APPOINTMENT WITH DEATH - 3

APPOINTMENT WITH DEATH

AGATHA CHRISTIE

( INSTALMENT 3 )

NINE

Poirot noted the likeness between brother and sister as Raymond Boynton came into the room.

His face was stern and set. He did not seem nervous or afraid. He dropped into a chair, stared hard at Poirot and said: "Well?"

Poirot said gently: "Your sister has spoken with you?"

Raymond nodded. "Yes, when she told me to come here. Of course I realize that your suspicions are quite justified. If our conversation was overheard that night, the fact that my stepmother died rather suddenly certainly would seem suspicious! I can only assure you that that conversation was the madness of an evening! We were, at the time, under an intolerable strain. This fantastic plan of killing my stepmother did – oh, how shall I put it – it let off steam somehow!"

Hercule Poirot bent his head slowly. "That," he said, "is possible."

"In the morning, of course, it all seemed rather absurd! I swear to you, M. Poirot, that I never thought of the matter again!"

Poirot did not answer.

Raymond said quickly: "Well, yes, I know that that is easy enough to say. I cannot expect you to believe me on my bare word. But consider the facts. I spoke to my mother just a little before six o'clock. She was certainly alive and well then. I went to my tent, had a wash and joined the others in the marquee. From that time onwards neither Carol nor I moved from the place. We were in full sight of everyone. You must see, M. Poirot, that my mother's death was natural, a case of heart failure. It couldn't be anything else! There were servants about, a lot of coming and going. Any other idea is absurd."

Poirot said quietly: "Do you know, M. Boynton, that Miss King is of the opinion that when she examined the body-at six-thirty – death had occurred at least an hour and a half and probably two hours earlier?"

Raymond stared at him. He looked dumbfounded. "Sarah said that?" he gasped.

Poirot nodded. "What have you to say now?"

"But – it's impossible!"

"That is Miss King's testimony. Now you come and tell me that your mother was alive and well only forty minutes before Miss King examined the body."

Raymond said: "But she was!"

"Be careful, M. Boynton."

"Sarah must be mistaken! There must be some factor she didn't take into account. Refraction off the rock – something. I can assure you, M. Poirot, that my mother was alive at just before six and that I spoke to her."

Poirot's face showed nothing.

Raymond leaned forward earnestly. "M. Poirot, I know how it must seem to you, but look at it fairly. You are a biased person. You are bound to be by the nature of things. You live in an atmosphere where even sudden death must seem to you a possible murder. Can't you realize that your sense of proportion is to be relied upon? People die every day – especially those with weak hearts – and there is nothing in the least sinister about such deaths."

Poirot sighed. "So you would teach me my business, is that it?"

"No of course not. But I do think that you are prejudiced-because of that unfortunate conversation. There is nothing really about my mother's death to awaken suspicion except that unlucky hysterical conversation between Carol and myself."

Poirot shook his head. "You are in error," he said. "There is something else. There is the poison taken from Dr. Gerard's medicine chest."

"Poison?" Ray stared at him. "Poison!" He pushed his chair back a little. He looked completely stupefied. "Is that what you suspect?"

Poirot gave him a minute or two. Then he said quietly, almost indifferently: "Your plan was different – eh?"

"Oh, yes." Raymond answered mechanically. "That's why this changes everything ... I – I can't think clearly."

"What was your plan?"

"Our plan? It was –" Raymond stopped abruptly. His eyes became alert, suddenly watchful. "I don't think," he said, "that I'll say any more." He got up.

"As you please," said Poirot.

He watched the young man out of the room. He drew his pad towards him and in small neat characters made a final entry. "R. B. 5:55."

Then, taking a large sheet of paper, he proceeded to write. His task completed, he sat back with his head on one side contemplating the result. It ran as follows:

Boyntons and Jefferson Cope leave the camp 3:05 (approx.)

Dr. Gerard and Sarah King leave the camp 3:15 (approx.)

Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce leave the camp 4:15

Dr. Gerard returns to camp 4:20 (approx.)

Lennox Boynton returns to camp 4:35

Nadine Boynton returns to camp and talks to Mrs. Boynton 4:40

Nadine Boynton leaves her mother-in-law and goes to marquee 4:50 (approx.)

Carol Boynton returns to camp 5:10

Lady Westholme, Miss Pierce and M. Jefferson Cope return to camp 5:40.

Raymond Boynton returns to camp 5:50

Sarah King returns to camp 6:00

Body discovered 6:30

TEN

"I wonder," said Hercule Poirot. He folded up the list, went to the door and ordered Mahmoud to be brought to him. The stout dragoman was voluble. Words dripped from him in a rising flood.

"Always, always, I am blamed. When anything happens, say always my fault. Always my fault. When Lady Ellen Hunt sprain her ankle coming down from Place of Sacrifice, it my fault, though she would go high-heeled shoes and she sixty at least – perhaps seventy. My life all one misery! Ah! What with miseries and iniquities Jews do to us –"

At last Poirot succeeded in stemming the flood and in getting in his question.

"Half-past five o'clock, you say? No, I not think any of servants were about then. You see, lunch it late – two o'clock. And then to clear it away. After the lunch all afternoon sleep. Yes, Americans, they not take tea. We all settle sleep by half-past three. At five I, who am soul of efficiency-always-always I watch for the comfort of ladies and gentlemen I serving, I come out knowing that time all English ladies want tea. But no one there. They all gone walking. For me, that is very well-better than usual. I can go back sleep. At quarter to six trouble beg. Large English lady – very grand lady – come back and want tea although boys are now laying dinner. She makes quite fuss – says water must be boiling – I am see myself. Ah, my good gentleman! What a life – what life! I do all I can – always I blamed – I –"

Poirot cut short the recriminations. "There is another small matter. The dead lady was angry with one of the boys. Do you know which one it was and what it was about?"

Mahmoud's hands rose to heaven. "Should I know? But naturally not. Old lady did not complain to me."

"Could you find out?"

"No, my good gentleman, that would be impossible. None of the boys admit it for a moment. Old lady angry, you say? Then naturally boys would not tell. Abdul say it Mohammed, and Mohammed say it Aziz, and Aziz say it Aissa, and so on. They are all very stupid Bedouin – understand nothing." He took a breath and continued: "Now I, I have advantage of Mission education. I recite to you Keats – Shelley – "

Poirot flinched. Though English was not his native tongue he knew it well enough to suffer from the strange enunciation of Mahmoud.

"Superb!" he said hastily. "Superb! Definitely I recommend you to all my friends." He contrived to escape from the dragoman's eloquence. Then he took his list to Colonel Carbury, whom he found in his office.

Carbury pushed his tie a little more askew and asked: "Got anything?"

Poirot sat down. "Shall I tell you a theory of mine?"

"If you like," said Colonel Carbury, and sighed. One and another he had heard a good many theories in the course of his existence.

"My theory is that criminology is the easiest science in the world! One has only to let the criminal talk – sooner or later he will tell you everything."

"I remember you said something of the kind before. Who's been telling you things?"

"Everybody."

Briefly, Poirot retailed the interviews he had had that morning.

"Hm," said Carbury. "Yes, you've got hold of a pointer or two, perhaps. Pity of it is, they all seem to point in opposite directions. Have we got a case, that's what I want to know?"

"No."

Carbury sighed again.

"I was afraid not."

"But before nightfall," said Poirot, "you shall have the truth!"

"Well, that's all you ever promised me," said Colonel Carbury. "And I rather doubted your getting that! Sure of it?"

"I am very sure."

"Must be nice to feel like that," commented the other. If there was a faint twinkle in his eye, Poirot appeared unaware of it. He produced his list.

"Neat," said Colonel Carbury approvingly.

He bent over it. After a minute or two he said: "Know what I think?"

"I should be delighted if you would tell me."

"Young Raymond Boynton's out of it."

"Ah! You think so?"

"Yes. Clear as a bell what he thought. We might have known he'd be out of it. Being, as in detective stories the most likely person. Since you practically overheard him saving he was going to bump off the old lady – we might have known that meant he was innocent!"

"You read the detective stories, yes?"

"Thousands of them," said Colonel Carbury. He added and his tone was that of a wistful schoolboy: "I suppose you couldn't do the things the detective does in books? Write a list of significant facts – things that don't seem to mean anything but are really frightfully important – that sort of thing?"

"Ah," said Poirot kindly. "You like that kind of detective story? But certainly, I will do it for you with pleasure."

He drew a sheet of paper towards him and wrote quickly and neatly:

SIGNIFICANT POINTS

1. Mrs. Boynton was taking a mixture containing digitalis.

2. Dr. Gerard missed a hypodermic syringe.

3. Mrs. Boynton took definite pleasure in keeping her family from enjoying themselves with other people.

4. Mrs. Boynton, on the afternoon in question, encouraged her family to go away and leave her.

5. Mrs. Boynton was a mental sadist.

6. The distance from the marquee to the place where Mrs. Boynton was sitting is (roughly) two hundred yards. Mr Lennox Boynton said at first he did not know what time he returned to the camp, but later he admitted having set his mother's wristwatch to the right time.

8. Dr. Gerard and Miss Ginevra Boynton occupied tents next door to each other. At half-past six, when dinner was ready, a servant was dispatched to announce the fact to Mrs. Boynton.

The Colonel perused this with great satisfaction. "Capital!" he said. "Just the thing! You've made it difficult – and seemingly irrelevant – absolutely the authentic touch! By the way, it seems to me there are one or two rather noticeable omissions. But that, I suppose, is what you tempt the mug with?"

Poirot's eyes twinkled a little but he did not answer.

"Point two, for instance," said Colonel Carbury tentatively. "Dr. Gerard missed a hypodermic syringe – yes. He also missed a concentrated solution of digitalis – or something of that kind."

"The latter point," said Poirot, "is not important in the way the absence of his hypodermic syringe is important."

"Splendid!" said Colonel Carbury, his face irradiated with smiles. "I don't get it at all. I should have said the digitalis was much more important than the syringe! And what about that servant motif that keeps cropping up – a servant being sent to tell her dinner was ready. And that story of her shaking her stick at a servant earlier in the afternoon? You're not going to tell me one of my poor desert mutts bumped her off after all? Because," added Colonel Carburv sternly, "if so, that would be cheating."

Poirot smiled but did not answer. As he left the office, he murmured to himself: "Incredible! The English never grow up!"

ELEVEN

Sarah King sat on a hilltop absently plucking up wild flowers. Dr. Gerard sat on a rough wall of stones near her. She said, suddenly and fiercely: "Why did you start all this? If it hadn't been for you –"

Dr. Gerard said slowly: "You think I should have kept silence?"

"Yes."

"Knowing what I knew?"

"You didn't know," said Sarah.

The Frenchman sighed. "I did know. But I admit one can never be absolutely sure."

"Yes, one can," said Sarah uncompromisingly.

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "You, perhaps!"

Sarah said: "You had fever – a high temperature – you couldn't be clearheaded about the business. The syringe was probably there all the time. And you may have made a mistake about the digitoxin or one of the servants may have meddled with the case."

Gerard said cynically: "You need not worry! The evidence is almost bound to be inconclusive. You will see, your friends the Boyntons will get away with it!"

Sarah said fiercely: "I don't want that, either."

He shook his head. "You are illogical!"

"Wasn't it you"-Sarah demanded-"in Jerusalem who said a great deal about not interfering? And now look!"

"I have not interfered. I have only told what I know!"

"And I say you don't know it. Oh, dear, there we are back again! I'm arguing in a circle."

Gerard said gently: "I am sorry, Miss King."

Sarah said in a low voice: "You see, after all, they haven't escaped – any of them! She's still there! Even from her grave she can still reach out and hold them. There was something terrible about her. She's just as terrible now she's dead! I feel – I feel she's enjoying all this!"

She clenched her hands. Then she said in an entirely different tone, a light everyday voice: "That little man's coming up the hill."

Dr. Gerard looked over his shoulder, "Ah! He comes in search of us, I think."

"Is he as much of a fool as he looks?" asked Sarah.

Dr. Gerard said gravely: "He is not a fool at all."

"I was afraid of that," said Sarah King. With somber eyes she watched the uphill progress of Hercule Poirot.

He reached them at last and wiped his forehead. Then he looked sadly down at his patent leather shoes.

"Alas," he said. "This stony country! My poor shoes."

"You can borrow Lady Westholme's shoe-cleaning apparatus," said Sarah unkindly. "And her duster. She travels with a kind of patent housemaid's equipment."

"That will not remove the scratches, Mademoiselle." Poirot shook his head sadly.

"Perhaps not. Why on earth do you wear shoes like that in this sort of country?"

Poirot put his head a little on one side. "I like to have the appearance," he said.

"I should give up trying for that in the desert," said Sarah.

"Women do not look their best in the desert," said Dr. Gerard dreamily. "Miss King here, yes – she always looks neat and well turned out. But that Lady Westholme in her great thick coats and skirts and those terribly unbecoming riding breeches and boots – quelle horreur de femme! And the poor Miss Pierce – her clothes so limp, like faded cabbage leaves, and the chains and the beads that clink! Even young Mrs. Boynton, who is a good-looking woman, is not what you call chic! Her clothes are uninteresting."

Sarah said restively: "Well, I don't suppose M. Poirot climbed up here to talk about clothes!"

"True," said Poirot. "I came to consult Dr. Gerard – his opinion should be of value to me – and yours too, Mademoiselle. You are young and up to date in your psychology. I want to know, you see, all that you can tell me of Mrs. Boynton."

"Don't you know all that by heart now?" asked Sarah.

"No. I have a feeling – more than a feeling – a certainty that the mental equipment of Mrs. Boynton is very important in this case. Such types as hers are no doubt familiar to Dr. Gerard."

"From my point of view she was certainly an interesting study," said the doctor.

"Tell me."

Dr. Gerard was nothing loath. He described his interest in the family group, his conversation with Jefferson Cope, and the latter's complete misreading of the situation.

"He is a sentimentalist, then," said Poirot thoughtfully.

"Oh, essentially! He has ideals – based, really, on a deep instinct of laziness. To take human nature at its best and the world as a pleasant place is undoubtedly the easiest course in life! Jefferson Cope has, consequently, not the least idea what people are really like."

"That might be dangerous sometimes," said Poirot.

Dr. Gerard went on: "He persisted in regarding what I may describe as 'the Boynton situation' as a case of mistaken devotion. Of the underlying hate, rebellion, slavery and misery he had only the faintest notion."

"It is stupid, that," Poirot commented.

"All the same," went on Dr. Gerard, "even the most willfully obtuse of sentimental optimists cannot be quite blind. I think, on the journey to Petra, Mr. Jefferson Cope's eyes were being opened."

And he described the conversation he had had with the American on the morning of Mrs. Boynton's death.

"That is an interesting story, that story of a servant girl, said Poirot thoughtfully. "It throws light on the old woman's methods."

Gerard said: "It was altogether an odd, strange morning, that! You have not been to Petra, M. Poirot? If you go, you must certainly climb to the Place of Sacrifice. It has an – how could I say – an atmosphere!" He described the scene in detail adding: "Mademoiselle here sat like a young judge, speaking of the sacrifice of one to save many. You remember, Miss King?"

Sarah shivered. "Don't! Don't let's talk of that day."

"No, no," said Poirot. "Let us talk of events further back in the past. I am interested, Dr. Gerard, in your sketch of Mrs. Boynton's mentality. What I do not quite understand is this. Having brought her family into absolute subjection, why did she then arrange this trip abroad where surely there was danger of outside contacts and of her authority being weakened?"

Dr. Gerard leaned forward excitedly. "But, mon vieux, that is just it! Old ladies are the same all the world over. They get bored! If their specialty is placing patience, they sicken of the patience they know too well. They want to learn a new patience. And it is just the same with an old lady whose recreation (incredible as it may sound) is the dominating and tormenting of human creatures! Mrs. Boynton – to speak of her as une dompteuse – had tamed her tigers. There was perhaps some excitement as they passed through the stage of adolescence. Lennox's marriage to Nadine was an adventure. But then, suddenly, all was stale. Lennox is so sunk in melancholy that it is practically impossible to wound or stress him. Raymond and Carol show no signs of rebellion."

"Ginevra – ah! La pauvre Ginevra – she, from her mother's point of view, gives the poorest sport of all! Ginevra has found a way of escape! She escapes from reality into fantasy. The more her mother goads her the more easily she gets a secret thrill out of being a persecuted heroine! From Mrs. Boynton's point of view it is all deadly dull. She seeks, like Alexander, new worlds to conquer. And so she plans the voyage abroad. There will be the danger of her tamed beasts rebelling, there will be opportunities for inflicting fresh pain! It sounds absurd does it not, but it was so! She wanted a new thrill."

Poirot took a deep breath. "It is perfect, that. Yes, I see exactly what you mean. It was so. It all fits in. She chose to live dangerously, la Maman Boynton and she paid the penalty!"

Sarah leaned forward, her pale intelligent face very serious.

"You mean," she said, "that she drove her victims too far and – and they turned on her – or – or one of them did?"

Poirot bowed his head.

Sarah said, and her voice was a little breathless: "Which of them?"

Poirot looked at her, at her hands clenched fiercely on the wild flowers, at the pale rigidity of her face.

He did not answer – was indeed saved from answering – for at that moment Gerard touched his shoulder and said: "Look."

A girl was wandering along the side of the hill. She moved with a strange rhythmic grace that somehow gave the impression that she was not quite real. The gold-red of her hair shone in the sunlight, a strange secretive smile lifted the beautiful corners of her mouth.

Poirot drew in his breath. He said: "How beautiful ... how strangely, movingly beautiful. That is how Ophelia should be played – like a young goddess straying from another world, happy because she has escaped out of the bondage of human joys and griefs."

"Yes, yes, you are right," said Gerard. "It is a face to dream of, is it not? I dreamt of it. In my fever I opened my eves and saw that face – with its sweet unearthly smile ... it was a good dream. I was sorry to wake ..."

Then, with a return to his commonplace manner: "That is Ginevra Boynton," he said.

TWELVE

In another minute the girl had reached them. Dr. Gerard performed the introduction.

"Miss Boynton, this is M. Hercule Poirot."

"Oh!" She looked at him uncertainly. Her fingers joined together, twined themselves uneasily in and out. The enchanted nymph had come back from the country of enchantment. She was now just an ordinary, awkward girl, slightly nervous and ill at ease.

Poirot said: "It is a piece of good fortune meeting you here, Mademoiselle. I tried to see you in the hotel."

"Did you?" Her smile was vacant. Her fingers began plucking at the belt of her dress.

He said gently: "Will you walk with me a little way?"

She moved docilely enough, obedient to his whim. Presently she said, rather unexpectedly, in a queer hurried voice: "You are – you are a detective, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle,"

"A very well-known detective?"

"The best detective in the world," said Poirot, stating it as a simple truth, no more, no less.

Ginevra Boynton breathed very softly: "You have come here to protect me?"

Poirot stroked his moustache thoughtfully. He said: "Are you then in danger, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes. Yes!" She looked around with a quick suspicious dance. "I told Dr. Gerard about it in Jerusalem. He was very clever. He gave no sign at the time. But he followed me to that terrible place with the red rocks." She shivered. "They meant to kill me there. I have to be continually on my guard."

Poirot nodded gently and indulgently.

Ginevra Boynton said: "He is kind – and good. He is in love with me!"

"Yes?"

"Oh, yes. He says my name in his sleep ..." Her face softened – again a kind of trembling, unearthly beauty hovered there. "I saw him lying there turning and tossing and saying my name ... I stole away quietly." She paused. "I thought, perhaps, he had sent for you? I have a terrible lot of enemies, you know. They are all around me. Sometimes they are disguised."

"Yes, yes," said Poirot gently. "But you are safe here – with all your family around you."

She drew herself up proudly. "They are not my family! I have nothing to do with them. I cannot tell you who I really am – that is a great secret. It would surprise you if you knew."

He said gently: "Was your mother's death a great shock to you, Mademoiselle?"

Ginevra stamped her foot. "I tell you she wasn't my mother! My enemies paid her to pretend she was and to see I did not escape!"

"Where were you on the afternoon of her death?"

She answered readily: "I was in the tent ... it was hot in there, but I didn't dare come out. . . . They might have got me ..." She gave a little quiver. "One of them looked into my tent. He was disguised, but I knew him. I pretended to be asleep. The Sheikh had sent him. The Sheikh wanted to kidnap me, of course."

For a few moments Poirot walked in silence, then he said: "They are very pretty, these histories you recount to yourself."

She stopped. She glared at him. "They're true. They're all true." Again she stamped an angry foot.

"Yes," said Poirot, "they are certainly ingenious."

She cried out: "They are true – true –" Then, angrily, she turned from him and ran down the hillside.

Poirot stood looking after her. In a minute or two he heard a voice close behind him. "What did you say to her?"

Poirot turned to where Dr. Gerard, a little out of breath, stood beside him. Sarah was coming towards them both, but she came at a more leisurely pace.

Poirot answered Gerard's question. "I told her," he said, "that she had imagined to herself some pretty stories."

The doctor nodded his head thoughtfully. "And she was angry! That is a good sign. It shows, you see, that she has not yet completely passed through the gate. Still knows that it is not the truth! I shall cure her. Yes. I have discussed the matter with young Mrs. Boynton and her husband. Ginevra will come to Paris and enter one of my clinics. Afterwards she will have her training for the stage."

"The stage?"

"Yes, there is a possibility there for her, of great success. And that is what she needs – what she must have! In many essentials she has the same nature as her mother."

"No!" cried Sarah, revolted.

"It seems impossible to you, but certain fundamental traits are the same. They were both born with a great yearning for importance, they both demand that their personalities shall impress! This poor child has been thwarted and suppressed at every turn, she has been given no outlet for her fierce ambition, for her love of life, for the expressing of her vivid romantic personality." He gave a little laugh. "Nous voullons changer tout pa!"

Then, with a little bow, he murmured: "You will excuse me?" And he hurried down the hill after the girl.

Sarah said: "Dr. Gerard is tremendously keen on his job."

"I perceive his keenness," said Poirot.

Sarah said with a frown: "All the same, I can't bear his comparing her to that horrible old woman although once I felt sorry for Mrs. Boynton myself."

"When was that, Mademoiselle?"

"That time I told you about in Jerusalem. I suddenly felt as though I'd got the whole business wrong. You know that feeling one has sometimes when just for a short time you see everything the other way round? I got all 'het up' about it and went and made a fool of myself!"

Sarah, as always, when she remembered her conversation with Mrs. Boynton, was blushing acutely. "I felt all exalted as though I had a mission! And then later, when Lady W. fixed a fishy eye on me and said she had seen me talking to Mrs. Boynton, I thought she had probably overheard, and I felt the most complete ass."

Poirot said: "What exactly was it that old Mrs. Boynton said to you? Can you remember the exact words?"

"I think so. They made rather an impression on me. 'I never forget.' That's what she said. 'Remember that. I've never forgotten anything – not an action, not a name, not a face.'" Sarah shivered. "She said it so malevolently – not even looking at me. I feel – I feel as if, even now, I can hear her ..."

Poirot said gently: "It impressed you very much?"

"Yes. I'm not easily frightened but sometimes I dream of her saying just these words and I can see her evil, leering, triumphant face. Ugh!" She gave a quick shiver. Then she turned suddenly to him.

"M. Poirot, perhaps I ought not to ask, but have you come to a conclusion about this business? Have you found out anything definite?"

"Yes."

He saw her lips tremble as she asked: "What?"

"I have found out to whom Raymond Boynton spoke that night in Jerusalem. It was to his sister Carol."

"Carol – of course!" Then she went on: "Did you tell him – did you ask him –" It was no use. She could not go on. Poirot looked at her gravely and compassionately.

He said quietly: "It means so much to you, Mademoiselle?"

"It means just everything!" said Sarah. Then she squared her shoulders. "But I've got to know."

Poirot said quietly: "He told me that it was a hysterical outburst – no more! That he and his sister were worked up. He told me that in daylight such an idea appeared fantastic to them both."

"I see ..."

Poirot said gently: "Miss Sarah, will you not tell me what it is you fear?"

Sarah turned a white despairing face upon him. "That afternoon we were together. And he left me saying – saying he wanted to do something now – while he had the courage. I thought he meant just to – to tell her. But supposing he meant ..." Her voice died away. She stood rigid, fighting for control.

13

NADINE BOYNTON CAME out of the hotel. As she hesitated uncertainly, a waiting figure sprang forward. Mr. Jefferson Cope was immediately at his lady's side "Shall we walk up this way? I think it's the pleasantest."

She acquiesced.

They walked along and Mr. Cope talked. His words came freely, if a trifle monotonously. It is not certain whether he perceived that Nadine was not listening. As they turned aside onto the stony flower-covered hillside she interrupted him.

"Jefferson, I'm sorry. I've got to talk to you." Her face had grown pale.

"Why, certainly, my dear. Anything you like, but don't distress yourself."

She said, "You're cleverer than I thought. You know, don't you, what I'm going to say?"

"It is undoubtedly true," said Mr. Cope, "that circumstances alter cases. I do feel, very profoundly, that in the present circumstances, decisions may have to be reconsidered." He sighed. "You've got to go right ahead, Nadine, and do just what you feel."

She said, with real emotion: "You're so good, Jefferson. So patient! I feel I've treated you very badly. I really have been downright mean to you."

"Now, look here, Nadine, let's get this right. I've always known what my limitations were where you were concerned. I've had the deepest affection and respect for you since I've known you. All I want is your happiness. That's all I've ever wanted. Seeing you unhappy has very nearly driven me crazy. And I may say that I've blamed Lennox. I've felt that he didn't deserve to keep you if he didn't value your happiness a little more than he seemed to do."

Mr. Cope took a breath and went on: "Now I'll admit that after traveling with you to Petra, I felt that perhaps Lennox wasn't quite so much to blame as I thought. He wasn't so much selfish where you were concerned, as too unselfish where his mother was concerned. I don't want to say anything against the dead, but I do think that your mother-in-law was perhaps an unusually difficult woman."

"Yes, I think you may say that," murmured Nadine.

"Anyway," went on Mr. Cope, "you came to me yesterday and told me that you'd definitely decided to leave Lennox. I applauded your decision. It wasn't right – the life you were leading. You were quite honest with me. You didn't pretend to be more than just mildly fond of me. Well, that was all right with me. All I asked was the chance to look after you and treat you as you should be treated. I may say that afternoon was one of the happiest in my life."

Nadine cried out: "I'm sorry – I'm sorry."

"No, my dear, because all along I had a kind of feeling that it wasn't real. I felt it was quite on the cards that you would have changed your mind by the next morning. Well, things are different now. You and Lennox can lead a life of your own."

Nadine said quietly: "Yes. I can't leave Lennox. Please forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive," declared Mr. Cope. "You and I will go back to being old friends. We'll just forget about that afternoon."

Nadine placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Dear Jefferson, thank you. I'm going to find Lennox now."

She turned and left him. Mr. Cope went on alone.

Nadine found Lennox sitting at the top of the Graeco-Roman Theatre. He was in such a brown study that he hardly noticed her till she sank breathless at his side. "Lennox."

"Nadine." He half turned.

She said: "We haven't been able to talk until now. But you know, don't you, that I am not leaving you?"

He said gravely: "Did you ever really mean to, Nadine?"

She nodded. "Yes. You see, it seemed to be the only possible thing left to do. I hoped – I hoped that you would come after me. Poor Jefferson, how mean I have been to him."

Lennox gave a sudden curt laugh. "No, you haven't. Anyone who is as unselfish as Cope, ought to be given full scope for his nobility! And you were right, you know, Nadine. When you told me that you were going away with him you gave me the shock of my life. You know, honestly, I think I must have been going queer or something lately. Why the hell didn't I snap my fingers in Mother's face and go off with you when you wanted me to?"

She said gently: "You couldn't, my dear, you couldn't."

Lennox said musingly: "Mother was a damned queer character ... I believe she'd got us all half hypnotized."

"She had."

Lennox mused a minute or two longer. Then he said: "When you told me that afternoon – it was just like being hit a crack on the head! I walked back half dazed, and then, suddenly I saw what a damned fool I'd been! I realized that there was only one thing to be done if I didn't want to lose you."

He felt her stiffen. His tone became grimmer. "I went and –"

"Don't ..."

He gave her a quick glance. "I went and argued with her." He spoke with a complete change of tone-careful and rather toneless. "I told her that I'd got to choose between her and you – and that I chose you."

There was a pause. He repeated, in a tone of curious self-approval: "Yes, that's what I said to her."

FOURTEEN

Poirot met two people on his way home. The first was Mr. Jefferson Cope.

"M. Hercule Poirot? My name's Jefferson Cope."

The two men shook hands ceremoniously. Then, falling into step beside Poirot, Mr. Cope explained: "It's just got around to me that you're making a kind of routine inquiry into the death of my old friend, Mrs. Boynton. That certainly was a shocking business. Of course, mind you, the old lady ought never to have undertaken such a fatiguing journey. But she was headstrong, M. Poirot. Her family could do nothing with her. She was by way of being a household tyrant – had had her own way too long, I guess. It certainly is true that what she said went! Yes, sir, that certainly was true."

There was a momentary pause.

"I'd just like to tell you, M. Poirot, that I'm an old friend of the Boynton family. Naturally, they're all a good deal upset over this business, they're a trifle nervous and highly strung too, you know, so if there are any arrangements to be made: necessary formalities, arrangements for the funeral, transport of the body to Jerusalem, why, I'll take as much trouble as I can on their hands. Just call upon me for anything that needs doing."

"I am sure the family will appreciate your offer," said Poirot. He added: "You are, I think, a special friend of young Mrs. Boynton's."

Mr. Jefferson Cope went a little pink. "Well. We won't say much about that, M. Poirot. I hear you had an interview with Mrs. Lennox Boynton this morning and she may have given you a hint how things were between us, but that's all over now. Mrs. Boynton is a very fine woman and she feels that her first duty is to her husband in his sad bereavement."

There was a pause. Poirot received the information by a delicate gesture of the head. Then he murmured: "It is the desire of Colonel Carbury to have a clear statement concerning the afternoon of Mrs. Boynton's death. Can you give me an account of that afternoon?"

"Why, certainly. After our luncheon and a brief rest we set out for a kind of informal tour around. We escaped, I'm glad to say, without that pestilential dragoman. That man's just crazy on the subject of the Jews. I don't think he's quite sane on that point. Anyway, as I was saying, we set out. It was then that I had my interview with Nadine. Afterwards, she wished to be alone with her husband to discuss matters with him. I went off on my own, working gradually back towards the camp. About half way there I met the two English ladies who had been on the morning expedition. One of them's an English peeress, I understand."

Poirot said that such was the case.

"Ah, she's a fine woman, a very powerful intellect and very well informed. The other seemed to me rather a weak sister, and she looked about dead with fatigue. That expedition in the morning was very strenuous for an elderly lady, especially when she doesn't like heights. Well, as I was saying, I met these two ladies and was able to give them some information on the subject of the Nabateans. We went around a bit and got back to the camp about six. Lady Westholme insisted on having tea and I had the pleasure of having a cup with her. The tea was kind of weak but it had an interesting flavor. Then the boys laid the table for supper and sent out for the old lady, only to find that she was sitting there dead in her chair."

"Did you notice her as you walked home?"

"I did just notice she was there – it was her usual seat in the afternoon and evening, but I didn't pay special attention. I was just explaining to Lady Westholme the conditions of our recent slump. I had to keep an eye on Miss Pierce, too. She was so tired she kept turning her ankles."

"Thank you, Mr. Cope. May I be so indiscreet as to ask if Mrs. Boynton is likely to have left a large fortune?"

"A very considerable one. That is to say, strictly speaking, it was not hers to leave. She had a life interest in it and at her death it is divided among the late Elmer Boynton's children. Yes, they will all be very comfortably off now."

"Money," murmured Poirot, "makes a lot of difference. How many crimes have been committed for it!"

Mr. Cope looked a little startled. "Why, that's so, I suppose," he admitted.

Poirot smiled sweetly and murmured: "But there are so many motives for murder, are there not? Thank you, Mr. Cope, for your kind cooperation."

"You're welcome, I'm sure," said Mr. Cope. "Do I see Miss King sitting up there? I think I'll go and have a word with her."

Poirot continued to descend the hill. He met Miss Pierce fluttering up it. She greeted him breathlessly.

"Oh M. Poirot, I'm so glad to meet you. I've been talking to that very odd Boynton girl – the youngest one, you know. She has been saying the strangest things – about enemies and some Sheikh who wanted to kidnap her and how she has spies all around her. Really, it sounded most romantic! Lady Westholme says it is all nonsense and that she once had a redheaded kitchen maid who told lies just like that, but I think sometimes that Lady Westholme is rather hard. And after all, it might be true, mightn't it, M. Poirot? I read some years ago that one of the Czar's daughters was not killed in the Revolution in Russia but escaped secretly to America. The Grand Duchess Tatiana, I think it was. If so, this might be her daughter, mightn't it? She did hint at something Royal. And she has a look, don't you think? Rather Slavic, those cheekbones. How thrilling it would be!"

Miss Pierce looked wistful and excited. Poirot said, somewhat sententiously: "It is true that there are many strange things in life."

"I didn't really take in this morning who you are," said Miss Pierce, clasping her hands. "Of course you are that very famous detective! I read all about the A.B.C. case. It was so thrilling. I had actually a post as governess near Doncaster at the time."

Poirot murmured something. Miss Pierce went on with growing agitation: "That is why I felt that perhaps I had been wrong this morning. One must always tell everything, must one, of even the smallest detail, however unrelated it may seem. Because, of course, if you are mixed up in this, poor Mrs. Boynton must have been murdered! I see that now. I suppose Mr. Mah Mood – I cannot remember his name – but the dragoman, I mean – I suppose he could not be a Bolshevik agent? Or even, perhaps, Miss King's? I believe many quite well brought up young girls of good family belong to these dreadful Communists! That's why I wondered if I ought to tell you – because, you see, it was rather peculiar when one comes to think of it."

"Precisely," said Poirot. "And therefore you will tell me all about it."

"Well, it's not really anything very much. It's only that on the next morning after Mrs. Boynton's death I was up rather early and I looked out of my tent to see the effect of the sunrise, you know. Only of course it wasn't actually sunrise because the sun must have risen quite an hour before. But it was early –"

"Yes, yes. And you saw?"

"That's the curious thing – at least at the time it didn't seem much. It was only that I saw that Boynton girl come out of her tent and fling something right out into the stream. Nothing in that, of course, but it glittered in the sunlight! As it went through the air. It glittered, you know."

"Which Boynton girl was it?"

"I think it was the one they call Carol – a very nice-looking girl – so like her brother. Really they might be twins. Or, of course, it might have been the youngest one. The sun was in my eyes so I couldn't quite see. But I don't think the hair was red – just bronze. I'm so fond or that coppery bronze hair! Red hair always says carrots to me!" She tittered.

"And she threw away a brightly glittering object?" said Poirot.

"Yes. And, of course, as I said, I didn't think much of it at the time. But later I had walked along the stream and Miss King was there. And there amongst a lot of other very unsuitable things – even a tin or two – I saw a little bright metal box. Not an exact square. A sort of long square if you understand what I mean –"

"But, yes, I understand perfectly. About so long?"

"Yes, how clever of you! And I thought to myself, 'I suppose that's what the Boynton girl threw away, but it's a nice little box.' And just out of curiosity I picked it up and opened it. It had a kind of syringe inside – the same thing they stuck into my arm when I was being inoculated for typhoid. And I thought how curious to throw it away like that because it didn't seem broken or anything. But just as I was wondering Miss King spoke behind me. I hadn't heard her come up. And she said, 'Oh, thank you – that's my hypodermic. I was coming to look for it.' So I gave it to her and she went back to the camp with it."

Miss Pierce paused and then went on hurriedly: "And, of course, I expect there is nothing in it – only it did seem a little curious that Carol Boynton should throw away Miss King's syringe. I mean, it was odd, if you know what I mean. Though of course I expect there is a very good explanation."

She paused, looking expectantly at Poirot.

His face was grave. "Thank you Mademoiselle. What you have told me may not be important in itself, but I will tell you this! It completes my case! Everything is now clear and in order."

"Oh, really?" Miss Pierce looked as flushed and pleased as a child.

Poirot escorted her to the hotel.

Back in his own room he added one line to his memorandum:

"Point No. 10. I never forget. Remember that I've never forgotten anything ..."

He nodded his head. "Mais oui," he said. "It is all clear now!"

FIFTEEN

"My preparations are complete," said Hercule Poirot. With a little sigh, he stepped back a pace or two and contemplated his arrangement of one of the unoccupied hotel bedrooms.

Colonel Carbury, leaning inelegantly against the bed which had been pushed against the wall, smiled as he puffed at his pipe.

"Funny feller, aren't you, Poirot?" he said. "Like to dramatize things."

"Perhaps that is true," admitted the little detective. "But, indeed, it is not all self-indulgence. If one plays a comedy, one must first set the scene."

"Is this a comedy?"

"Even if it is a tragedy – there, too, the decor must be correct."

Colonel Carbury looked at him curiously. "Well," he said. "It's up to you! I don't know what you're driving at. I gather, though, that you've got something."

"I shall have the honor to present to you what you asked me for – the truth!"

"Do you think we can get a conviction?"

"That, my friend, I did not promise you."

"True enough. Maybe I'm glad you haven't. It depends."

"My arguments are mainly psychological," said Poirot.

Colonel Carburv sighed. "I was afraid they might be."

"But they will convince you," Poirot reassured him. "Oh, yes, they will convince you. The truth, I have always thought, is curious and beautiful."

"Sometimes," said Colonel Carbury, "it's damned unpleasant."

"No, no." Poirot was earnest. "You take there the personal view. Take instead, the abstract, the detached point of vision. Then the absolute logic of events is fascinating and orderly."

"I'll try and look on it that way," said the Colonel.

Poirot glanced at his watch, a large grotesque turnip of a watch.

"Family heirloom?" inquired Carbury interestedly.

"But, yes, indeed, it belonged to my grandfather."

"Thought it might have done."

"It is time to commence our proceedings," said Poirot. "You, mon Colonel, will sit here behind this table in an official position."

"Oh, all right," Carbury grunted. "You don't want me to put my uniform on, do you?"

"No, no. If you would permit that I straightened your tie."

He suited the action to the word. Colonel Carbury grinned again, sat down in the chair indicated and a moment later, unconsciously, tweaked his tie around under his left ear again.

"Here," continued Poirot, slightly altering the position of the chairs, "we place la famille Boynton. And over here," he went on, "we will place the three outsiders who have a definite stake in the case. Dr. Gerard, on whose evidence the case for the prosecution depends. Miss Sarah King, who has two separate interests in the case, a personal one and that of medical examiner. Also M. Jefferson Cope, who was on intimate terms with the Boyntons and so may be definitely described as an interested party."

He broke off. "Aha – here they come."

He opened the door to admit the party.

Lennox Boynton and his wife came in first. Raymond and Carol followed. Ginevra walked by herself, a faint faraway smile on her lips. Dr. Gerard and Sarah King brought up the rear. Mr. Jefferson Cope was a few minutes late and came in with an apology.

When he had taken his place, Poirot stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "this is an entirely informal gathering. It has come about through the accident of my presence in Amman. Colonel Carbury did me the honor to consult me –"

Poirot was interrupted. The interruption came from what was seemingly the most unlikely quarter. Lennox Boynton said suddenly and pugnaciously: "Why? Why the devil should he bring you into this business?"

Poirot waved a hand gracefully. "Me, I am often called in cases of sudden death."

Lennox Boynton said: "Doctors send for you whenever there is a case of heart failure?"

Poirot said gently: "Heart failure is such a very loose and unscientific term."

Colonel Carbury cleared his throat. It was an official noise. He spoke in an official tone: "Best to make it quite clear. Circumstances of death reported to me. Very natural occurrence. Weather unusually hot. Journey a very trying one for an elderly lady in bad health. So far all quite clear. But Dr. Gerard came to me and volunteered a statement –" He looked inquiringly at Poirot. Poirot nodded.

"Dr. Gerard is a very eminent physician with a worldwide reputation. Any statement he makes is bound to be received with attention. Dr. Gerard's statement was as follows: On the morning after Mrs. Boynton's death, he noticed that a certain quantity of a powerful drug acting on the heart was missing from his medical supplies. On the previous afternoon he had noted the disappearance of a hypodermic syringe. Syringe was returned during the night. Final point-there was a puncture on the dead woman's wrist corresponding to the mark of a hypodermic syringe."

Colonel Carbury paused. "In these circumstances I considered that it was the duty of those in authority to inquire into the matter. M. Hercule Poirot was my guest and very considerately offered his highly specialized services. I gave him full authority to make any investigations he pleased. We are assembled here now to hear his report on the matter."

There was silence. A silence so acute that you could have heard – as the saying is – a pin drop. Actually, somebody in the next room did drop what was probably a shoe. It sounded like a bomb in the hushed atmosphere.

Poirot cast a quick glance at the little group of three people on his right, then turned his gaze to the five people huddled together on his left – a group of people with frightened eyes.

Poirot said quietly: "When Colonel Carbury mentioned this business to me, I gave him my opinion as an expert. I told him that it might not be possible to bring proof – such proof as would be admissible in a court of law-but I told him very definitely that I was sure I could arrive at the truth simply by questioning the people concerned. For let me tell you this, my friends, to investigate a crime it is only necessary to let the guilty party or parties talk. Always, in the end, they tell you what you want to know!"

He paused. "So, in this case, although you have lied to me, you have also, unwittingly, told me the truth."

He heard a faint sigh, the scrape of a chair on the floor to his right, but he did not look around. He continued to look at the Boyntons.

"First, I examined the possibility of Mrs. Boynton's having died a natural death – and I decided against it. The missing drug, the hypodermic syringe, and above all, the attitude of the dead lady's family all convinced me that that supposition could not be entertained. Not only was Mrs. Boynton killed in cold blood – but every member of her family was aware of the fact! Collectively they reacted as guilty parties."

"But there are degrees in guilt. I examined the evidence carefully with a view to ascertaining whether the murder –yes, it was murder! – had been committed by the old lady's family acting on a concerted plan. There was, I may say, overwhelming motive. One and all stood to gain by her death – both in the financial sense – for they would at once attain financial independence and indeed enjoy very considerable wealth – and also in the sense of being freed from what had become an almost insupportable tyranny."

"To continue: I decided, almost immediately, that the concerted theory would not hold water. The stories of the Boynton family did not dovetail neatly into each other and no system of workable alibis had been arranged. The facts seemed more to suggest that one – or possibly two members of the family had acted in collusion and that the others were accessories after the fact."

"I next considered which particular member or members were indicated. Here, I may say, I was inclined to be biased by a certain piece of evidence known only to myself."

Here Poirot recounted his experience in Jerusalem.

"Naturally, that pointed very strongly to M. Raymond Boynton as the prime mover in the affair. Studying the family I came to the conclusion that the most likely recipient of his confidences that night would be his sister Carol. They strongly resembled each other in appearance and temperament, and so would have a keen bond of sympathy and they also possessed the nervous rebellious temperament necessary for the conception of such an act. That their motives were partly unselfish – to free the whole family and particularly their younger sister-only made the planning of the deed more plausible."

Poirot paused a minute.

Raymond Boynton half opened his lips, then shut them again. His eyes looked steadily at Poirot with a kind of dumb agony in them.

"Before I go into the case against Raymond Boynton, I would like to read to you a list of significant points which I drew up and submitted to Colonel Carbury this afternoon:

SIGNIFICANT POINTS

1. Mrs. Boynton was taking a mixture containing digitalis.

2. Dr. Gerard missed a hypodermic syringe.

3. Mrs. Boynton took definite pleasure in keeping her family from enjoying themselves with other people.

4. Mrs. Boynton, on the afternoon in question, encouraged her family to go away and leave her.

5. Mrs. Boynton was a mental sadist.

6. The distance from the marquee to the place where Mrs. Boynton was sitting is (roughly) two hundred yards.

7. M. Lennox Boynton said at first he did not know what time he returned to the camp, but later he admitted having set his mother's wristwatch to the right time.

8. Dr. Gerard and Miss Ginevra Boynton occupied tents next door to each other.

9. At half-past six, when dinner was ready, a servant was dispatched to announce the fact to Mrs. Boynton.

10. Mrs. Boynton, in Jerusalem, used these words: 'I never forget. Remember that. I've never forgotten anything.'

Although I have numbered the points separately, occasionally they can be bracketed in pairs. That is the case, for instance, with the first two. Mrs. Boynton was taking a mixture containing digitalis. Dr. Gerard had missed a hypodermic syringe. Those two points were the first thing that struck me about the case, and I may say to you that I found them most extraordinary – and quite irreconcilable. You do not see what I mean? No matter. I will return to the point presently. Let it suffice that I noted those two points as something that had definitely got to be explained satisfactorily."

"I will conclude now with my study of the possibility of Raymond Boynton's guilt. The following are the facts: He had been heard to discuss the possibility of taking Mrs. Boynton's life. He was in a condition of great nervous excitement. He had – Mademoiselle will forgive me –" he bowed apologetically to Sarah – "just passed through a moment of great emotional crisis. That is, he had fallen in love. The exaltation of his feelings might lead him to act in one of several ways. He might feel mellowed and softened towards the world in general, including his stepmother, he might feel the courage at last to defy her and shake off her influence or he might find just the additional spur to turn his crime from theory to practice. That is the psychology! Let us now examine the facts."

"Raymond Boynton left the camp with the others about three-fifteen. Mrs. Boynton was then alive and well. Before long Raymond and Sarah King had a tête-à-tête interview. Then he left her. According to him, he returned to the camp at ten minutes to six. He went up to his mother, exchanged a few words with her, then went to his tent and afterwards down to the marquee. He says that at ten minutes to six Mrs. Boynton was alive and well."

"But we now come to a fact which directly contradicts that statement. At half-past six Mrs. Boynton's death was discovered by a servant. Miss King, who holds a medical degree, examined her body and she swears definitely that at that time, though she did not pay any special attention to the time when death had occurred, it had most certainly and decisively taken place at least an hour (and probably a good deal more) before six o'clock."

"We have here, you see, two conflicting statements. Setting aside the possibility that Miss King may have made a mistake –"

Sarah interrupted him. "I don't make mistakes. That is, if I had, I would admit to it." Her tone was hard and clear.

Poirot bowed to her politely.

"Then there are only two possibilities – either Miss King or M. Boynton is lying! Let us examine Raymond Boynton's reasons for so doing. Let us assume that Miss King was not mistaken and not deliberately lying. What then was the sequence of events? Raymond Boynton returns to the camp, sees his mother sitting at the mouth of her cave, goes up to her and finds she is dead. What does he do? Does he call for help? Does he immediately inform the camp of what has happened? No, he waits a minute or two, then passes on to his tent and joins his family in the marquee and says nothing. Such conduct is exceedingly curious, is it not?"

Raymond said, in a nervous sharp voice: "It would be idiotic, of course. That ought to show you that my mother was alive and well, as I've said. Miss King was flustered and upset and made a mistake."

"One asks oneself," said Poirot, calmly sweeping on, whether there could possibly be a reason for such conduct? It seems, on the face of it, that Raymond Boynton cannot be guilty, since at the only time he was known to approach his stepmother that afternoon, she had already been dead for some time. Now, supposing, therefore, that Raymond Boynton is innocent, can we explain his conduct?"

"And I say, that on the assumption that he is innocent we can! For I remember that fragment of conversation I overheard. 'You do see, don't you, that she's got to be killed?' He comes back from his walk and finds her dead and at once his guilty memory envisages a certain possibility. The plan has been carried out, not by him, but by his fellow planner. Tout simplement he suspects that his sister, Carol Boynton, is guilty."

"It's a lie," said Raymond in a low, trembling voice.

Poirot went on: "Let us now take the possibility of Carol Boynton being the murderess. What is the evidence against her? She has the same highly-strung temperament – the kind of temperament that might see such a deed colored with heroism. It was she to whom Raymond Boynton was talking that night in Jerusalem. Carol Boynton returned to the camp at ten minutes past five. According to her own story, she went up and spoke to her mother. No one saw her do so. The camp was deserted-the boys were asleep. Lady Westholme, Miss Pierce and M. Cope were exploring caves out of sight of the camp. There was no witness to Carol Boynton's possible action. The time would agree well enough. The case, then, against Carol Boynton, is a perfectly possible one."

He paused. Carol had raised her head. Her eyes looked steadily and sorrowfully into his.

"There is one other point. The following morning, very early, Carol Boynton was seen to throw something into the stream. There is reason to believe that that 'something' was a hypodermic syringe."

"Comment?" Dr. Gerard looked up surprised. "But my hypodermic was returned. Yes, yes, I have it now."

Poirot nodded vigorously.

"Yes, yes. This second hypodermic, it is very curious – very interesting. I have been given to understand that this hypodermic belonged to Miss King. Is that so?"

Sarah paused for a fraction of a second.

Carol spoke quickly: "It was not Miss King's syringe," she said. "It was mine."

"Then you admit throwing it away, Mademoiselle?"

She hesitated just a second. "Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I?"

"Carol!" It was Nadine. She leaned forward, her eyes wide and distressed. "Carol ... oh, I don't understand ..."

Carol turned and looked at her. There was something hostile in her glance. "There's nothing to understand! I threw away an old hypodermic. I never touched the – the poison."

Sarah's voice broke in. "It is quite true what Miss Pierce told you, M. Poirot. It was my syringe."

Poirot smiled.

"It is very confusing, this affair of the hypodermic – and yet, I think, it could be explained. Ah, well, we have now two cases made out – the case for the innocence of Raymond Boynton – the case for the guilt of his sister Carol. But me, I am scrupulously fair. I look always on both sides. Let us examine what occurred if Carol Boynton was innocent."

"She returns to the camp, she goes up to her stepmother, and she finds her – shall we say – dead! What is the first thing she will think? She will suspect that her brother Raymond may have killed her. She does not know what to do. So she says nothing. And presently, about an hour later, Raymond Boynton returns and, having presumably spoken to his mother, says nothing of anything being amiss. Do you not think that then her suspicions would become certainties? Perhaps she goes to his tent and finds there a hypodermic syringe. Then, indeed she is sure! She takes it quickly and hides it. Early in the morning she flings it as far away as she can."

"There is one more indication that Carol Boynton is innocent. She assures me, when I question her, that she and her brother never seriously intended to carry out their plan. I ask her to swear – and she swears immediately and with the utmost solemnity that she is not guilty of the crime! You see, that is the way she puts it. She does not swear that they are not guilty. She swears for herself, not her brother – and thinks that I will not pay special attention to the pronoun."

"Eh bien, that is the case for the innocence of Carol Boynton. And now let us go back a step and consider not the innocence but the possible guilt of Raymond. Let us suppose that Carol is speaking the truth, that Mrs. Boynton was alive at five-ten. Under what circumstances can Raymond be guilty? We can suppose that he killed his mother at ten minutes to six when he went up to speak to her. There were boys about the camp, true, but the light was failing. It might have been managed but it then follows that Miss King lied. Remember, she came back to the camp only five minutes after Raymond. From the distance she would see him go up to his mother. Then, when later she is found dead, Miss King realizes that Raymond has killed her. To save him, she lies – knowing that Dr. Gerard is down with fever and cannot expose her lie!"

"I did not lie!" said Sarah clearly.

"There is yet another possibility. Miss King, as I have said, reached the camp a few minutes after Raymond. If Raymond Boynton found his mother alive, it may have been Miss King who administered the fatal injection. She believed that Mrs. Boynton was fundamentally evil. She may have seen herself as a just executioner. That would equally well explain her lying about the time of death."

Sarah had grown very pale. She spoke in a low steady voice: "It is true that I spoke of the expediency of one person dying to save many. It was the Place of Sacrifice that suggested the idea to me. But I can swear to you that I never harmed that disgusting old woman – nor would the idea of doing so ever have entered my head!"

"And yet," said Poirot softly, "one of you two must be lying."

Raymond Boynton shifted in his chair. He cried out impetuously: "You win, M. Poirot! I'm the liar. Mother was dead when I went up to her. It – it quite knocked me out. You see, I'd been going to have it out with her. To tell her that from henceforth I was a free agent. I was all set, you understand. And there she was – dead! Her hand all cold and flabby. And I thought-just what you said. I thought maybe Carol – you see, there was the mark on her wrist –"

Poirot said quickly: "That is the one point on which I am not yet completely informed. What was the method you counted on employing? You had a method – and it was connected with a hypodermic syringe. That much I know. If you want me to believe you, you must tell me the rest."

Raymond said hurriedly: "It was a way I read in a book – an English detective story. You stuck an empty hypodermic syringe into someone and it did the trick. It sounded perfectly scientific. I – I thought we'd do it that way."

"Ah," said Poirot. "I comprehend. And you purchased a syringe?"

"No. As a matter of fact, we pinched Nadine's."

Poirot shot a quick look at her. "The syringe that is in your baggage in Jerusalem?" he murmured.

A faint color showed in the young woman's face. "I – I wasn't sure what had become of it," she said,

Poirot murmured: "You are so quick-witted, Madame."

SIXTEEN

There was a pause. Then, clearing his throat with a slightly affected sound, Poirot went on: "We have now solved the mystery of what I might term the second hypodermic. That belonged to Mrs. Lennox Boynton, was taken by Raymond Boynton before leaving Jerusalem, was taken from Raymond by Carol after the discovery' of Mrs. Boynton's dead body, was thrown away by her, found by Miss Pierce, and claimed by Miss King as hers. I presume Miss King has it now."

"I have," said Sarah.

"So that when you said it was yours just now, you were doing what you told us you do not do – you told a lie."

Sarah said calmly: "That's a different kind of lie. It isn't – it isn't a professional lie."

Gerard nodded appreciation. "Yes, it is a point that. I understand you perfectly Mademoiselle."

"Thanks," said Sarah.

Again Poirot cleared his throat: "Let us now review our time table: Thus:

Boyntons and Jefferson Cope leave the camp 3:05 (approx.)

Dr. Gerard and Sarah King leave the camp 3:15 (approx.)

Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce leave the camp 4:15

Dr. Gerard returns to camp 4:20 (approx.)

Lennox Boynton returns to camp 4:35

Nadine Boynton returns to camp and talks to Mrs. Boynton 4:40 (approx.)

Nadine Boynton leaves her mother-in-law and goes to marquee 4:50 (approx.)

Carol Boynton returns to camp 5:10

Lady Westholme, Miss Pierce and M. Jefferson Cope return to camp 5:40

Raymond Boynton returns to camp 5:50

Sarah King returns to camp 6:00

Body discovered 6:30

"There is, you will notice, a gap of twenty minutes between four-fifty, when Nadine Boynton left her mother-in-law, and five-ten when Carol returned. Therefore, if Carol is speaking the truth, Mrs. Boynton must have been killed in that twenty minutes."

"Now who could have killed her? At that time Miss King and Raymond Boynton were together. Mr. Cope (not that he had any perceivable motive for killing her) has an alibi. He was with Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce. Lennox Boynton was with his wife in the marquee. Dr. Gerard was groaning with fever in his tent. The camp is deserted, the boys are asleep. It is a suitable moment for a crime! Was there a person who could have committed it?"

His eyes went thoughtfully to Ginevra Boynton.

"There was one person. Ginevra Boynton was in her tent all the afternoon. That is what we have been told – but actually there is evidence that she was not in her tent all the time: Ginevra Boynton made a very significant remark. She said that Dr. Gerard spoke her name in his fever. And Dr. Gerard has also told us that he dreamt in his fever of Ginevra Boynton's face. But it was not a dream! It was actually her face he saw, standing there by his bed. He thought it an effect of fever – but it was the truth. Ginevra was in Dr. Gerard's tent. Is it not possible that she had come to put back the hypodermic syringe after using it?"

Ginevra Boynton raised her head with its crown of red-gold hair. Her wide beautiful eyes stared at Poirot. They were singularly expressionless. She looked like a vague saint.

"Ah! Me non!" cried Dr. Gerard.

"Is it then so psychologically impossible?" inquired Poirot.

The Frenchman's eyes dropped.

Nadine Boynton said sharply: "It's quite impossible!"

Poirot's eyes came quickly round to her. "Impossible, Madame?"

"Yes." She paused, bit her lip, then went on: "I will not hear of such a disgraceful accusation against my young sister-in-law. We – all of us – know it to be impossible."

Ginevra moved a little on her chair. The lines of her mouth relaxed into a smile – the touching, innocent, half-unconscious smile of a very young girl.

Nadine said again: "Impossible."

Her gentle face had hardened into lines of determination. The eyes that met Poirot's were hard and unflinching.

Poirot leaned forward in what was half a bow. "Madame is very intelligent," he said.

Nadine said quietly: "What do you mean by that, M. Poirot?"

"I mean, Madame, that all along I have realized you have what I believe is called an 'excellent headpiece.' "

"You flatter me."

"I think not. All along you have envisaged the situation calmly and collectedly. You have remained on outwardly good terms with your husband's mother, deeming that the best thing to be done, but inwardly you have judged and condemned her. I think that some time ago you realized that the only chance for your husband's happiness was for him to make an effort to leave home – strike out on his own, no matter how difficult and penurious such a life might be. You were willing to take all risks and you endeavored to influence him to exactly that course of action. But you failed, Madame. Lennox Boynton had no longer the will to freedom. He was content to sink into a condition of apathy and melancholy."

"Now, I have no doubt at all, Madame, but that you love your husband. Your decision to leave him was not actuated by a greater love for another man. It was, I think, a desperate venture undertaken as a last hope. A woman in your position could only try three things. She could try appeal. That, as I have said, failed. She could threaten to leave her husband. But it is possible that even that threat would not have moved Lennox Boynton. It would plunge him deeper in misery but it would not cause him to rebel. There was one last desperate throw. You could go away with another man. Jealousy and the instinct of possession are two of the most deeply rooted fundamental instincts in man. You showed your wisdom in trying to reach that deep, underground, savage instinct. If Lennox Boynton would let you go to another man without an effort – then he must indeed be beyond human aid, and you might as well then try to make a new life for yourself elsewhere."

"But let us suppose that even that last desperate remedy failed. Your husband was terribly upset at your decision, but in spite of that he did not, as you had hoped, react as a primitive man might have done, with an uprush of the possessive instinct. Was there anything at all that could save your husband from his own rapidly failing mental condition? Only one thing. If his stepmother were to die, it might not be too late. He might be able to start life anew as a free man, building up in himself independence and manliness once more."

Poirot paused, then repeated gently: "If your mother-in-law were to die ..."

Nadine's eyes were still fixed on his. In an unmoved gentle voice she said: "You are suggesting that I helped to bring that event about, are you not? But you cannot do so, M. Poirot. After I had broken the news of my impending departure to Mrs. Boynton, I went straight to the marquee and joined Lennox. I did not leave there again until my mother-in-law was found dead. Guilty of her death I may be, in the sense that I gave her a shock – that of course presupposes a natural death. But if, as you say – (though so far you have no direct evidence of it and cannot have until an autopsy has taken place) – she was deliberately killed, then I had no opportunity of doing so."

Poirot said: "You did not leave the marquee again until your mother-in-law was found dead? That is what you have just said. That, Mrs. Boynton, was one of the points I found curious about this case."

"What do you mean?"

"It is here on my list. Point 9. At half-past six, when dinner was ready, a servant was dispatched to announce the fact to Mrs. Boynton."

Raymond said: "I don't understand."

Carol said: "No more do I."

Poirot looked from one to the other of them. "You do not, eh? 'A servant was sent'. Why a servant? Were you not, all of you, most assiduous in your attendance on the old lady as a general rule? Did not one or another of you always escort her to meals? She was infirm. It was difficult for her to rise from a chair without assistance. Always one or another of you was at her elbow. I suggest then, that on dinner being announced, the natural thing would have been for one or another of her family to go out and help her. But not one of you offered to do so. You all sat there, paralyzed, watching each other, wondering perhaps, why no one went."

Nadine said sharply: "All this is absurd, M. Poirot! We were all tired that evening. We ought to have gone, I admit, but – on that evening – we just didn't!"

"Precisely – precisely – on that particular evening! You, Madame, did perhaps more waiting on her than anyone else. It was one of the duties that you accepted mechanically. But that evening you did not offer to go out to help her in. Why? That is what I asked myself-why? And I tell you my answer. Because you knew quite well that she was dead ..."

"No, no, do not interrupt me, Madame." He raised an impassioned hand. "You will now listen to me – Hereule Poirot! There were witnesses to your conversation with your mother-in-law. Witnesses who could see but who could not hear! Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce were a long way off. They saw you apparently having a conversation with your mother-in-law, but what actual evidence is there of what occurred? I will propound to you instead a little theory. You have brains, Madame. If in your quiet, unhurried fashion you have decided on – shall we say the elimination of your husband's mother – you will carry it out with intelligence and with due preparation. You have access to Dr. Gerard's tent during his absence on the morning excursion. You are fairly sure that you will find a suitable drug. Your nursing training helps you there. You choose digitoxin – the same kind of drug that the old lady is taking. You also take his hypodermic syringe since, to your annoyance, your own

has disappeared. You hope to replace the latter before the doctor notices its absence."

"Before proceeding to carry out your plan, you make one last attempt to stir your husband into action. You tell him of your intention to marry Jefferson Cope. Though your husband is terribly upset, he does not react as you had hoped so you are forced to put your plan of murder into action. You return to the camp, exchanging a pleasant natural word with Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce as you pass. You go up to where your mother-in-law is sitting. You have the syringe with the drug in it ready. It is easy to seize her wrist and – proficient as you are with your nurse's training – force home the plunger. It is done before your mother-in-law realizes what you are doing. From far down the valley the others only see you talking to her, bending over her. Then, deliberately, you go and fetch a chair and sit there, apparently engaged in an amicable conversation for some minutes. Death must have been almost instantaneous. It is a dead woman to whom you sit talking, but who shall guess that? Then you put away the chair and go down to the marquee where you find your husband reading a book. And you are careful not to leave that marquee! Mrs. Boynton's death, you are sure, will be put down to heart trouble. (It will, indeed, be due to heart trouble.) In only one thing have your plans gone astray. You cannot return the syringe to Dr. Gerard's tent because the doctor is in there shivering with malaria – and although you do not know it, he has already missed the syringe. That, Madame, was the flaw in an otherwise perfect crime."

There was silence – a moment's dead silence – then Lennox Boynton sprang to his feet.

"No!" he shouted. "That's a damned lie. Nadine did nothing. She couldn't have done anything. My mother – my mother was already dead."

"Ah!" Poirot's eyes came gently around to him. "So, after all, it was you who killed her, M. Boynton?"

Again a moment's pause – then Lennox dropped back into his chair and raised trembling hands to his face.

"Yes – that's right-I killed her."

"You took the digitoxin from Dr. Gerard's tent?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"As – as – you said – in the morning."

"And the syringe?"

"The syringe? Yes."

"Why did you kill her?"

"Can you ask?"

"I am asking, M. Boynton!"

"But you know my wife was leaving me – with Cope –"

"Yes, but you only learned that in the afternoon!"

Lennox stared at him.

"Of course. When we were out –"

"But you took the poison and the syringe in the morning – before you knew?"

"Why the hell do you badger me with questions?" He paused and passed a shaking hand across his forehead. "What does it matter, anyway?"

"It matters a great deal. I advise you, M. Lennox Boynton, to tell me the truth."

"The truth?" Lennox stared at him.

Nadine suddenly turned abruptly in her chair and gazed into her husband's face.

"That is what I said – the truth."

"By God, I will," said Lennox suddenly. "But I don't know whether you will believe me." He drew a deep breath. "That afternoon, when I left Nadine, I was absolutely all to pieces. I'd never dreamed she'd go from me to someone else. I was – I was nearly mad! I felt as though I was drunk or recovering from a bad illness."

Poirot nodded. He said: "I noted Lady Westholme's description of your gait when you passed her. That is why I knew your wife was not speaking the truth when she said she told you after you were both back at the camp. Continue, M. Boynton."

"I hardly knew what I was doing ... but as I got near, my brain seemed to clear. It flashed over me that I had only myself to blame! I'd been a miserable worm! I ought to have defied my stepmother and cleared out years ago. And it came to me that it mightn't be too late even now. There she was, the old devil, sitting up like an obscene idol against the red cliffs. I went right up to have it out with her. I meant to tell her just what I thought and to announce that I was clearing out. I had a wild idea I might get away at once that evening – clear out with Nadine and get as far as Ma'an anyway that night."

"Oh, Lennox – my dear –" It was a long soft sigh.

He went on: "And then, my God – you could have struck me down with a touch! She was dead. Sitting there – dead... I – I didn't know what to do. I was dumb-dazed. Everything I was going to shout out at her bottled up inside me – turning to lead – I can't explain. Stone – that's what it felt like – being turned to stone. I did something mechanically. I picked up her wristwatch (it was lying in her lap) and put it around her wrist – her horrid, limp, dead wrist ..."

He shuddered.

"God! It was awful! Then I stumbled down, went into the marquee. I ought to have called someone, I suppose but I couldn't. I just sat there, turning the pages – waiting ..."

He stopped.

"You won't believe that – you can't. Why didn't I call someone? Tell Nadine? I don't know."

Dr. Gerard cleared his throat. "Your statement is perfectly plausible, M. Boynton," he said. "You were in a bad nervous condition. Two severe shocks administered in rapid succession would be quite enough to put you in the condition you have described It is the Weissenhalter reaction – best exemplified in the case of a bird that has dashed its head against a window. Even after its recovery it refrains instinctively from all action – giving itself time to readjust the nerve centers. I do not express myself well in English, but what I mean is this: You could not have acted any other way. Any decisive action of any kind would have been quite impossible for you! You passed through a period of mental paralysis."

He turned to Poirot. "I assure you, my friend, that is so!"

"Oh, I do not doubt it," said Poirot. "There was a little fact I had already noted – the fact that M. Boynton had replaced his mother's wristwatch. That was capable of two explanations-it might have been a cover for the actual deed, or it might have been observed and misinterpreted by young Mrs. Boynton. She returned only five minutes after her husband. She must therefore have seen that action. When she got up to her mother-in-law and found her dead, with the mark of a hypodermic syringe on her wrist, she would naturally jump to the conclusion that her husband had committed the deed – that her announcement of her decision to leave him had produced a reaction in him different from that for which she had hoped. Briefly. Nadine Boynton believed that she had inspired her husband to commit murder."

He looked at Nadine. "That is so, Madame?"

She bowed her head. Then she asked: "Did you really suspect me, M. Poirot?"

"I thought you were a possibility, Madame."

She leaned forward. "And now? What really happened, M. Poirot?"

SEVENTEEN

"What really happened?" Poirot repeated.

He reached behind him, drew forward a chair and sat down. His manner was now friendly – informal. "It is a question, is it not? For the digitoxin was taken, the syringe was missing. There was the mark of a hypodermic on Mrs. Boynton's wrist."

"It is true that in a few days' time we shall know definitely – the autopsy will tell us – whether Mrs. Boynton died of an overdose of digitalis or not. But then it may be too late! It would be better to reach the truth tonight – while the murderer is here under our hand."

Nadine raised her head sharply. "You mean that you still believe that one of us here in this room-" Her voice died away.

Poirot was slowly nodding to himself. "The truth – that is what I promised Colonel Carbury. And so, having cleared our path we are back again where I was earlier in the day, writing down a list of printed facts and being faced straight away with two glaring inconsistencies."

Colonel Carbury spoke for the first time.

"Suppose, now, we hear what they are?" he suggested.

Poirot said with dignity: "I am about to tell you. We will take once more those first two facts on my list. Mrs. Boynton was taking a mixture of digitalis and Dr. Gerard missed a hypodermic syringe. Take those facts and set them against the undeniable fact with which I was immediately confronted: that the Boynton family showed unmistakably guilty reactions. It would seem therefore certain that one of the Boynton family must have committed the crime! And yet those two facts I mentioned were all against that theory. For, see you, to take a concentrated solution of digitalis – that, yes, it is a clever idea, because Mrs. Boynton was already taking the drug. But what would a member of her family do then? Ah, ma foi! There was only one sensible thing to do. Put the poison into her bottle of medicine! That is what anyone – anyone with a grain of sense and who had access to the medicine – would certainly do!"

"Sooner or later Mrs. Boynton takes a dose and dies – and even if the digitoxin is discovered in the bottle it may be set down as a mistake of the chemist who made it up. Certainly nothing can be proved!"

"Why, then, the theft of the hypodermic needle?"

"There can be only two explanations of that. Either Dr. Gerard overlooked the syringe and it was never stolen, or else the syringe was taken because the murderer had not got access to the medicine – that is to say, the murderer was not a member of the Boynton family. The two first facts point overwhelmingly to an outsider as having committed the crime!"

"I saw that but I was puzzled, as I say, by the strong evidences of guilt displayed by the Boynton family. Was it possible that, in spite of that consciousness of guilt, the Bovntons were innocent? I set out to prove, not the guilt, but the innocence of those people!"

"That is where we stand now. The murder was committed by an outsider – that is, by someone who was not sufficiently intimate with Mrs. Boynton to enter her tent or to handle her medicine bottle."

He paused.

"There are three people in this room who are, technically, outsiders, but who have a definite connection with the case."

"M. Cope whom we will consider first, has been closely associated with the Boynton family for some time. Can we discover motive and opportunity on his part? It seems not. Mrs. Boynton's death has affected him adversely – since it has brought about the frustration of certain hopes. Unless M. Cope's motive was an almost fanatical desire to benefit others, we can find no reason for his desiring Mrs. Boynton's death. Unless, of course, there is a motive about which we are entirely in the dark. We do not know exactly what M. Cope's dealings with the Boynton family have been."

Mr. Cope said, with dignity: "This seems to me a little far-fetched, M. Poirot. You must remember, I had absolutely no opportunity for committing this deed, and in any case. I hold very strong views as to the sanctity of human life."

"Your position certainly seems impeccable," said Poirot with gravity. "In a work of fiction you would be strongly suspected on that account."

He turned a little in his chair. "We now come to Miss King. Miss King had a certain amount of motive and she had the necessary medical knowledge and is a person of character and determination, but since she left the camp before three-thirty with the others and did not return to it until six o'clock, it seems difficult to see where she could have had an opportunity."

"Next we must consider Dr. Gerard. Now, here we must take into account the actual time that the murder was committed. According to M. Lennox Boynton's last statement, his mother was dead at four thirty-five. According to Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce she was alive at four-fifteen, when they started on their walk. That leaves exactly twenty minutes unaccounted for. Now, as these two ladies walked away from the camp Dr. Gerard passed them going to it. There is no one to say what Dr. Gerard's movements were when he reached the camp because the two ladies' backs were towards it. They were walking away from it. Therefore it is perfectly possible for Dr. Gerard to have committed the crime. Being a doctor, he could easily counterfeit the appearance of malaria. There is, I should say, a possible motive. Dr. Gerard might have wished to save a certain person whose reason (perhaps more vital a loss than a loss of life) was in danger and he may have considered the sacrifice of an old and worn out life worth it!"

"Your ideas," said Dr. Gerard, "are fantastic!" He smiled amiably.

Without taking any notice, Poirot went on. "But if so, why did Gerard call attention to the possibility of foul play? It is quite certain that, but for his statement to Colonel Carbury, Mrs. Boynton's death would have been put down to natural causes. It was Dr. Gerard who first pointed out the possibility of murder. That, my friends," said Poirot, "does not make common sense!"

"Doesn't seem to," said Colonel Carbury gruffly. He looked curiously at Poirot.

"There is one more possibility," said Poirot. "Mrs. Lennox Boynton just now negated strongly the possibility of her young sister-in-law being guilty. The force of her objection lay in the fact that she knew her mother-in-law to be dead at the time. But remember this: Ginevra Boynton was at the camp all the afternoon. And there was a moment – a moment when Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce were walking away from the camp and before Dr. Gerard had returned to it ..."

Ginevra stirred. She leaned forward, staring into Poirot's face with a strange, innocent, puzzled stare. "I did it? You think I did it?" Then suddenly, with a movement of swift, incomparable beauty, she was up from her chair and had flung herself across the room and down on her knees beside Dr. Gerard, clinging to him, gazing up passionately into his face.

"No! No! Don't let them say it! They're making the walls close around me again! It's not true! I never did anything! They are my enemies – they want to put me in prison-to shut me up. You must help me! You must help me!"

"There, there, my child." Gently the doctor patted her head. Then he addressed Poirot. "What you say is nonsense – absurd."

"Delusions of persecution?" murmured Poirot.

"Yes – but she could never have done it that way. She would have done it, you must perceive, dramatically – a dagger, something flamboyant, spectacular – never this cool, calm logic! I tell you, my friends, it is so. This was a reasoned crime – a sane crime."

Poirot smiled. Unexpectedly he bowed. "Je suis entierement de votre avis," he said smoothly.

EIGHTEEN

"Come," said Hercule Poirot. "We have still a little way to go! Dr. Gerard has invoked the psychology. So let us now examine the psychological side of the case. We have taken the facts, we have established a chronological sequence of events, we have heard the evidence. There remains – the psychology. And the most important psychological evidence concerns the dead woman. It is the psychology of Mrs. Boynton herself that is the most important thing in this case."

"Take from my list of specified facts points three and four. Mrs. Boynton took definite pleasure in keeping her family from enjoying themselves with other people. Mrs. Boynton, on the afternoon in question, encouraged her family to go away and leave her."

"These two facts, they contradict each other flatly! Why, on this particular afternoon, should Mrs. Boynton suddenly display a complete reversal of her usual policy? Was it that she felt a sudden warmth of the heart – an instinct of benevolence? That, it seems to me from all I have heard, was extremely unlikely! Yet there must have been a reason. What was that reason?"

"Let us examine closely the character of Mrs. Boynton. There have been many different accounts of her. She was a tyrannical old martinet, she was a mental sadist, she was an incarnation of evil, she was crazy. Which of these views is the true one?"

"I think myself that Sarah King came nearest to the truth when in a flash of inspiration in Jerusalem she saw the old lady as intensely pathetic. But not only pathetic – futile!"

"Let us, if we can, think ourselves into the mental condition of Mrs. Boynton. A human creature born with immense ambition, with a yearning to dominate and to impress her personality on other people. She neither sublimated that intense craving for power nor did she seek to master it. No, mesdames and messieurs, she fed it! But in the end – listen well to this – in the end, what did it amount to? She was not a great power! She was not feared and hated over a wide area! She was the petty tyrant of one isolated family! And as Dr. Gerard said to me – she became bored like any other old lady with her hobby and she sought to extend her activities and to amuse herself by making her dominance more precarious! But that led to an entirely different aspect of the case! By coming abroad, she realized for the first time how extremely insignificant she was!"

"And now we come directly to point number ten – the words spoken to Sarah King in Jerusalem. Sarah King, you see, had put her finger on the truth. She had revealed fully and uncompromisingly the pitiful futility of Mrs. Boynton's scheme of existence! And now listen very carefully – all of you – to what her exact words to Miss King were. Miss King has said that Mrs. Boynton spoke 'so malevolently, not even looking at me.' And this is what she actually said: 'I've never forgotten anything, not an action, not a name, not a face.'"

"Those words made a great impression on Miss King. Their extraordinary intensity and the loud hoarse tone in which they were uttered! So strong was the impression they left on her mind I think that she quite failed to realize their extraordinary significance!"

"Do you see that significance, any of you?" He waited a minute. "It seems not ... but, mes amis, does it escape you that those words were not a reasonable answer at all to what Miss King had just been saying. 'I've never forgotten anything, not an action, not a name, not a face.' It does not make sense! If she had said: 'I never forget impertinence' – something of that kind – but no – a face is what she said ..."

"Ah!" cried Poirot, beating his hands together. "But it leaps to the eye! Those words, ostensibly spoken to Miss King, were not meant for Miss King at all! They were addressed to someone else standing behind Miss King."

He paused, noting their expressions.

"Yes, it leaps to the eye! That was, I tell you, a psychological moment in Mrs. Boynton's life! She had been exposed to herself by an intelligent young woman! She was full of baffled fury and at that moment she recognized someone – a face from the past – a victim delivered bound into her hands!"

"We are back, you see, to the outsider! And now the meaning of Mrs. Boynton's unexpected amiability on the afternoon of her death is clear. She wanted to get rid of her family because-to use a vulgarity – she had other fish to fry! She wanted the field left clear for an interview with a new victim ..."

"Now, from that new standpoint, let us consider the events of the afternoon! The Boynton family goes off. Mrs. Boynton sits up by her cave. Now, let us consider very carefully the evidence of Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce. The latter is an unreliable witness, she is unobservant and very suggestible. Lady Westholme, on the other hand, is perfectly clear as to her facts and meticulously observant. Both ladies agree on one fact! An Arab, one of the servants, approaches Mrs. Boynton, angers her in some way and retires hastily. Lady Westholme states definitely that the servant had first been into the tent occupied by Ginevra Boynton but you may remember that Dr. Gerard's tent was next door to Ginevra's. It is possible that it was Dr. Gerard's tent the Arab entered ..."

Colonel Carbury said: "D'you mean to tell me that one of those Bedouin fellows of mine murdered an old lady by sticking her with a hypodermic? Fantastic!"

"Wait, Colonel Carbury; I have not yet finished. Let us agree that the Arab might have come from Dr. Gerard's tent and not Ginevra Boynton's. What is the next thing? Both ladies agree that they could not see his face clearly enough to identify him and that they did not hear what was said. That is understandable. The distance between the marquee and the ledge is about two hundred yards. Lady Westholme gave a clear description of the man otherwise, describing in detail his ragged breeches and the untidiness with which his puttees were rolled."

Poirot leaned forward. "And that, my friends, was very odd indeed! Because, if she could not see his face or hear what was said, she could not possibly have noticed the state of his breeches and puttees! Not at two hundred yards!"

"It was an error, that, you see! It suggested a curious idea to me. Why insist so on the ragged breeches and untidy puttees. Could it be because the breeches were not torn and the puttees were non-existent? Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce both saw the man – but from where they were sitting they could not see each other. That is shown by the fact that Lady Westholme came to see if Miss Pierce was awake and found her sitting in the entrance of her tent."

"Good Lord," said Colonel Carbury, suddenly sitting up very straight. "Are you suggesting –"

"I am suggesting that having ascertained just what Miss Pierce (the only witness likely to be awake) was doing, Lady Westholme returned to her tent, put on her riding breeches, boots and khaki-colored coat, made herself an Arab headdress with her checked duster and a skein of knitting wool and that, thus attired, she went boldly up to Dr. Gerard's tent, looked in his medicine chest, selected a suitable drug, took the hypodermic, filled it and went boldly up to her victim."

"Mrs. Boynton may have been dozing. Lady Westholme was quick. She caught her by the wrist and injected the stuff. Mrs. Boynton half cried out – tried to rise – then sank back. The 'Arab' hurried away with every evidence of being ashamed and abashed. Mrs. Boynton shook her stick, tried to rise, then fell back into her chair."

"Five minutes later Lady Westholme rejoins Miss Pierce and comments on the scene she has just witnessed, impressing her own version of it on the other. Then they go for a walk, pausing below the ledge where Lady Westholme shouts up to the old lady. She receives no answer for Mrs. Boynton is dead but she remarks to Miss Pierce: 'Very rude just to snort at us like that!' Miss Pierce accepts the suggestion. She has often heard Mrs. Boynton receive a remark with a snort – she will swear quite sincerely if necessary that she actually heard it. Lady Westholme has sat on committees often enough with women of Miss Pieree's type to know exactly how her own eminence and masterful personality can influence them. The only point where her plan went astray was the replacing of the syringe. Dr. Gerard returning so soon upset her scheme. She hoped he might not have noticed its absence, or might think he had overlooked it, and she put it back during the night."

He stopped.

Sarah said: "But why? Why should Lady Westholme want to kill old Mrs. Boynton?"

"Did you not tell me that Lady Westholme had been quite near you in Jerusalem when you spoke to Mrs. Boynton? It was to Lady Westholme that Mrs. Boynton's words were addressed. 'I've never forgotten anything, not an action, not a name, not a face.' Put that with the fact that Mrs. Boynton had been a wardress in a prison and you can get a very shrewd idea of the truth. Lord Westholme met his wife on a voyage back from America. Lady Westholme, before her marriage, had been a criminal and had served a prison sentence."

"You see the terrible dilemma she was in? Her career, her ambitions, her social position – all at stake! What the crime was for which she served a sentence in prison we do not yet know (though we soon shall) but it must have been one that would effectually blast her political career if it was made public. And remember this, Mrs. Boynton was not an ordinary blackmailer. She did not want money. She wanted the pleasure of torturing her victim for a while and then she would have enjoyed revealing the truth in the most spectacular fashion! No; while Mrs. Boynton lived Lady Westholme was not safe. She obeyed Mrs. Boynton's instructions to meet her at Petra (I thought it strange all along that a woman with such a sense of her own importance as Lady Westholme should have preferred to travel as a mere tourist), but in her own mind she was doubtless revolving ways and means of murder. She saw her chance and carried it out boldly. She only made two slips. One was to say a little too much – the description of the torn breeches – which first drew my attention to her, and the other was when she mistook Dr. Gerard's tent and looked first into the one where Ginevra was lying half asleep. Hence the girl's story – half make-believe, half true – of a Sheikh in disguise. She put it the wrong way around, obeying her instinct to distort the truth by making it more dramatic, but the indication was quite significant enough for me."

He paused. "But we shall soon know. I obtained Lady Westholme's fingerprints today without her being aware of the fact. If these are sent to the prison where Mrs. Boynton was once a wardress, we shall soon know the truth when they are compared with the files."

He stopped. In the momentary stillness a sharp sound was heard.

"What's that?" asked Dr. Gerard.

"Sounded like a shot to me," said Colonel Carbury, rising to his feet quickly. "In the next room. Who's got that room, by the way?"

Poirot murmured: "I have a little idea – it is the room of Lady Westholme ..."

EPILOGUE

Extract from the Evening Shout.

We regret to announce the death of Lady Westholme, M.P., the result of a tragic accident. Lady Westholme, who was fond of traveling in out-of-the-way countries, always took a small revolver with her.

She was cleaning this when it went off accidentally and killed her. Death was instantaneous. The deepest sympathy will be felt for Lord Westholme, etc. etc.

On a warm June evening five years later Sarah Boynton and her husband sat in the stalls of a London theatre. The play was Hamlet. Sarah gripped Raymond's arm as Ophelia's words came floating over the footlights:

How should I your true love know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,

And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf;

At his heels a stone.

O, ho!

A lump rose in Sarah's throat. That exquisite, witless beauty, that lovely, unearthly smile of one gone beyond trouble and grief to a region where only a floating mirage was truth ...

Sarah said to herself: "She's lovely – lovely ..."

That haunting, lilting voice, always beautiful in tone, but now disciplined and modulated to be the perfect instrument.

Sarah said with decision, as the curtain fell at the end of the act: "Jinny's a great actress – a great – great actress!"

Later, they sat around a supper table at the Savoy.

Ginevra, smiling, remote, turned to the bearded man by her side.

"I was good, wasn't I, Theodore?"

"You were wonderful, cherie."

A happy smile floated on her lips.

She murmured: "You always believed in me – you always knew I could do great things – sway multitudes ..."

At a table not far away, the Hamlet of the evening was saying gloomily: "Her mannerisms! Of course people like it just at first but what I say is, it's not Shakespeare. Did you see how she ruined my exit?"

Nadine, sitting opposite Ginevra, said: "How exciting it is, to be here in London with Jinny acting Ophelia and being so famous!"

Ginevra said softly: "It was nice of you to come over."

"A regular family party," said Nadine, smiling, as she looked around. Then she said to Lennox: "I think the children might go to the matinee, don't you? They're quite old enough, and they do so want to see Aunt Jinny on the stage!"

Lennox, a sane, happy-looking Lennox with humorous eyes, lifted his glass. "To the newly-weds, Mr. and Mrs. Cope!"

Jefferson Cope and Carol acknowledged the toast.

"The unfaithful swain!" said Carol, laughing. "Jeff, you'd better drink to your first love as she's sitting right opposite you."

Raymond said gaily: "Jeff's blushing. He doesn't like being reminded of the old days."

His face clouded suddenly. Sarah touched his hand with hers, and the cloud lifted. He looked at her and grinned.

"Seems just like a bad dream!"

A dapper figure stopped by their table. Hercule Poirot, faultlessly and beautifully appareled, his moustaches proudly twisted, bowed regally.

"Mademoiselle," he said to Ginevra, "mes homages. You were superb!"

They greeted him affectionately, made a place for him beside Sarah. He beamed on them all and when they were all talking, he leaned a little sideways and said softly to Sarah: "Eh bien, it seems that all marches well now with la famille Boynton?"

"Thanks to you." said Sarah.

"He becomes very eminent, your husband. I read today an excellent review of his last book."

"It's really rather good – although I do say it! Did you know that Carol and Jefferson Cope had made a match of it at last? And Lennox and Nadine have got two of the nicest children – cute, Raymond calls them. As for Jinny – well, I rather think Jinny's a genius."

She looked across the table at the lovely face and the red-gold crown of hair, and then she gave a tiny start. For a moment her face was grave. She raised her glass slowly to her lips.

"You drink a toast, Madame?" asked Poirot.

Sarah said slowly: "I thought – suddenly – of Her. Looking at Jinny I saw – for the first time – the likeness. The same thing – only Jinny is in light – where She was in darkness ..."

And from opposite, Ginevra said unexpectedly: "Poor Mother ... she was queer ... now that we're all so happy I feel kind of sorry for her. She didn't get what she wanted out of life. It must have been tough for her."

Almost without a pause, her voice quivered softly into the lines from Cymbeline while the others listened spellbound to the music of them:

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winters rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages ...

END