I have my spies, madame, he declared gaily.
And just for a minute I saw her eyelids quiver and blink.
Dont you think, asked Mrs Mercado with an air of great sweetness, that after an event of this kind, everyone always pretends a lot of things that never were?
You know tension, atmosphere, a feeling that something was going to happen?
I think people just make up these things afterwards.
There is a lot in what you say, madame, said Poirot.
And it really wasnt true!
We were a thoroughly happy family here.
That woman is one of the most utter liars Ive ever known, I said indignantly, when M. Poirot and I were clear of the house and walking along the path to the dig.
Im sure she simply hated Mrs Leidner really!
She is hardly the type to whom one would go for the truth, Poirot agreed.
Waste of time talking to her, I snapped.
Hardly that hardly that.
If a person tells you lies with her lips she is sometimes telling you truth with her eyes.
What is she afraid of, little Madame Mercado?
I saw fear in her eyes.
Yes decidedly she is afraid of something.
It is very interesting.
Ive got something to tell you, M. Poirot, I said.
Then I told him all about my return the night before and my strong belief that Miss Johnson was the writer of the anonymous letters.
So shes a liar too! I said.
The cool way she answered you this morning about these same letters!
Yes, said Poirot. It was interesting, that.
For she let out the fact she knew all about those letters.
So far they have not been spoken of in the presence of the staff.
Of course, it is quite possible that Dr Leidner told her about them yesterday.
They are old friends, he and she.
But if he did not well then it is curious and interesting, is it not?
My respect for him went up.
It was clever the way he had tricked her into mentioning the letters.
Are you going to tackle her about them? I asked.
M. Poirot seemed quite shocked by the idea.
No, no, indeed.
Always it is unwise to parade ones knowledge.
Until the last minute I keep everything here, he tapped his forehead.
At the right moment I make the spring like the panther and, mon Dieu! the consternation!
I couldnt help laughing to myself at little M. Poirot in the role of a panther.
We had just reached the dig.
The first person we saw was Mr Reiter, who was busy photographing some walling.
Its my opinion that the men who were digging just hacked out walls wherever they wanted them.
Thats what it looked like anyway.
Mr Carey explained to me that you could feel the difference at once with a pick, and he tried to show me but I never saw.
When the man said Libn mud-brick it was just ordinary dirt and mud as far as I could see.
Mr Reiter finished his photographs and handed over the camera and the plate to his boy and told him to take them back to the house.
Poirot asked him one or two questions about exposures and film packs and so on which he answered very readily.
He seemed pleased to be asked about his work.
He was just tendering his excuses for leaving us when Poirot plunged once more into his set speech.
As a matter of fact it wasnt quite a set speech because he varied it a little each time to suit the person he was talking to.
But Im not going to write it all down every time.
With sensible people like Miss Johnson he went straight to the point, and with some of the others he had to beat about the bush a bit more.