Lately our meals had been hushed and subdued, but for all that there had been a feeling of comradeship.
There had been sympathy with Dr Leidner in his grief and a fellow feeling of being all in the same boat amongst the others.
But tonight I was reminded of my first meal there when Mrs Mercado had watched me and there had been that curious feeling as though something might snap any minute.
Id felt the same thing only very much intensified when wed sat round the dining-room table with Poirot at the head of it.
Tonight it was particularly strong.
Everyone was on edge jumpy on tenterhooks.
If anyone had dropped something Im sure somebody would have screamed.
As I say, we all separated early afterwards.
I went to bed almost at once.
The last thing I heard as I was dropping off to sleep was Mrs Mercados voice saying goodnight to Miss Johnson just outside my door.
I dropped off to sleep at once tired by my exertions and even more by my silly experience in Mrs Leidners room. I slept heavily and dreamlessly for several hours.
I awoke when I did awake with a start and a feeling of impending catastrophe.
Some sound had woken me, and as I sat up in bed listening I heard it again.
An awful sort of agonized choking groan.
I had lit my candle and was out of bed in a twinkling.
I snatched up a torch, too, in case the candle should blow out. I came out of my door and stood listening.
I knew the sound wasnt far away.
It came again from the room immediately next to mine Miss Johnsons room.
I hurried in.
Miss Johnson was lying in bed, her whole body contorted in agony.
As I set down the candle and bent over her, her lips moved and she tried to speak but only an awful hoarse whisper came.
I saw that the corners of her mouth and the skin of her chin were burnt a kind of greyish white.
Her eyes went from me to a glass that lay on the floor evidently where it had dropped from her hand.
The light rug was stained a bright red where it had fallen.
I picked it up and ran a finger over the inside, drawing back my hand with a sharp exclamation.
Then I examined the inside of the poor womans mouth.
There wasnt the least doubt what was the matter.
Somehow or other, intentionally or otherwise, shed swallowed a quantity of corrosive acid oxalic or hydrochloric, I suspected.
I ran out and called to Dr Leidner and he woke the others, and we worked over her for all we were worth, but all the time I had an awful feeling it was no good.
We tried a strong solution of carbonate of soda and followed it with olive oil.
To ease the pain I gave her a hypodermic of morphine sulphate.
David Emmott had gone off to Hassanieh to fetch Dr Reilly, but before he came it was over.
I wont dwell on the details.
Poisoning by a strong solution of hydrochloric acid (which is what it proved to be) is one of the most painful deaths possible.
It was when I was bending over her to give her the morphia that she made one ghastly effort to speak.
It was only a horrible strangled whisper when it came.
The window she said. Nursethe window
But that was all she couldnt go on. She collapsed completely.
I shall never forget that night.
The arrival of Dr Reilly.
The arrival of Captain Maitland.
And finally with the dawn, Hercule Poirot.
He it was who took me gently by the arm and steered me into the dining-room, where he made me sit down and have a cup of good strong tea.
There, mon enfant, he said, that is better.
You are worn out.
Upon that, I burst into tears.
Its too awful, I sobbed.
Its been like a nightmare.
Such awful suffering.
And her eyesOh, M. Poirot her eyes