Chapter 15 Chapter Fourteen One of Us

There was a pause—during which time there was a climax of terror in the room. I think it was at that moment that it occurred to me for the first time that Dr. Rayleigh was right. Russia felt that the murderer was in this room.Sit with us—listen to others.is one of us.Perhaps Mrs. McGado felt the same way.Because, suddenly, she let out a short, sharp cry. "I can't help it," she sobbed, "I—this is horrible." "Be brave, Mary," said her husband. He looked at us apologetically. "She's very sensitive. She takes things too seriously." "I-I like Louise so much," sobbed Mrs. McGado.

I don't know if what I feel in my heart shows on my face.But suddenly I found M. Poirot looking at me; a smile came to my lips. I looked at him coldly, so he immediately continued to ask questions. "Tell me, ma'am," he said, "tell me how you spent yesterday afternoon?" "I was washing my hair," Mrs. McGado said, sobbing. "I had no idea what was happening. It seems horrible to think about it now. I'm usually happy and busy." "Are you in your room?" "yes." "You never left?" "No. I didn't come out until I heard the car. I didn't hear what happened until later. Oh, how terrible!"

"Do you find it strange?" Mrs. McGado stopped crying.Her eyes widened in disgust. "What do you mean, M. Poirot? You mean—" "What do you mean, ma'am? You told us just now that you were very fond of Mrs. Leidner. Then, perhaps, she told you what was on her mind." "Oh, I see, no, no. Dear Louise never said anything to me—I mean, never made it clear to me what he said. Of course, I could tell Miao was frightened and nervous. Allergies. And those weird things—hands tapping on window panes, etc." "Fantasy, I remember you saying that," I said—and could not be silent any longer. ~I'm glad to see her flustered for a split second.

I felt again that M. Poirot was looking in my direction with interest. He sums it up succinctly: "All in all, ma'am, you're washing your hair—you hear nothing, you see nothing. Can you think of anything that might help us understand?" Mrs. Mercado said without thinking: "No, there really isn't. It's a most inconceivable thing! But I can say that there is no doubt—no doubt that the murderer came in from the outside. Why. It's reasonable to think so." Poirot turned to her husband. "Well, what about you, sir? Is there anything you can tell us?

Mr. McGado was startled and disturbed.He twirled his beard aimlessly. "It must be, it must be," he said, "but who would want to hurt her? She's so gentle—so kind—" He shook his head. "Anyone who kills her must be a demon— —Yes, the devil!" "And yourself, sir? What were you doing that afternoon?" "Me?" He stared blankly at him. "Are you in the lab, Joseph?" his wife reminded him. "Ah, yes, I'm there, I'm there. Doing what I always do." "When did you go there?"" He looked at Mrs. McGadore again, as if unable to make sure and question her.

"Ten points, Joseph." "Ah, yes, ten to one point." "Have you ever been in the yard?" "No—I don't think so," he considered, "no, I don't remember that." "When did you hear about the tragedy?" "My wife came out and told me. It was horrible—shocking. I almost believed it could be true. Even now, I don't believe it could be true." Suddenly, he began to tremble, "That Terrible—terrible!" Mrs. McGado stepped over to his side at once. "Yes, yes, Joseph, we all feel that way. But we must not lose our nerve. That would make it harder for poor Dr. Leidner."

I saw a spasm in Dr. Leidner's face.I think it was very difficult for him to bear in such an atmosphere of affection.He gave Poirot a brief look, as if asking for help.Poirot reacted immediately. "Miss Johnson?" he said. "I'm afraid I can tell you very little," said Miss Johnson.After listening to Mrs. McGado's sharp voice, everyone found her cultivated voice very comfortable.She continued: "I'm working in the living room - printing cylinders on clay sheets." "Then you didn't see or notice anything?" "yes." Poirot looked at her quickly.His ears caught—as mine did—a faint, uncertain tone in her voice.

"Are you sure, Miss? Do you have any vague idea of ​​something?" "No—really not." "What did you see... shall we say... accidentally saw something from the side, and you didn't even know you saw it?" Miss Johnson gave a short, anxious laugh. "You press too hard, M. Poirot. I am afraid you are encouraging me to tell you something I may be imagining." "Then there are in fact some—let's say, your imagination?" Miss Johnson spoke slowly, detachedly, and carefully chosen her words: "I imagined—heard a faint cry that afternoon. I mean, I heard a cry. Living room The windows were all open. We could hear all the noises of the men working in the barley fields. But, you know, because—I heard Mrs. Leidner's voice (my brain has This thought), and it made me very sad. Because, if I had jumped up and run to her room then—oh, who knows—I might have had time—”

Dr. Riley put in a believable remark. "Don't get that in your head now," he said, "I can assure you that Mrs. Leidner (Leidner, please forgive me) let him shoot the man almost as soon as he got in. That shot killed her. There was no second shot. Otherwise, she would have had time to call for help, to yell." "I still think I might catch the murderer," said Miss Johnson. "What time was that, mademoiselle?" asked Poirot. "Around half past one?" "It must have been about that time—yes," she said after a moment's reflection.

"Then it will fit," said Poirot thoughtfully. "You don't hear anything else—such as the opening or closing of a door?" Miss Johnson shook her head. "No, I don't remember hearing that sound." "I think you're sitting at the table. Which way are you sitting? The courtyard? The antiquities? The porch? Or the field?" "I sat facing the courtyard." "Can you see that kid named Abdullah washing the jars from where he's sitting?" "Oh, I can see it. But, of course, I have to lift my head and look out, and I can see it, but I'm working hard, working hard."

"However, if someone passes by the window in the courtyard, you will notice it." "Ah, yes. I'm almost sure of that." "Is no one passing by?" "No." "But if someone—let's say—walks through the middle of the yard, would you notice it?" "I suppose—perhaps not—unless, as I said, I happen to look out of the window." "Didn't you see Abdullah leave his work and go out to chat with some of the other servants?" "No." "Ten minutes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "that damn ten minutes." A moment's silence followed. Miss Johnson suddenly raised her head and said: "You know, Mr. Poirot, I think I have unintentionally caused you to think in the wrong direction. Now that I think about it, I don't think I could have heard it from my place. Shouts from Mrs. Leidner's room. Mine was separated from hers by an antiquities room—and, it is said, her windows were later found to be closed." "In any case, don't trouble yourself, mademoiselle," said Poirot kindly. "That's really not very important." "No, of course not. I understand that. But, you know, it's important to me because I think I might do something." "Don't trouble yourself, Anna dear," said Dr. Leidner pitifully. "You must be real. You may be hearing an Arab calling from a distance in a wheat field to another." Miss Johnson felt the elegant tone in his voice, and blushed a little.I even saw tears welling up in her eyes.She turned her face away and said more strictly than before: "Maybe. After a tragedy, that's usually the case—starting imagining things that weren't there." Poirot looked again in his notebook. "I suppose you have nothing more to tell me, Mr. Garley?" Richard Jarry spoke slowly, mechanically. "I'm afraid I can't add anything to help you. I was digging at the excavation site. I was told the news there." "So, you don't know, or can't think of anything that happened before the murder, that can help us understand?" "Nothing." "Where's Mr. Coleman?" "I wasn't around when the whole thing happened," Mr. Coleman said in his voice—a note of regret. "Yesterday morning I went into town to collect my paycheck. When I came back, Emmott told me what had happened, and then I went to the station wagon to find the police and Dr. Rayleigh." "What about before?" "Ah, sir, that situation was a bit tense. But you already know that. There was the false alarm in the antiquities room--before that, and once or twice, there was a hand knocking on the windowpane, and a face was pressed Look in--you remember that, sir," he said to Dr. Leidner with an air of assent.The latter nodded in agreement. "I think, you know, you'll find that a fellow did come in from the outside. A crafty beggar, I suppose." Poirot looked at him in silence for a minute or two. "You are English, Mr. Coleman?" he asked at last. "Yes, sir. One hundred per cent Britannica. Look at the label. The real thing." Is this your first time participating in archaeological work? " "you are right." "So, you are very fond of archaeology?" Mr. Coleman was rather embarrassed to be described in that way.He blushed a little, and stole glances at Dr. Leidner like a negligent schoolboy. "Of course—it's interesting," he stammered. "I mean—I'm not exactly a brain—" His words were cut off without a trace.Poirot did not insist that he go on. Thoughtfully, he tapped lightly on the table with the end of a pencil, and then straightened an ink bottle in front of him. "It seems," he said, "that this is about as much information as we have at present. If any of you remember something you have forgotten for a while, do not hesitate to come and tell me. Now, I think, I'd better be alone with you. Dr. Leidner and Dr. Rayleigh." This is a hint that the meeting is adjourned.We all stood up and filed out.However, when I was halfway out, I heard a voice calling me from behind. "Perhaps," said M. Poirot, "Nurse Leatheran will stay. I think her assistance will be of great value to us." I'll come back and sit in my seat again.