Chapter 2

The Frenchman came in with a quick yet unhurried tread. As he shook hands with ColonelCarbury he shot a keen, interested glance at Poirot. Carbury said:

‘This is M. Hercule Poirot. Staying with me. Been talking to him about this business down atPetra.’

‘Ah, yes?’ Gerard’s quick eyes looked Poirot up and down. ‘You are interested?’

Hercule Poirot threw up his hands.

‘Alas! one is always incurably² interested in one’s own subject.’

‘True,’ said Gerard.

‘Have a drink?’ said Carbury.

He poured out a whisky and soda³ and placed it by Gerard’s elbow. He held up the decanterinquiringly, but Poirot shook his head. Colonel Carbury set it down again and drew his chair alittle nearer.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘where are we?’

‘I gather,’ said Poirot to Gerard, ‘that Colonel Carbury is not satisfied.’

Gerard made an expressive⁴ gesture.

‘And that,’ he said, ‘is my fault! And I may be wrong. Remember that, Colonel Carbury, I maybe entirely⁵ wrong.’

Carbury gave a grunt⁶.

‘Give Poirot the facts,’ he said.

Dr Gerard began by a brief recapitulation of the events preceding the journey to Petra. He gavea short sketch⁷ of the various members of the Boynton family and described the condition ofemotional strain under which they were labouring.

Poirot listened with interest.

Then Gerard proceeded to the actual events of their first day at Petra, describing how he hadreturned to the camp.

‘I was in for a bad bout¹ of malaria—cerebral type,’ he explained. ‘For that I proposed to treatmyself by an intravenous injection of quinine. That is the usual method.’

Poirot nodded his comprehension.

‘The fever was on me badly. I fairly staggered into my tent. I could not at first find my case ofdrugs, someone had moved it from where I had originally placed it. Then, when I had found that, Icould not find my hypodermic syringe. I hunted for it for some time, then gave it up and took alarge dose of quinine by the mouth and flung myself on my bed.’

Gerard paused, then went on:

‘Mrs Boynton’s death was not discovered until after sunset. Owing to the way in which she wassitting and the support the chair gave to her body, no change occurred in her position and it wasnot until one of the boys went to summon her to dinner at six-thirty that it was noticed thatanything was wrong.’

He explained in full detail the position of the cave and its distance away from the big marquee.

‘Miss King, who is a qualified⁸ doctor, examined the body. She did not disturb me, knowing thatI had fever. There was, indeed, nothing that could be done. Mrs Boynton was dead—and had beendead for some little time.’

Poirot murmured: ‘How long exactly?’

Gerard said slowly:

‘I do not think that Miss King gave much attention to that point. She did not, I presume, think itof any importance.’

‘One can say, at least, when she was last definitely known to be alive?’ said Poirot.

Colonel Carbury cleared his throat and referred to an official-looking document.

‘Mrs Boynton was spoken to by Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce shortly after 4 p.m. LennoxBoynton spoke⁹ to his mother about four-thirty. Mrs Lennox Boynton had a long conversation withher about five minutes later. Carol Boynton had a word with her mother at a time she is unable tostate precisely¹⁰ — but which from the evidence of others would seem to have been about tenminutes past five.

‘Jefferson Cope, an American friend of the family, returning to the camp with Lady Westholmeand Miss Pierce, saw her asleep. He did not speak to her. That was about twenty to six. RaymondBoynton, the younger son, seems to have been the last person to see her alive. On his return from awalk he went and spoke to her at about ten minutes to six. The discovery of the body was made atsix-thirty when a servant went to tell her dinner was ready.’

‘Between the time that Mr Raymond Boynton spoke to her and half-past six did no one go nearher?’ asked Poirot.

‘I understand not.’

‘But someone might have done so?’ Poirot persisted.

‘I don’t think so. From close on six onwards servants were moving about the camp, people weregoing to and from their tents. No one can be found who saw anyone approaching the old lady.’

‘Then Raymond Boynton was definitely the last person to see his mother alive?’ said Poirot.

Dr Gerard and Colonel Carbury interchanged a quick glance. Colonel Carbury drummed on thetable with his fingers.

‘This is where we begin to get into deep waters,’ he said. ‘Go on, Gerard. This is your pigeon.’

‘As I mentioned just now, Sarah King, when she examined Mrs Boynton, saw no reason fordetermining the exact time of death. She merely said that Mrs Boynton had been dead “some littletime”, but when, on the following day for reasons of my own, I endeavoured to narrow thingsdown and happened to mention that Mrs Boynton was last seen alive by her son Raymond at alittle before six, Miss King, to my great surprise, said point-blank that that was impossible—that atthat time Mrs Boynton must already have been dead.’

Poirot’s eyebrows¹¹ rose. ‘Odd. Extremely odd. And what does M. Raymond Boynton say tothat?’

Colonel Carbury said abruptly¹²: ‘He swears that his mother was alive. He went up to her andsaid, “I’m back. Hope you have had a nice afternoon?” Something of that kind. He says she justgrunted, “Quite all right,” and he went on to his tent.’

Poirot frowned perplexedly.

‘Curious,’ he said. ‘Extremely curious. Tell me, was it growing dusk by then?’

‘The sun was just setting.’

‘Curious,’ said Poirot again. ‘And you, Dr Gerard, when did you see the body?’

‘Not until the following day. At 9 a.m. to be precise.’

‘And your estimate of the time death had occurred?’

The Frenchman shrugged¹³ his shoulders.

‘It is difficult to be exact after that length of time. There must necessarily be a margin¹⁴ of severalhours. Were I giving evidence on oath I could only say that she had been dead certainly twelvehours and not longer than eighteen. You see, that does not help at all.’

‘Go on, Gerard,’ said Colonel Carbury. ‘Give him the rest of it.’

‘On getting up in the morning,’ said Dr Gerard, ‘I found my hypodermic syringe—it was behinda case of bottles on my dressing-table.’

He leaned forward.

‘You may say, if you like, that I had overlooked it the day before. I was in a miserable¹⁵ state offever and wretchedness, shaking from head to foot, and how often does one look for a thing that isthere all the time and yet be unable to find it! I can only say that I am quite positive the syringewas not there then.’

‘There’s something more still,’ said Carbury.

‘Yes, two facts for what they are worth and they mean a great deal. There was a mark on thedead woman’s wrist—a mark such as would be caused by the insertion of a hypodermic syringe.

Her daughter, I may say, explains it as having been caused by the prick¹⁶ of a pin—’

Poirot stirred. ‘Which daughter?’

‘Her daughter Carol.’

‘Yes, continue, I pray you.’

‘And there is the last fact. Happening to examine my little case of drugs, I noticed that my stockof digitoxin was very much diminished.’

‘Digitoxin,’ said Poirot, ‘is a heart poison, is it not?’

‘Yes. It is obtained from Digitalis purpurea—the common foxglove. There are four activeprinciples—digitalin—digitonin—digitalein—and digitoxin. Of these digitoxin is considered themost active poisonous constituent¹⁷ of digitalis leaves. According to Kopp’s experiments it is fromsix to ten times stronger than digitalin or digitalein. It is official in France—but not in the BritishPharmacopoeia.’

‘And a large dose of digitoxin?’

Dr Gerard said gravely: ‘A large dose of digitoxin thrown suddenly on the circulation byintravenous injection would cause sudden death by quick palsy of the heart. It has been estimatedthat four milligrams might prove fatal to an adult man.’

‘And Mrs Boynton already suffered with heart trouble?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact she was actually taking a medicine containing digitalin.’

‘That,’ said Poirot, ‘is extremely interesting.’

‘D’you mean,’ asked Colonel Carbury, ‘that her death might have been attributed to anoverdose of her own medicine?’

‘That—yes. But I meant more than that.’

‘In some senses,’ said Dr Gerard, ‘digitalin may be considered a cumulative¹⁸ drug. Moreover, asregards post-mortem appearance, the active principles of the digitalis may destroy life and leaveno appreciable¹⁹ sign.’

Poirot nodded slow appreciation²⁰.

‘Yes, that is clever—very clever. Almost impossible to prove satisfactorily to a jury. Ah, but letme tell you, gentlemen, if this is a murder, it is a very clever murder! The hypodermic replaced,the poison employed, a poison which the victim was already taking—the possibilities of a mistake—or accident—are overwhelming. Oh, yes, there are brains here. There is thought—care—genius.’

For a moment he sat in silence, then he raised his head. ‘And yet, one thing puzzles me.’

‘What is that?’

‘The theft of the hypodermic syringe.’

‘It was taken,’ said Dr Gerard quickly.

‘Taken—and returned?’

‘Yes.’

‘Odd,’ said Poirot. ‘Very odd. Otherwise everything fits so well…’

Colonel Carbury looked at him curiously²¹.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘What’s your expert opinion? Was it murder—or wasn’t it?’

Poirot held up a hand.

‘One moment. We have not yet arrived at that point. There is still some evidence to consider.’

‘What evidence? You’ve had it all.’

‘Ah! but this is evidence that I, Hercule Poirot, bring to you.’

He nodded his head and smiled a little at their two astonished faces.

‘Yes, it is droll²², that! That I, to whom you tell the story, should in return present you with apiece of evidence about which you do not know. It was like this. In the Solomon Hotel, one night,I go to the window to make sure it is closed—’

‘Closed—or open?’ asked Carbury.

‘Closed,’ said Poirot firmly. ‘It was open, so naturally I go to close it. But before I do so, as myhand is on the latch²³, I hear a voice speaking—an agreeable voice, low and clear with a tremor²⁴ in itof nervous excitement. I say to myself it is a voice I will know again. And what does it say, thisvoice? It says these words, “You do see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?”’

‘At the moment, naturellement, I do not take those words as referring to a killing²⁵ of flesh andblood. I think it is an author or perhaps a playwright²⁶ who speaks. But now—I am not so sure. Thatis to say I am sure it was nothing of the kind.’

Again he paused before saying: ‘Messieurs, I will tell you this—to the best of my knowledgeand belief those words were spoken by a young man whom I saw later in the lounge of the hoteland who was, so they told me on inquiring, a young man of the name of Raymond Boynton.’

 

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