Chapter 7

Poirot looked with interest at the tall, dignified¹ young woman who entered the room. He rose andbowed to her politely. ‘Mrs Lennox Boynton? Hercule Poirot, at your service.’

Nadine Boynton sat down. Her thoughtful eyes were on Poirot’s face.

‘I hope you do not mind, madame, my intruding² on your sorrow in this way?’

Her eyes did not waver. She did not reply at once. Her eyes remained steady and grave. At lastshe gave a sigh and said: ‘I think it is best for me to be quite frank with you, M. Poirot.’

‘I agree with you, madame.’

‘You apologized for intruding upon my sorrow. That sorrow, M. Poirot, does not exist and it isidle to pretend that it does. I had no love for my mother-in-law and I cannot honestly say that Iregret her death.’

‘Thank you, madame, for your plain speaking.’

Nadine went on: ‘Still, although I cannot pretend sorrow, I can admit to another feeling—remorse.’

‘Remorse?’ Poirot’s eyebrows³ went up.

‘Yes. Because, you see, it was I who brought about her death. For that I blame myself bitterly.’

‘What is this you are saying, madame?’

‘I am saying that I was the cause of my mother-in-law’s death. I was acting⁴, as I thought,honestly—but the result was unfortunate. To all intents and purposes, I killed her.’

Poirot leaned back in his chair. ‘Will you be so kind as to elucidate⁵ this statement, madame?’

Nadine bent⁶ her head.

‘Yes, that is what I wish to do. My first reaction, naturally, was to keep my private affairs tomyself, but I see that the time has come when it would be better to speak out. I have no doubt, M.

Poirot, that you have often received confidences of a somewhat intimate nature?’

‘That, yes.’

‘Then I will tell you quite simply what occurred. My married life, M. Poirot, has not beenparticularly happy. My husband is not entirely⁷ to blame for that—his mother’s influence over himhas been unfortunate — but I have been feeling for some time that my life was becomingintolerable.’

She paused and then went on:

‘On the afternoon of my mother-in-law’s death I came to a decision. I have a friend—a verygood friend. He has suggested more than once that I should throw in my lot with him. On thatafternoon I accepted his proposal.’

‘You decided⁸ to leave your husband?’

‘Yes.’

‘Continue, madame.’

Nadine said in a lower voice:

‘Having once made my decision, I wanted to—to establish it as soon as possible. I walked hometo the camp by myself. My mother-in-law was sitting alone, there was no one about, and I decidedto break the news to her there and then. I got a chair—sat down by her and told her abruptly⁹ what Ihad decided.’

‘She was surprised?’

‘Yes, I am afraid it was a great shock to her. She was both surprised and angry—very angry.

She—she worked herself into quite a state about it! Presently I refused to discuss the matter anylonger. I got up and walked away.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I—I never saw her again alive.’

Poirot nodded his head slowly. He said: ‘I see.’

Then he said: ‘You think her death was the result of the shock?’

‘It seems to me almost certain. You see, she had already over-exerted herself considerablygetting to this place. My news, and her anger at it, would do the rest…I feel additionally guiltybecause I have had a certain amount of training in illness and so I, more than anyone else, ought tohave realized the possibility of such a thing happening.’

Poirot sat in silence for some minutes, then he said:

‘What exactly did you do when you left her?’

‘I took the chair I had brought out back into my cave, then I went down to the marquee. Myhusband was there.’

Poirot watched her closely as he said:

‘Did you tell him of your decision? Or had you already told him?’

There was a pause, an infinitesimal pause, before Nadine said: ‘I told him then.’

‘How did he take it?’

She answered quietly: ‘He was very upset.’

‘Did he urge you to reconsider your decision?’

She shook her head.

‘He—he didn’t say very much. You see, we had both known for some time that something likethis might happen.’

Poirot said: ‘You will pardon me, but—the other man was, of course, Mr Jefferson Cope?’

She bent her head. ‘Yes.’

There was a long pause, then, without any change of voice, Poirot asked: ‘Do you own ahypodermic syringe, madame?’

‘Yes—no.’

His eyebrows rose.

She explained: ‘I have an old hypodermic amongst other things in a travelling medicine chest,but it is in our big luggage which we left in Jerusalem.’

‘I see.’

There was a pause, then she said, with a shiver of uneasiness: ‘Why did you ask me that, M.

Poirot?’

He did not answer the question. Instead he put one of his own. ‘Mrs Boynton was, I believe,taking a mixture containing digitalis?’

‘Yes.’

He thought that she was definitely watchful¹¹ now.

‘That was for her heart trouble?’

‘Yes.’

‘Digitalis is, to some extent, a cumulative¹² drug?’

‘I believe it is. I do not know very much about it.’

‘If Mrs Boynton had taken a big overdose of digitalis—’

She interrupted him quickly but with decision.

‘She did not. She was always most careful. So was I if I measured the dose for her.’

‘There might have been an overdose in this particular bottle. A mistake of the chemist whomade it up?’

‘I think that is very unlikely,’ she replied quietly.

‘Ah, well: the analysis will soon tell us.’

Nadine said: ‘Unfortunately the bottle was broken.’

Poirot eyed her with sudden interest.

‘Indeed. Who broke it?’

‘I’m not quite sure. One of the servants, I think. In carrying my mother-in-law’s body into hercave, there was a good deal of confusion and the light was very poor. A table got knocked over.’

Poirot eyed her steadily¹³ for a minute or two.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is very interesting.’

Nadine Boynton shifted wearily in her chair.

‘You are suggesting, I think, that my mother-in-law did not die of shock, but of an overdose ofdigitalis?’ she said, and went on: ‘That seems to me most improbable.’

Poirot leaned forward.

‘Even when I tell you that Dr Gerard, the French physician who was staying in the camp, hadmissed an appreciable¹⁴ quantity of a preparation of digitoxin from his medicine chest?’

Her face grew very pale. He saw the clutch of her hand on the table. Her eyes dropped. She satvery still. She was like a Madonna carved in stone.

‘Well, madame,’ said Poirot at last, ‘what have you to say to that?’

The seconds ticked on but she did not speak. It was quite two minutes before she raised herhead, and he started a little when he saw the look in her eyes.

‘M. Poirot, I did not kill my mother-in-law. That you know! She was alive and well when I lefther. There are many people who can testify to that! Therefore, being innocent of the crime, I canventure to appeal to you. Why must you mix yourself up in this business? If I swear to you on myhonour that justice and only justice has been done, will you not abandon this inquiry¹⁵? There hasbeen so much suffering—you do not know. Now that at last there is peace and the possibility ofhappiness, must you destroy it all?’

Poirot sat up very straight. His eyes shone with a green light. ‘Let me be clear, madame; whatare you asking me to do?’

‘I am telling you that my mother-in-law died a natural death and I am asking you to accept thatstatement.’

‘Let us be definite. You believe that your mother-in-law was deliberately¹⁶ killed, and you areasking me to condone¹⁷ murder!’

‘I am asking you to have pity!’

‘Yes—on someone who had no pity!’

‘You do not understand—it was not like that.’

‘Did you commit the crime yourself, madame, that you know so well?’

Nadine shook her head. She showed no signs of guilt¹⁰. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘She was alivewhen I left her.’

‘And then—what happened? You know—or you suspect?’

Nadine said passionately¹⁸:

‘I have heard, M. Poirot, that once, in that affair of the Orient Express, you accepted an officialverdict of what had happened?’

Poirot looked at her curiously¹⁹. ‘I wonder who told you that?’

‘Is it true?’

He said slowly: ‘That case was—different.’

‘No. No, it was not different! The man who was killed was evil’—her voice dropped—‘as shewas…’

Poirot said: ‘The moral character of the victim has nothing to do with it! A human being whohas exercised the right of private judgement and taken the life of another human being is not safeto exist amongst the community. I tell you that! I, Hercule Poirot!’

‘How hard you are!’

‘Madame, in some ways I am adamant²⁰. I will not condone murder! That is the final word ofHercule Poirot.’

She got up. Her dark eyes flashed with sudden fire.

‘Then go on! Bring ruin and misery²¹ into the lives of innocent people! I have nothing more tosay.’

‘But I, I think, madame, that you have a lot to say…’

‘No, nothing more.’

‘But, yes. What happened, madame, after you left your mother-in-law? Whilst you and yourhusband were in the marquee together?’

She shrugged²² her shoulders. ‘How should I know?’

‘You do know—or you suspect.’

She looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I know nothing, M. Poirot.’

Turning, she left the room.

 

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