  Dr. Leidner neither spoke nor moved.

  Poirot said: “Did I not tell you all along that this was a crime passionnel? Why did her first husband, Frederick Bosner, threaten to kill her? Because he loved her . . . And in the end, you see, he made his boast good. . . .

  “Mais oui—mais oui—once I realize that it is Dr. Leidner who did the killing, everything falls into place. . . .

  “For the second time, I recommence my journey from the beginning—Mrs. Leidner’s first marriage—the threatening letters—her second marriage. The letters prevented her marrying any other man—but they did not prevent her marrying Dr. Leidner. How simple that is—if Dr. Leidner is actually Frederick Bosner.

  “Once more let us start our journey—from the point of view this time of young Frederick Bosner.

  “To begin with, he loves his wife Louise with an overpowering passion such as only a woman of her kind can evoke. She betrays him. He is sentenced to death. He escapes. He is involved in a railway accident but he manages to emerge with a second personality—that of a young Swedish archaeologist, Eric Leidner, whose body is badly disfigured and who will be conveniently buried as Frederick Bosner.

  “What is the new Eric Leidner’s attitude to the woman who was willing to send him to his death? First and most important, he still loves her. He sets to work to build up his new life. He is a man of great ability, his profession is congenial to him and he makes a success of it. But he never forgets the ruling passion of his life. He keeps himself informed of his wife’s movements. Of one thing he is cold-bloodedly determined (remember Mrs. Leidner’s own description of him to Nurse Leatheran—gentle and kind but ruthless), she shall belong to no other man. Whenever he judges it necessary he despatches a letter. He imitates some of the peculiarities of her handwriting in case she should think of taking his letters to the police. Women who write sensational anonymous letters to themselves are such a common phenomenon that the police will be sure to jump to that solution given the likeness of the handwriting. At the same time he leaves her in doubt as to whether he is really alive or not.

  “At last, after many years, he judges that the time has arrived; he reenters her life. All goes well. His wife never dreams of his real identity. He is a well-known man. The upstanding, good-looking young fellow is now a middle-aged man with a beard and stooping shoulders. And so we see history repeating itself. As before, Frederick is able to dominate Louise. For the second time she consents to marry him. And no letter comes to forbid the banns.

  “But afterwards a letter does come. Why?

  “I think that Dr. Leidner was taking no chances. The intimacy of marriage might awaken a memory. He wishes to impress on his wife, once and for all, that Eric Leidner and Frederick Bosner are two different people. So much so that a threatening letter comes from the former on account of the latter. The rather puerile gas poisoning business follows—arranged by Dr. Leidner, of course. Still with the same object in view.

  “After that he is satisfied. No more letters need come. They can settle down to happy married life together.

  “And then, after nearly two years, the letters recommence.

  “Why? Eh bien, I think I know. Because the threat underlying the letters was always a genuine threat. (That is why Mrs. Leidner has always been frightened. She knew her Frederick’s gentle but ruthless nature.) If she belongs to any other man but him he would kill her. And she has given herself to Richard Carey.

  “And so, having discovered this, cold-bloodedly, calmly, Dr. Leidner prepares the scene for murder.

  “You see now the important part played by Nurse Leatheran? Dr. Leidner’s rather curious conduct (it puzzled me at the very first) in securing her services for his wife is explained. It was vital that a reliable professional witness should be able to state incontrovertibly that Mrs. Leidner had been dead over an hour when her body was found—that is, that she had been killed at a time when everybody could swear her husband was on the roof. A suspicion might have arisen that he had killed her when he entered the room and found the body—but that was out of the question when a trained hospital nurse would assert positively that she had already been dead an hour.

  “Another thing that is explained is the curious state of tension and strain that had come over the expedition this year. I never from the first thought that that could be attributed solely to Mrs. Leidner’s influence. For several years this particular expedition had had a reputation for happy good fellowship. In my opinion, the state of mind of a community is always directly due to the influence of the man at the top. Dr. Leidner, quiet though he was, was a man of great personality. It was due to his tact, to his judgment, to his sympathetic manipulation of human beings that the atmosphere had always been such a happy one.

  “If there was a change, therefore, the change must be due to the man at the top—in other words, to Dr. Leidner. It was Dr. Leidner, not Mrs. Leidner, who was responsible for the tension and uneasiness. No wonder the staff felt the change without understanding it. The kindly, genial Dr. Leidner, outwardly the same, was only playing the part of himself. The real man was an obsessed fanatic p
lotting to kill.

  “And now we will pass on to the second murder—that of Miss Johnson. In tidying up Dr. Leidner’s papers in the office (a job she took on herself unasked, craving for something to do) she must have come on some unfinished draft of one of the anonymous letters.

  “It must have been both incomprehensible and extremely upsetting to her! Dr. Leidner has been deliberately terrorizing his wife! She cannot understand it—but it upsets her badly. It is in this mood that Nurse Leatheran discovers her crying.

  “I do not think at the moment that she suspected Dr. Leidner of being the murderer, but my experiments with sounds in Mrs. Leidner’s and Father Lavigny’s rooms are not lost upon her. She realizes that if it was Mrs. Leidner’s cry she heard, the window in her room must have been open, not shut. At the moment that conveys nothing vital to her, but she remembers it.

  “Her mind goes on working—ferreting its way towards the truth. Perhaps she makes some reference to the letters which Dr. Leidner understands and his manner changes. She may see that he is, suddenly, afraid.

  “But Dr. Leidner cannot have killed his wife! He was on the roof all the time.

  “And then, one evening, as she herself is on the roof puzzling about it, the truth comes to her in a flash. Mrs. Leidner has been killed from up here, through the open window.

  “It was at that minute that Nurse Leatheran found her.

  “And immediately, her old affection reasserting itself, she puts up a quick camouflage. Nurse Leatheran must not guess the horrifying discovery she has just made.

  “She looks deliberately in the opposite direction (towards the courtyard) and makes a remark suggested to her by Father Lavigny’s appearance as he crosses the courtyard.