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Authors: Agatha Christie
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of value in my narrative because it led to Mrs. Leidner's unburdening herself to me on the following day.
Murder in Mesopotamia
Chapter 9
MRS. LEIDNER'S STORY
We had just finished lunch. Mrs. Leidner went to her room to rest as usual. I settled her on her bed with plenty of pillows and her book, and was leaving the room when she called me back.
“Don't go, nurse, there's something I want to say to you.”
I came back into the room.
“Shut the door.”
I obeyed.
She got up from the bed and began to walk up and down the room. I could see that she was making up her mind to something and I didn't like to interrupt her. She was clearly in great indecision of mind.
At last she seemed to have nerved herself to the required point. She turned to me and said abruptly:
“Sit down.”
I sat down by the table very quietly. She began nervously:
“You must have wondered what all this is about?”
I just nodded without saying anything.
“I've made up my mind to tell you - everything! I must tell some one or I shall go mad.”
“Well,” I said. “I think really it would be just as well. It's not easy to know the best thing to do when one's kept in the dark.”
She stopped in her uneasy walk and faced me.
“Do you know what I'm frightened of?”
“Some man,” I said.
“Yes - but I didn't say whom - I said what.”
I waited.
She said:
“I'm afraid of being killed!”
Well, it was out now. I wasn't going to show any particular concern. She was near enough hysterics as it was.
“Dear me,” I said. “So that's it, is it?”
Then she began to laugh. She laughed and she laughed - and the tears ran down her face.
“The way you said that!” she gasped. “The way you said it...”
“Now, now,” I said. “This won't do.” I spoke sharply. I pushed her into a chair, went over to the wash-stand and got a cold sponge and bathed her forehead and wrists.
“No more nonsense,” I said. “Tell me calmly and sensibly all about it.”
That stopped her. She sat up and spoke in her natural voice.
“You're a treasure, nurse,” she said. “You make me feel as though I'm six. I'm going to tell you.”
“That's right,” I said. “Take your time and don't hurry.”
She began to speak, slowly and deliberately.
“When I was a girl of twenty I married. A young man in one of our state departments. It was in 1918.”
“I know,” I said. “Mrs. Mercado told me. He was killed in the war.”
But Mrs. Leidner shook her head.
“That's what she thinks. That's what everybody thinks. The truth is something quite different I was a queer patriotic, enthusiastic girl, nurse, full of idealism. When I'd been married a few months I discovered - by a quite unforeseeable accident - that my husband was a spy in German pay. I learned that the information supplied by him had led directly to the sinking of an American transport and the loss of hundreds of lives. I don't know what most people would have done... But I'll tell you what I did. I went straight to my father, who was in the War Department, and told him the truth. Frederick was killed in the war - but he was killed in America - shot as a spy.”
“Oh, dear, dear!” I ejaculated. “How terrible!”
“Yes,” she said. “It was terrible. He was so kind, too - so gentle... And all the time... But I never hesitated. Perhaps I was wrong.”
“It's difficult to say,” I said. “I'm sure I don't know what one would do.”
“What I'm telling you was never generally known outside the state departments. Ostensibly my husband had gone to the front and had been killed. I had a lot of sympathy and kindness shown me as a war widow.”
Her voice was bitter and I nodded comprehendingly.
“Lots of people wanted to marry me, but I always refused. I'd had too bad a shock. I didn't feel I could ever trust anyone again.”
“Yes, I can imagine feeling like that.”
“And then I became very fond of a certain young man. I wavered. An amazing thing happened! I got an
Murder in Mesopotamia
Chapter 9
MRS. LEIDNER'S STORY
We had just finished lunch. Mrs. Leidner went to her room to rest as usual. I settled her on her bed with plenty of pillows and her book, and was leaving the room when she called me back.
“Don't go, nurse, there's something I want to say to you.”
I came back into the room.
“Shut the door.”
I obeyed.
She got up from the bed and began to walk up and down the room. I could see that she was making up her mind to something and I didn't like to interrupt her. She was clearly in great indecision of mind.
At last she seemed to have nerved herself to the required point. She turned to me and said abruptly:
“Sit down.”
I sat down by the table very quietly. She began nervously:
“You must have wondered what all this is about?”
I just nodded without saying anything.
“I've made up my mind to tell you - everything! I must tell some one or I shall go mad.”
“Well,” I said. “I think really it would be just as well. It's not easy to know the best thing to do when one's kept in the dark.”
She stopped in her uneasy walk and faced me.
“Do you know what I'm frightened of?”
“Some man,” I said.
“Yes - but I didn't say whom - I said what.”
I waited.
She said:
“I'm afraid of being killed!”
Well, it was out now. I wasn't going to show any particular concern. She was near enough hysterics as it was.
“Dear me,” I said. “So that's it, is it?”
Then she began to laugh. She laughed and she laughed - and the tears ran down her face.
“The way you said that!” she gasped. “The way you said it...”
“Now, now,” I said. “This won't do.” I spoke sharply. I pushed her into a chair, went over to the wash-stand and got a cold sponge and bathed her forehead and wrists.
“No more nonsense,” I said. “Tell me calmly and sensibly all about it.”
That stopped her. She sat up and spoke in her natural voice.
“You're a treasure, nurse,” she said. “You make me feel as though I'm six. I'm going to tell you.”
“That's right,” I said. “Take your time and don't hurry.”
She began to speak, slowly and deliberately.
“When I was a girl of twenty I married. A young man in one of our state departments. It was in 1918.”
“I know,” I said. “Mrs. Mercado told me. He was killed in the war.”
But Mrs. Leidner shook her head.
“That's what she thinks. That's what everybody thinks. The truth is something quite different I was a queer patriotic, enthusiastic girl, nurse, full of idealism. When I'd been married a few months I discovered - by a quite unforeseeable accident - that my husband was a spy in German pay. I learned that the information supplied by him had led directly to the sinking of an American transport and the loss of hundreds of lives. I don't know what most people would have done... But I'll tell you what I did. I went straight to my father, who was in the War Department, and told him the truth. Frederick was killed in the war - but he was killed in America - shot as a spy.”
“Oh, dear, dear!” I ejaculated. “How terrible!”
“Yes,” she said. “It was terrible. He was so kind, too - so gentle... And all the time... But I never hesitated. Perhaps I was wrong.”
“It's difficult to say,” I said. “I'm sure I don't know what one would do.”
“What I'm telling you was never generally known outside the state departments. Ostensibly my husband had gone to the front and had been killed. I had a lot of sympathy and kindness shown me as a war widow.”
Her voice was bitter and I nodded comprehendingly.
“Lots of people wanted to marry me, but I always refused. I'd had too bad a shock. I didn't feel I could ever trust anyone again.”
“Yes, I can imagine feeling like that.”
“And then I became very fond of a certain young man. I wavered. An amazing thing happened! I got an
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