Chapter 4

Sarah King looked long and searchingly at Hercule Poirot. She noted¹ the egg-shaped head, thegigantic moustaches, the dandified appearance and the suspicious blackness of his hair. A look ofdoubt crept into her eyes. ‘Well, mademoiselle, are you satisfied?’

Sarah flushed as she met the amused ironical² glance of his eyes.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Du tout³! To use an expression I have recently learnt, you give me the once-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 moustachescomplacently, and Sarah thought (for the second time), ‘The man’s a mountebank⁴!’

Her self-confidence restored, she sat up a little straighter and said inquiringly: ‘I don’t think Iquite 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—’

‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,’ quoted Poirot. ‘You see, I know yourShakespeare.’

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 foryou—’

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 shrugged⁵ her shoulders.

‘Really, M. Poirot, if you had been to Petra you would realize that the journey there was asomewhat strenuous⁶ business for an old woman whose cardiac condition was unsatisfactory.’

‘It seems a perfectly⁷ straight forward business to you?’

‘Certainly. I can’t understand Dr Gerard’s attitude. He didn’t even know anything about it. Hewas down with fever. I’d bow to his superior medical knowledge naturally—in this case he hadnothing whatever to go on. I suppose they can have a P.M. in Jerusalem if they like—if they’re notsatisfied 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 travelling medicine case.’

‘Oh!’ Quickly Sarah took in this new aspect of the case. Equally quickly she pounced⁸ on theone 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 hisstatements.’

‘Oh, of course. That goes without saying. But Dr Gerard had malaria⁹ 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 somephenacetin — as his head was aching badly. When he replaced the phenacetin the followingmorning 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 thesame, M. Poirot, the evidence is very slight. It seems to me—’ She paused. Poirot finished thesentence for her.

‘It seems to you that an inquiry¹⁰ 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 canplay 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 thanalive? That also—hein?’

‘When you put it like that—’ Sarah paused, flushed, went on: ‘One shouldn’t, I agree, take thatinto 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 infamy¹¹. Itmoves 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 flimsiestimaginable! 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 puncture¹² 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 mybedroom window. Shall I tell you what those words were, Miss King? They were these. I heardMr Raymond Boynton say: “You do see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?”’

He saw the colour 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 acquiesced¹⁴.

‘Yes, it would be me. These things happen. You see now why I think there should be aninvestigation?’

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 wordsexactly 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 sawthem at lunch. They were finishing as we came in. Mrs Boynton seemed in an unusually goodtemper.’

‘She was not usually amiable¹⁵, I understand.’

‘Very far from it,’ said Sarah with a slight grimace¹⁶.

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 bonmoment?’

‘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 catching¹⁷ it again. Mrs Boynton had that kind ofmentality. I thought she was up to some new devilry 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 Ijoined 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 round the bend, Dr Gerard and I caught up the others. We all walked together.

Then, after a while, Dr Gerard turned back. He had been looking rather queer for some time. Icould 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. ‘NadineBoynton 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 slab¹⁹ of rockand admired the wildness of the scenery. Then he went off and I stayed where I was for some timelonger. It was about half-past five when I looked at my watch and realized I had better get back. Ireached 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 ridge²⁰.’

‘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 cameback. They brought in dinner and one of the servants went to tell Mrs Boynton. He came runningback to say she was ill. I hurried out. She was sitting in her chair just as she had been, but as soonas 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 specified²¹ diseasehad 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 quitelikely to have dozed²² off. In any case, all the camp was asleep most of the afternoon. No one wouldhave 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 of the rock would keepher body from cooling quickly.’

‘Over an hour? Are you aware, Mademoiselle King, that Raymond Boynton spoke¹³ to her only alittle 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. Itmust have been earlier than that.’

‘No, mademoiselle, it was not.’

She looked at him point-blank. He noticed again the firm set of her mouth.

‘Well,’ said Sarah, ‘I’m young and I haven’t got much experience of dead bodies—but I knowenough to be quite sure of one thing. Mrs Boynton had been dead at least an hour when Iexamined her body!’

‘That,’ said Hercule Poirot unexpectedly, ‘is your story and you are going to stick to it! Thencan you explain why Mr Boynton should say his mother was alive when she was, in point of fact,dead?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Sarah. ‘They’re probably rather vague about times, all of them! They’re avery nervy family.’

‘On how many occasions, mademoiselle, have you spoken with them?’

Sarah was silent a moment, frowning a little.

‘I can tell you exactly,’ she said. ‘I talked to Raymond Boynton in the wagons-lits corridorcoming to Jerusalem. I had two conversations with Carol Boynton—one at the Mosque²³ of Omarand one late that evening in my bedroom. I had a conversation with Mrs Lennox Boynton thefollowing morning. That’s all—up to the afternoon of Mrs Boynton’s death, when we all wentwalking together.’

‘You did not have any conversation with Mrs Boynton herself?’

Sarah flushed uncomfortably.

‘Yes. I exchanged a few words with her on the day she left Jerusalem.’ She paused and thenblurted out: ‘As a matter of fact, I made a fool of myself.’

‘Ah?’

The interrogation was so patent that, stiffly and unwillingly²⁴, Sarah gave an account of theconversation.

Poirot seemed interested and cross-examined her closely.

‘The mentality¹⁸ of Mrs Boynton—it is very important in this case,’ he said. ‘And you are anoutsider—an unbiased observer. That is why your account of her is very significant.’

Sarah did not reply. She still felt hot and uncomfortable when she thought of that interview.

‘Thank you, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot. ‘I will now converse²⁵ with the other witnesses.’

Sarah rose. ‘Excuse me, M. Poirot, but if I might make a suggestion—’

‘Certainly. Certainly.’

‘Why not postpone²⁶ all this until an autopsy²⁷ can be made and you discover whether or not yoursuspicions are justified²⁸? I think all this is rather like putting the cart before the horse.’

Poirot waved a grandiloquent²⁹ hand. ‘This is the method of Hercule Poirot,’ he announced.

Pressing her lips together, Sarah left the room.

 

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