Appointment with Death hp-21 Read online

  "I should like to know that, yes." Carbury spoke unemotionally.

  Hercule Poirot said slowly: "I see no reason why you should not know it!"

  Dr. Gerard looked incredulous. Colonel Carbury looked mildly interested. "Oh," he said. "So you don't, don't you? That's interestin'. How d'you propose to set about it?"

  "By methodical sifting of the evidence, by a process of reasoning."

  "Suits me," said Colonel Carbury.

  "And by a study of the psychological possibilities."

  "Suits Dr. Gerard, I expect," said Carbury. "And after that, after you've sifted the evidence and done some reasoning and paddled in psychology-hey, presto!-you think you can produce the rabbit out of the hat?"

  "I should be extremely surprised if I could not do so," said Poirot calmly.

  Colonel Carbury stared at him over the rim of his glass. Just for a moment the vague eyes were no longer vague- they measured-and appraised. He put down his glass with a grunt. "What do you say to that, Dr. Gerard?"

  "I admit that I am skeptical of success… yet I know that M. Poirot has great powers."

  "I am gifted-yes," said the little man. He smiled modestly.

  Colonel Carbury turned away his head and coughed.

  Poirot said: "The first thing to decide is whether this is a composite murder-planned and carried out by the Boynton family as a whole, or whether it is the work of one of them only. If the latter, which is the most likely member of the family to have attempted it?"

  Dr. Gerard said: "There is your own evidence. One must, I think, consider first Raymond Boynton."

  "I agree," said Poirot. "The words I overheard and the discrepancy between his evidence and that of the young woman doctor puts him definitely in the forefront of the suspects. He was the last person to see Mrs. Boynton alive. That is his own story, Sarah King contradicts that. Tell me, Dr. Gerard, is there-eh?-you know what I mean-a little tendresse, shall we say-there?"

  The Frenchman nodded. "Emphatically so."

  "Alas! Is she, this young lady, a brunette with hair that goes back from her forehead-so-and big hazel eyes and a manner very decided?"

  Dr. Gerard looked rather surprised. "Yes, that describes her very well."

  "I think I have seen her-in the Solomon Hotel. She spoke to this Raymond Boynton and afterwards he remained plantй la-in a dream-blocking the exit from the lift. Three times I had to say 'Pardon' before he heard me and moved."

  Poirot remained in thought for some moments. Then he said: "So, to begin with, we will accept the medical evidence of Miss Sarah King with certain mental reservations. She is an interested party." He paused-then went on: "Tell me, Dr. Gerard, do you think Raymond Boynton is of the temperament that could commit murder easily?"

  Gerard said slowly: "You mean deliberate, planned murder? Yes, I think it is possible-but only under conditions of intense emotional strain."

  "Those conditions were present?"

  "Definitely. This journey abroad undoubtedly heightened the nervous and mental strain under which all these people were living. The contrast between their own lives and those of other people was more apparent to them. And in Raymond Boynton's case-"

  "Yes?"

  "There was the additional complication of being strongly attracted to Sarah King."

  "That would give him an additional motive? And an additional stimulus?"

  "That is so."

  Colonel Carbury coughed. "Like to butt in a moment. That sentence of his you overheard-'You do see, don't you, that she's got to be killed?'-must have been spoken to someone."

  "A good point," said Poirot. "I had not forgotten it. Yes, to whom was Raymond Boynton speaking? Undoubtedly to a member of his family. But which member? Can you tell us something, Doctor, of the mental conditions of the other members of the family?"

  Gerard replied promptly. "Carol Boynton was, I should say, in very much the same state as Raymond-a state of rebellion accompanied by severe nervous excitement, but uncomplicated in her case by the introduction of a sex factor. Lennox Boynton had passed the stage of revolt. He was sunk in apathy. He was finding it, I think, difficult to concentrate. His method of reaction to his surroundings was to retire further and further within himself. He was definitely an introvert."

  "And his wife?"

  "His wife, though tired and unhappy, showed no signs of mental conflict. She was, I believe, hesitating on the brink of a decision."

  "Such a decision being?"

  "Whether or not to leave her husband."

  He repeated the conversation he had held with Jefferson Cope.

  Poirot nodded in comprehension. "And what of the younger girl, Ginevra her name is, is it not?"

  The Frenchman's face was grave. He said: "I should say that mentally she is in an extremely dangerous condition. She has already begun to display symptoms of schizophrenia. Unable to bear the suppression of her life, she is escaping into a realm of fantasy. She has advanced delusions of persecution-that is to saw, she claims to be a Royal Personage in danger, enemies surrounding her, all the usual things!"

  "And that is dangerous?"

  "Very dangerous. It is the beginning of what is often homicidal mania. The sufferer kills-not for the lust of killing-but in self-defense. He or she kills in order not to be killed themselves. From their point of view it is eminently rational."

  "So you think that Ginevra Boynton might have killed her mother?"

  "Yes. But I doubt if she would have had the knowledge or the constructiveness to do it the way it was done. The cunning of that class of mania is usually very simple and obvious. And I am almost certain she would have chosen a more spectacular method."

  "But she is a possibility?" Poirot insisted.

  "Yes," admitted Gerard.

  "And afterwards-when the deed was done? Do you think the rest of the family knew who had done it?"

  "They know!" said Colonel Carbury unexpectedly. "If ever I came across a bunch of people who had something to hide these are they! They're putting something over, all right."

  "We will make them tell us what it is," said Poirot.

  "Third degree?" said Colonel Carbury, raising his eyebrows.

  "No." Poirot shook his head. "Just ordinary conversation. On the whole, you know, people tell you the truth. Because it is easier! Because it is less strain on the inventive faculties! You can tell one lie-or two lies, or three or even four lies-but you cannot lie all the time. The truth becomes plain."

  "Something in that," agreed Carbury. Then he said bluntly: "You'll talk to them, you say? That means you're willing to take this on?"

  Poirot bowed his head. "Let us be very clear about this," he said. "What you demand, and what I undertake to supply, is the truth. But mark this, even when we have got the truth, there may be no proof. That is to say, no proof that would be accepted in a court of law. You comprehend?"

  "Quite," said Carbury. "You satisfy me of what really happened, then it's up to me to decide whether action is possible or not-having regard to the International aspects. Anyway it will be cleared up-no mess. Don't like a mess."

  Poirot smiled.

  "One more thing," said Carbury. "I can't give you much time. Can't detain these people here indefinitely."

  Poirot said quietly: "You can detain them twenty-four hours. You shall have the truth by tomorrow night."

  Colonel Carbury stared hard at him. "Pretty confident, aren't you?" he asked.

  "I know my own ability," murmured Poirot.

  Rendered uncomfortable by this un-British attitude, Colonel Carbury looked away and fingered his untidy moustache. "Well," he mumbled. "It's up to you."

  "And if you succeed, my friend," said Dr. Gerard, "you are indeed a marvel!"

  4

  Sarah King looked long and searchingly at Hercule Poirot. She saw the egg-shaped head, the gigantic moustaches, the dandified appearance and the suspicious blackness of his hair. A look of doubt crept into her eyes.

  "Well, Mademoiselle, are you satisfied?"
r />   Sarah flushed as he met the amused ironical glance of his eyes. "I beg your pardon," she said awkwardly.

  "Du tout! To use an expression I have recently learnt, you give me the one over, is it not so?"

  Sarah smiled a little. "Well, at any rate you can do the same to me," she said.

  "Assuredly. I have not neglected to do so."

  She glanced at him sharply. Something in his tone- But Poirot was twirling his moustaches complacently and Sarah thought (for the second time), "The man's a mountebank!"

  Her self-confidence restored, she sat up a little straighter and said inquiringly: "I don't think I quite understand the object of this interview?"

  "The good Dr. Gerard did not explain?"

  Sarah said, frowning: "I don't understand Dr. Gerard. He seems to think-"

  "That there is something rotten in the state of Denmark." quoted Poirot. "You see, I know your Shakespeare."

  Sarah waved aside Shakespeare. "What exactly is all this fuss about?" she demanded.

  "Eh bien, one wants, does one not, to get at the truth of this affair?"

  "Are you talking about Mrs. Boynton's death?"

  "Yes."

  "Isn't it rather a fuss about nothing? You, of course, are a specialist, M. Poirot. It is natural for you-"

  Poirot finished the sentence for her. "It is natural for me to suspect crime whenever I can possibly find an excuse for doing so?"

  "Well-yes-perhaps."

  "You have no doubt yourself as to Mrs. Boynton's death?"

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "Really, M. Poirot, if you had been to Petra you would realize that the journey there is a somewhat strenuous business for an old woman whose cardiac condition was unsatisfactory."

  "It seems a perfectly straightforward business to you?"

  "Certainly. I can't understand Dr. Gerard's attitude. He didn't even know anything about it. He was down with fever. I'd bow to his superior medical knowledge naturally, but in this case he had nothing whatever to go on. I suppose they can have a p.m. in Jerusalem if they like, if they're not satisfied with my verdict."

  Poirot was silent for a moment, then he said: "There is a fact, Miss King, that you do not yet know. Dr. Gerard has not told you of it."

  "What fact?" demanded Sarah.

  "A supply of a drug-digitoxin-is missing from Dr. Gerard's traveling medicine case."

  "Oh!" Quickly Sarah took in this new aspect of the case. Equally quickly she pounced on the one doubtful point. "Is Dr. Gerard quite sure of that?"

  Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "A doctor, as you should know, Mademoiselle, is usually fairly careful in making his statements."

  "Oh, of course. That goes without saying. But Dr. Gerard had malaria at the time."

  "That is so, of course."

  "Has he any idea when it could have been taken?"

  "He had occasion to go to his case on the night of his arrival in Petra. He wanted some phenacetin as his head was aching badly. When he replaced the phenacetin on the following morning and shut up the case he is almost certain that all the drugs were intact."

  "Almost-" said Sarah.

  Poirot shrugged.

  "Yes, there is a doubt! There is the doubt that any man, who is honest, would be likely to feel."

  Sarah nodded. "Yes, I know. One always distrusts those people who are over-sure. But all the same, M. Poirot, the evidence is very slight. It seems to me-" She paused.

  Poirot finished the sentence for her. "It seems to you that an inquiry on my part is ill-advised!"

  Sarah looked him squarely in the face. "Frankly, it does. Are you sure, M. Poirot, that this is not a case of Roman Holiday?"

  Poirot smiled. "The private lives of a family upset and disturbed-so that Hercule Poirot can play a little game of detection to amuse himself?"

  "I didn't mean to be offensive-but isn't it a little like that?"

  "You, then, are on the side of the famille Boynton, Mademoiselle?"

  "I think I am. They've suffered a good deal. They-they oughtn't to have to stand any more."

  "And la Maman, she was unpleasant, tyrannical, disagreeable and decidedly better dead than alive? That also-hm?"

  "When you put it like that-" Sarah paused, flushed, went on: "One shouldn't, I agree, take that into consideration."

  "But all the same one does! That is, you do. Mademoiselle! I do not! To me, it is all the same. The victim may be one of the good God's saints-or, on the contrary, a monster of infamy. It moves me not. The fact is the same. A life taken! I say it always, I do not approve of murder."

  "Murder!" Sarah drew in her breath sharply. "But what evidence of that is there? The flimsiest imaginable! Dr. Gerard himself cannot be sure!"

  Poirot said quietly: "But there is other evidence, Mademoiselle."

  "What evidence?" Her voice was sharp.

  "The mark of a hypodermic puncture upon the dead woman's wrist. And something more still-some words that I overheard spoken in Jerusalem on a clear still night when I went to close my bedroom window. Shall I tell you what those words were, Miss King? They were these: I heard Mr. Raymond Boynton say: 'You do see, don't you, that she's got to be killed?'" He saw the color drain slowly from Sarah's face.

  She said: "You heard that?"

  "Yes."

  The girl stared straight ahead of her. She said at last: "It would be you who heard it!"

  He acquiesced. "Yes, it would be me. These things happen. You see now why I think there should be an investigation?"

  Sarah said quietly: "I think you are quite right."

  "Ah! And you will help me?"

  "Certainly."

  Her tone was matter-of-fact, unemotional. Her eyes met his coolly.

  Poirot bowed. "Thank you, Mademoiselle. Now, I will ask you to tell me in your own words exactly what you can remember of that particular day."

  Sarah considered for a moment. "Let me see. I went on an expedition in the morning. None of the Boyntons were with us. I saw them at lunch. They were finishing as we came in. Mrs. Boynton seemed in an unusually good temper."

  "She was not usually amiable, I understand."

  "Very far from it," said Sarah with a slight grimace. She then described how Mrs. Boynton had released her family from attendance on her.

  "That, too, was unusual?"

  "Yes. She usually kept them around her."

  "Do you think, perhaps, that she suddenly felt remorseful, that she had what is called un bon moment?"

  "No, I don't," said Sarah bluntly.

  "What did you think, then?"

  "I was puzzled. I suspected it was something of the cat and mouse order."

  "If you would elaborate, Mademoiselle?"

  "A cat enjoys letting a mouse away and then catching it again. Mrs. Boynton had that kind of mentality. I thought she was up to some new deviltry or other."

  "What happened next, Mademoiselle?"

  "The Boyntons started off-"

  "All of them?"

  "No; the youngest, Ginevra, was left behind. She was told to go and rest."

  "Did she wish to do so?"

  "No. But that didn't matter. She did what she was told. The others started off. Dr. Gerard and I joined them-"

  "When was this?"

  "About half-past three."

  "Where was Mrs. Boynton then?"

  "Nadine-young Mrs. Boynton-had settled her in her chair outside her cave."

  "Proceed."

  When we got around the bend Dr. Gerard and I caught up with the others. We all walked together. Then, after a while Dr. Gerard turned back. He had been looking rather queer for some time. I could see he had fever. I wanted to go back with him, but he wouldn't hear of it."

  "What time was this?"

  "Oh, about four, I suppose."

  "And the rest?"

  "We went on."

  "Were you all together?"

  "At first. Then we split up." Sarah hurried on as though foreseeing the next question. "Nadine Boynton and Mr. Cope went one way and Carol
, Lennox, Raymond and I went another."

  "And you continued like that?"

  "Well-no. Raymond Boynton and I separated from the others. We sat down on a slab of rock and admired the wildness of the scenery. Then he went off and I stayed where I was for some time longer. It was about half-past five when I looked at my watch and realized I had better get back. I reached the camp at six o'clock. It was just about sunset."

  "You passed Mrs. Boynton on the way?"

  "I noticed she was still in her chair up on the ridge."

  "That did not strike you as odd, that she had not moved?"

  "No, because I had seen her sitting there the night before when we arrived."

  "I see. Continuez."

  "I went into the marquee. The others were all there-except Dr. Gerard. I washed and then came back. They brought in dinner and one of the servants went to tell Mrs. Boynton. He came running back to say she was ill. I hurried out. She was sitting in her chair just as she had been, but as soon as I touched her I realized she was dead."

  "You had no doubt at all as to her death being natural?"

  "None whatever. I had heard that she suffered from heart trouble, though no specified disease had been mentioned."

  "You simply thought she had died sitting there in her chair?"

  "Yes."

  "Without calling out for assistance?"

  "Yes. It happens that way sometimes. She might even have died in her sleep. She was quite likely to have dozed off. In any case, all the camp was asleep most of the afternoon. No one would have heard her unless she had called very loud."

  "Did you form an opinion as to how long she had been dead?"

  "Well, I didn't really think very much about it. She had clearly been dead some time."

  "What do you call some time?" asked Poirot.

  "Well-over an hour. It might have been much longer. The refraction off the rock would keep her body from cooling quickly."

  "Over an hour? Are you aware, Mademoiselle King, that Mr. Raymond Boynton spoke to her only a little over half an hour earlier and that she was then alive and well?"

  Now her eyes no longer met his. But she shook her head. "He must have made a mistake. It must have been earlier than that."