as soon as she saw him near to, Mrs. Leidner relaxed with a sigh.
“He's only an Iraqi after all,” she said.
We went on our way. I glanced up at the windows as I passed. Not only were they barred, but they were too high from the ground to permit of anyone seeing in, for the level of the ground was lower here than on the inside of the courtyard.
“It must have been just curiosity,” I said.
Mrs. Leidner nodded.
“That's all. But just for a minute I thought -”
She broke off.
I thought to myself, “You thought what? That's what I'd like to know. What did you think?”
But I knew one thing now - that Mrs. Leidner was afraid of a definite flesh and blood person.
Murder in Mesopotamia
Chapter 8
NIGHT ALARM
It's a little difficult to know exactly what to note in the week that followed my arrival at Tell Yarimjah.
Looking back as I do from my present standpoint of knowledge I can see a good many little signs and indications that I was quite blind to at the time.
To tell the story properly, however, I think I ought to try and recapture the point of view that I actually held - puzzled, uneasy, and increasingly conscious of something wrong.
For one thing was certain, that curious sense of strain and constraint was not imagined. It was genuine. Even Bill Coleman the insensitive commented upon it.
“This place gets under my skin,” I heard him say. “Are they always such a glum lot?”
It was David Emmott to whom he spoke, the other assistant. I had taken rather a fancy to Mr. Emmott; his taciturnity was not, I felt sure, unfriendly. There was something about him that seemed very steadfast and reassuring in an atmosphere where one was uncertain what anyone was feeling or thinking.
“No,” he said in answer to Mr. Coleman. “It wasn't like this last year.”
But he didn't enlarge on the theme, or say any more.
“What I can't make out is what it's all about,” said Mr. Coleman in an aggrieved voice.
Emmott shrugged his shoulders but didn't answer.
I had a rather enlightening conversation with Miss Johnson. I liked her very much. She was capable, practical and intelligent. She had, it was quite obvious, a distinct hero worship for Dr. Leidner.
On this occasion she told me the story of his life since his young days. She knew every site he had dug, and the results of the dig. I would almost dare swear she could quote from every lecture he had ever delivered. She considered him, she told me, quite the finest field archaeologist living.
“And he's so simple. So completely unworldly. He doesn't know the meaning of the word conceit. Only a really great man could be so simple.”
“That's true enough,” I said. “Big people don't need to throw their weight about.”
“And he's so light-hearted too. I can't tell you what fun we used to have - he and Richard Carey and I - the first years we were out here. We were such a happy party. Richard Carey worked with him in Palestine, of course. Theirs is a friendship of ten years or so. Oh, well, I've known him for seven.”
“What a handsome man Mr. Carey is,” I said.
“Yes - I suppose he is.”
She said it rather curtly.
“But he's just a little bit quiet, don't you think?”
“He usedn't to be like that,” said Miss Johnson quickly. “It's only'since -”
She stopped abruptly.
“Only since -?” I prompted.
“Oh, well.” Miss Johnson gave a characteristic motion of her shoulders. “A good many things are changed nowadays.”
I didn't answer. I hoped she would go on - and she did - prefacing her remarks with a little laugh as though to detract from their importance.
“I'm afraid I'm rather a conservative old fogy. I sometimes think that if an archaeologist's wife isn't really interested, it would be wiser for her not to accompany the expedition. It often leads to friction.”
“Mrs. Mercado -” I suggested.
“Oh, her!” Miss Johnson brushed the suggestion aside. “I was really thinking of Mrs. Leidner. She's a very charming woman
“He's only an Iraqi after all,” she said.
We went on our way. I glanced up at the windows as I passed. Not only were they barred, but they were too high from the ground to permit of anyone seeing in, for the level of the ground was lower here than on the inside of the courtyard.
“It must have been just curiosity,” I said.
Mrs. Leidner nodded.
“That's all. But just for a minute I thought -”
She broke off.
I thought to myself, “You thought what? That's what I'd like to know. What did you think?”
But I knew one thing now - that Mrs. Leidner was afraid of a definite flesh and blood person.
Murder in Mesopotamia
Chapter 8
NIGHT ALARM
It's a little difficult to know exactly what to note in the week that followed my arrival at Tell Yarimjah.
Looking back as I do from my present standpoint of knowledge I can see a good many little signs and indications that I was quite blind to at the time.
To tell the story properly, however, I think I ought to try and recapture the point of view that I actually held - puzzled, uneasy, and increasingly conscious of something wrong.
For one thing was certain, that curious sense of strain and constraint was not imagined. It was genuine. Even Bill Coleman the insensitive commented upon it.
“This place gets under my skin,” I heard him say. “Are they always such a glum lot?”
It was David Emmott to whom he spoke, the other assistant. I had taken rather a fancy to Mr. Emmott; his taciturnity was not, I felt sure, unfriendly. There was something about him that seemed very steadfast and reassuring in an atmosphere where one was uncertain what anyone was feeling or thinking.
“No,” he said in answer to Mr. Coleman. “It wasn't like this last year.”
But he didn't enlarge on the theme, or say any more.
“What I can't make out is what it's all about,” said Mr. Coleman in an aggrieved voice.
Emmott shrugged his shoulders but didn't answer.
I had a rather enlightening conversation with Miss Johnson. I liked her very much. She was capable, practical and intelligent. She had, it was quite obvious, a distinct hero worship for Dr. Leidner.
On this occasion she told me the story of his life since his young days. She knew every site he had dug, and the results of the dig. I would almost dare swear she could quote from every lecture he had ever delivered. She considered him, she told me, quite the finest field archaeologist living.
“And he's so simple. So completely unworldly. He doesn't know the meaning of the word conceit. Only a really great man could be so simple.”
“That's true enough,” I said. “Big people don't need to throw their weight about.”
“And he's so light-hearted too. I can't tell you what fun we used to have - he and Richard Carey and I - the first years we were out here. We were such a happy party. Richard Carey worked with him in Palestine, of course. Theirs is a friendship of ten years or so. Oh, well, I've known him for seven.”
“What a handsome man Mr. Carey is,” I said.
“Yes - I suppose he is.”
She said it rather curtly.
“But he's just a little bit quiet, don't you think?”
“He usedn't to be like that,” said Miss Johnson quickly. “It's only'since -”
She stopped abruptly.
“Only since -?” I prompted.
“Oh, well.” Miss Johnson gave a characteristic motion of her shoulders. “A good many things are changed nowadays.”
I didn't answer. I hoped she would go on - and she did - prefacing her remarks with a little laugh as though to detract from their importance.
“I'm afraid I'm rather a conservative old fogy. I sometimes think that if an archaeologist's wife isn't really interested, it would be wiser for her not to accompany the expedition. It often leads to friction.”
“Mrs. Mercado -” I suggested.
“Oh, her!” Miss Johnson brushed the suggestion aside. “I was really thinking of Mrs. Leidner. She's a very charming woman
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