Suddenly he gave a shout.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
He held out a letter with a grin.
‘It’s our Lovely Louise—she really is going balmy. She’s addressed a letter to someone at 42nd Street, Paris, France. I don’t think that can be right, do you? Do you mind taking it to her and asking what she does mean? She’s just gone off to bed.’
I took it from him and ran off to Mrs Leidner with it and she amended the address.
It was the first time I had seen Mrs Leidner’s handwriting, and I wondered idly where I had seen it before, for it was certainly quite familiar to me.
It wasn’t till the middle of the night that it suddenly came to me.
Except that it was bigger and rather more straggling, it was extraordinarily like the writing on the anonymous letters.
New ideas flashed through my head.
Had Mrs Leidner conceivably written those letters herself?
And did Dr Leidner half-suspect the fact?
Chapter 10
Saturday Afternoon
Mrs Leidner told me her story on a Friday.
On the Saturday morning there was a feeling of slight anticlimax in the air.
Mrs Leidner, in particular, was inclined to be very offhand with me and rather pointedly avoided any possibility of a tête-à-tête. Well, that didn’t surprise me! I’ve had the same thing happen to me again and again. Ladies tell their nurses things in a sudden burst of confidence, and then, afterwards, they feel uncomfortable about it and wish they hadn’t! It’s only human nature.
I was very careful not to hint or remind her in any way of what she had told me. I purposely kept my conversation as matter-of-fact as possible.
Mr Coleman had started in to Hassanieh in the morning, driving himself in the lorry with the letters in a knapsack. He also had one or two commissions to do for the members of the expedition. It was pay-day for the men, and he would have to go to the bank and bring out the money in coins of small denominations. All this was a long business and he did not expect to be back until the afternoon. I rather suspected he might be lunching with Sheila Reilly.
Work on the dig was usually not very busy on the afternoon of pay-day as at three-thirty the paying-out began.
The little boy, Abdullah, whose business it was to wash pots, was established as usual in the centre of the courtyard, and again, as usual, kept up his queer nasal chant. Dr Leidner and Mr Emmott were going to put in some work on the pottery until Mr Coleman returned, and Mr Carey went up to the dig.
Mrs Leidner went to her room to rest. I settled her as usual and then went to my own room, taking a book with me as I did not feel sleepy. It was then about a quarter to one, and a couple of hours passed quite pleasantly. I was reading Death in a Nursing Home—really a most exciting story—though I don’t think the author knew much about the way nursing homes are run! At any rate I’ve never known a nursing home like that! I really felt inclined to write to the author and put him right about a few points.
When I put the book down at last (it was the red-haired parlourmaid and I’d never suspected her once!) and looked at my watch I was quite surprised to find it was twenty minutes to three!
I got up, straightened my uniform, and came out into the courtyard.
Abdullah was still scrubbing and still singing his depressing chant, and David Emmott was standing by him sorting the scrubbed pots, and putting the ones that were broken into boxes to await mending. I strolled over towards them just as Dr Leidner came down the staircase from the roof.
‘Not a bad afternoon,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve made a bit of a clearance up there. Louise will be pleased. She’s complained lately that there’s not room to walk about. I’ll go and tell her the good news.’
He went over to his wife’s door, tapped on it and went in.
It must, I suppose, have been about a minute and a half later that he came out again. I happened to be looking at the door when he did so. It was like a nightmare. He had gone in a brisk, cheerful man. He came out like a drunken one—reeling a little on his feet, and with a queer dazed expression on his face.