Chapter 16

There was a pause. Then clearing his throat with a slightly affected¹ sound, Poirot went on:

‘We have now solved the mystery of what I might term the second hypodermic. That belongedto Mrs Lennox Boynton, was taken by Raymond Boynton before leaving Jerusalem, was takenfrom Raymond by Carol after the discovery of Mrs Boynton’s dead body, was thrown away byher, 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 appreciation².

‘Yes, it is a point that. I understand you perfectly³, mademoiselle.’

‘Thanks,’ said Sarah.

Again Poirot cleared his throat.

‘Let us now review our time-table. Thus:

Boyntons and Jefferson Cope leave the camp 3.5 (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 Mr Jefferson

Cope return to camp

5.40

Raymond Boynton returns to camp 5.50

Sarah King returns to camp 6.0

Body discovered 6.30

‘There is, you will notice, a gap of twenty minutes between four-fifty when Nadine Boynton lefther mother-in-law and five-ten when Carol returned. Therefore, if Carol is speaking the truth, MrsBoynton 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 motive⁴ for killing⁵ her) has an alibi⁶. He was with LadyWestholme and Miss Pierce. Lennox Boynton was with his wife in the marquee. Dr Gerard wasgroaning with fever in his tent. The camp is deserted⁷, the boys are asleep. It is a suitable momentfor 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 havebeen told—but actually there is evidence that she was not in her tent all the time. Ginevra Boyntonmade a very significant remark. She said that Dr Gerard spoke⁸ her name in his fever. And DrGerard has also told us that he dreamt in his fever of Ginevra Boynton’s face. But it was not adream! It was actually her face he saw, standing⁹ 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 putback the hypodermic syringe after using it?’

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

‘Ah, ?a 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 accusationagainst 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 hardand 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 that you have what I believe is called an“excellent headpiece”.’

‘You flatter me.’

‘I think not. All along you have envisaged¹⁰ the situation calmly and collectively. You haveremained on outwardly good terms with your husband’s mother, deeming that the best thing to bedone, but inwardly you have judged and condemned¹¹ her. I think that some time ago you realizedthat 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 penurious¹² such a life might be. You were willingto take all risks and you endeavoured to influence him to exactly that course of action. But youfailed, madame. Lennox Boynton had no longer the will to freedom. He was content to sink into acondition of apathy¹³ and melancholy¹⁴.

‘Now I have no doubt at all, madame, but that you love your husband. Your decision to leavehim was not actuated by a greater love for another man. It was, I think, a desperate ventureundertaken as a last hope. A woman in your position could only try three things. She could tryappeal. That, as I have said, failed. She could threaten to leave herself. But it is possible that eventhat threat would not have moved Lennox Boynton. It would plunge¹⁵ him deeper in misery¹⁶, but itwould not cause him to rebel. There was one last desperate throw. You could go away withanother man. Jealousy¹⁷ and the instinct of possession is one of the most deeply rooted fundamentalinstincts in man. You showed your wisdom in trying to reach that deep underground savageinstinct. If Lennox Boynton would let you go without an effort to another man—then he mustindeed be beyond human aid, and you might as well then try to make a new life for yourselfelsewhere.

‘But let us suppose that even that last desperate remedy failed. Your husband was terribly upsetat your decision, but in spite of that he did not, as you had hoped, react as a primitive¹⁸ man mighthave done with an uprush of the possessive instinct. Was there anything at all that could save yourhusband from his own rapidly failing mental condition? Only one thing. If his stepmother were todie, it might not be too late. He might be able to start life anew as a free man, building up inhimself independence and manliness¹⁹ once more.’

Poirot paused, then repeated gently: ‘If your mother-in-law were to die…’

Nadine’s eyes were still fixed²⁰ on him. In an unmoved gentle voice she said: ‘You are suggestingthat I helped to bring that event about, are you not? But you cannot do so, M. Poirot. After I hadbroken the news of my impending²¹ departure to Mrs Boynton, I went straight to the marquee andjoined Lennox. I did not leave it again until my mother-in-law was found dead. Guilty of her deathI 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 autopsy²² hastaken place) she was deliberately²³ 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 aboutthis case.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It is here on my list. Point nine. At half- past six, when dinner was ready, a servant wasdispatched 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, mostassiduous in your attendance on the old lady as a general rule? Did not one or other of you alwaysescort her to meals? She was infirm. It was difficult for her to rise from a chair without assistance.

Always one or other of you was at her elbow. I suggest then, that on dinner being announced thenatural thing would have been for one or other of her family to go out and help her. But not one ofyou offered to do so. You all sat there, paralyzed, watching each other, wondering, perhaps, whyno one went.’

Nadine said sharply: ‘All this is absurd, M. Poirot! We were all tired that evening. We ought tohave gone, I admit, but—on that evening—we just didn’t!’

‘Precisely—precisely—on that particular evening! You, madame, did perhaps more waiting onher than anyone else. It was one of the duties that you accepted mechanically. But that eveningyou did not offer to go out to help her in. Why? That is what I asked myself—why? And I tell youmy 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 tome — Hercule Poirot! There were witnesses to your conversation with your mother- in- law.

Witnesses who could see but could not hear! Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce were a long wayaway. They saw you apparently²⁴ having a conversation with your mother-in-law, but what actualevidence is there of what occurred? I will propound²⁵ to you instead a little theory. You have brains,madame. If in your quiet unhurried fashion you have decided²⁶ on—shall we say the elimination²⁷ ofyour husband’s mother—you will carry it out with intelligence and with due preparation. Youhave access to Dr Gerard’s tent during his absence on the morning excursion. You are fairly surethat 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, toyour annoyance²⁸, your own has disappeared. You hope to replace the syringe before the doctornotices its absence.’

‘Before proceeding²⁹ to carry out your plan, you make one last attempt to stir your husband intoaction. You tell him of your intention to marry Jefferson Cope. Though your husband is terriblyupset he does not react as you had hoped—so you are forced to put your plan of murder intoaction. You return to the camp exchanging a pleasant natural word with Lady Westholme andMiss Pierce as you pass. You go up to where your mother-in-law is sitting. You have the syringewith the drug in it ready. It is easy to seize her wrist and—proficient as you are with your nurse’straining—force home the plunger. It is done before your mother-in-law realizes what you aredoing. From far down the valley the others only see you talking to her, bending over her. Thendeliberately you go and fetch a chair and sit there apparently engaged in an amicable³⁰ conversationfor some minutes. Death must have been almost instantaneous. It is a dead woman to whom yousit 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! MrsBoynton’s death, you are sure, will be put down to heart trouble. (It will, indeed, be due to hearttrouble.) In only one thing have your plans gone astray. You cannot return the syringe to DrGerard’s tent because the doctor is in there shivering with malaria—and although you do not knowit, 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 round to him. ‘So, after all, it was you who killed her, MrBoynton.’

Again a moment’s pause—then Lennox dropped back into his chair and raised trembling handsto 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, Mr Boynton!’

‘But you know—my wife was leaving me—with Cope—’

‘Yes, but you only learnt 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 badger³¹ me with questions?’ He paused and passed a shaking hand acrosshis forehead. ‘What does it matter, anyway?’

‘It matters a great deal. I advise you, Mr Lennox Boynton, to tell me the truth.’

‘The truth?’ Lennox stared at him.

‘That is what I said—the truth.’

‘By God, I will,’ said Lennox suddenly. ‘But I don’t know whether you will believe me.’ Hedrew a deep breath. ‘That afternoon, when I left Nadine, I was absolutely all to pieces. I’d neverdreamed she’d go from me to someone else. I was—I was nearly mad! I felt as though I was drunkor recovering from a bad illness.’

Poirot nodded. He said: ‘I noted³² Lady Westholme’s description of your gait when you passedher. That is why I knew your wife was not speaking the truth when she said she told you after youwere both back at the camp. Continue, Mr Boynton.’

‘I hardly knew what I was doing…But as I got near, my brain seemed to clear. It flashed overme that I had only myself to blame! I’d been a miserable³³ worm! I ought to have defied mystepmother 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 idol³⁴ against the red cliffs. I went right up tohave 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 asMa’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 goingto shout out at her bottled up inside me—turning to lead—I can’t explain…Stone—that’s what itfelt like—being turned to stone. I did something mechanically—I picked up her wrist-watch—itwas lying in her lap—and put it round her wrist—her horrid³⁵ limp dead wrist…’

He shuddered³⁶. ‘God—it was awful…Then I stumbled down, went into the marquee. I ought tohave 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 plausible³⁷, Mr Boynton,’ he said. ‘You were in a bad nervouscondition. Two severe shocks administered in rapid succession would be quite enough to put youin the condition you have described. It is the Weissenhalter reaction—best exemplified in the caseof a bird that has dashed its head against a window. Even after its recovery it refrains instinctivelyfrom all action—giving itself time to readjust the nerve centres—I do not express myself well inEnglish, but what I mean is this: You could not have acted any other way. Any decisive action ofany kind would have been quite impossible for you! You passed through a period of mentalparalysis.’

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 MrBoynton had replaced his mother’s wrist-watch—that was capable of two explanations—it mighthave been a cover for the actual deed, or it might have been observed and misinterpreted by MrsBoynton. She returned only five minutes after her husband. She must therefore have seen thataction. When she got up to her mother-in-law and found her dead with a mark of a hypodermicsyringe on her wrist she would naturally jump to the conclusion that her husband had committedthe deed—that her announcement of her decision to leave him had produced a reaction in himdifferent from that for which she had hoped. Briefly³⁸, Nadine Boynton believed that she hadinspired 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?’

 

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