‘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.’