Agatha Christie - Appointment with Death

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Here in Amman. Old American woman. Went to Petra with her family. Trying journey, unusual heat for time of year, old woman suffered from heart trouble, difficulties of the journey a bit harder for her than she imagined, extra strain on heart-she popped off!"

"Here-in Amman?"

"No, down at Petra. They brought the body here today."

"Ah!"

"All quite natural. Perfectly possible. Likeliest thing in the world to happen. Only-"

"Yes? Only-?"

Colonel Carbury scratched his bald head. "I've got the idea," he said, "that her family did her in!"

"Aha! And what makes you think that?"

Colonel Carbury did not reply to that question directly. "Unpleasant old woman, it seems. No loss. General feeling all around that her popping off was a good thing. Anyway, very difficult to prove anything so long as the family stick together and if necessary lie like hell. One doesn't want complications-or international unpleasantness. Easiest thing to do-let it go! Nothing really to look upon. Knew a doctor chap once. He told me-often had suspicions in cases of his patients-hurried into the next world a little ahead of time! He said-best thing to do keep quiet unless you really had something damned good to go upon! Otherwise beastly stink, case not proved, black mark against an earnest hard-working G.P… Something in that. All the same-" He scratched his head again. "I'm a tidy man," he said unexpectedly.

Colonel Carbury's tie was under his left ear, his socks were wrinkled, his coat was stained and torn. Yet Hercule Poirot did not smile. He saw, clearly enough, the inner neatness of Colonel Carbury's mind, his neatly docketed facts, his carefully sorted impressions.

"Yes. I'm a tidy man," said Carbury. He waved a vague hand. "Don't like a mess. When I come across a mess I want to clear it up. See?"

Hercule Poirot nodded gravely. He saw. "There was no doctor down there?" he asked.

"Yes, two. One of 'em was down with malaria, though. The other's a girl-just out of the medical student stage. Still, she knows her job, I suppose. There wasn't anything odd about the death. Old woman had got a dicky heart. She'd been taking heart medicine for some time. Nothing really surprising about her conking out suddenly like she did."

"Then what, my friend, is worrying you?" asked Poirot gently.

Colonel Carbury turned a harassed blue eye on him. "Heard of a Frenchman called Gerard? Theodore Gerard?"

"Certainly. A very distinguished man in his own line."

"Loony bins," confirmed Colonel Carbury. "Passion for a charwoman at the age of four makes you insist you're the Archbishop of Canterbury when you're thirty-eight. Can't see why and never have, but these chaps explain it very convincingly."

"Dr. Gerard is certainly an authority on certain forms of deep-seated neurosis," agreed Poirot with a smile. "Is-er-are-er-his views on the happening at Petra based on that line of argument?"

Colonel Carbury shook his head vigorously. "No, no. Shouldn't have worried about them if they had been! Not, mind you, that I don't believe it's all true. It's just one of those things I don't understand-like one of my Bedouin fellows who can get out of a car in the middle of a flat desert, feel the ground with his hand and tell you to within a mile or two where you are. It isn't magic, but it looks like it. No, Dr. Gerard's story is quite straightforward. Just plain facts. I think, if you're interested-you are interested?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good man. Then I think I'll just phone over and get Gerard along here and you can hear his story for yourself."

When the Colonel had dispatched an orderly on this quest, Poirot said: "Of what does this family consist?"

"Name's Boynton. There are two sons, one of 'em married. His wife's a nice-looking girl-the quiet sensible kind. And there are two daughters. Both of 'em quite good-looking in totally different styles. Younger one a bit nervy-but that may be just shock."

"Boynton," said Poirot. His eyebrows rose. "That is curious-very curious."

Carbury cocked an inquiring eye at him. But as Poirot said nothing more, he himself went on: "Seems pretty obvious mother was a pest! Had to be waited on hand and foot and kept the whole lot of them dancing attendance. And she held the purse strings. None of them had a penny of their own."

"Aha! All very interesting. Is it known how she left her money?"

"I did just slip that question in-casual like, you know. It gets divided equally among the lot of them."

Poirot nodded his head. Then he asked: "You are of opinion that they are all in it?"

"Don't know. That's where the difficulty's going to lie. Whether it was a concerted effort, or whether it was one bright member's idea. I don't know. Maybe the whole thing's a mare's nest! What it comes to is this: I'd like to have your professional opinion. Ah, here comes Gerard."

The Frenchman came in with a quick yet unhurried tread. As he shook hands with Colonel Carbury, 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 at Petra."

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

Hercule Poirot threw up his hands. "Alas! One is always incurably interested in one's own subject."

"True," said Gerard.

"Have a drink?" said Carbury.

He poured out a whisky and soda and placed it by Gerard's elbow. He held up the decanter inquiringly but Poirot shook his head. Colonel Carbury set it down again and drew his chair a little nearer. "Well," he said. "Where are we?"

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

Gerard made an expressive gesture. "And that," he said, "is my fault! And I may be wrong. Remember that, Colonel Carbury; I may be entirely wrong."

Carbury gave a grunt. "Give Poirot the facts," he said.

Dr. Gerard began with a brief recapitulation of the events preceding the journey to Petra. He gave a short sketch of the various members of the Boynton family and described the condition of emotional strain under which they were laboring.

Poirot listened with interest.

Then Gerard proceeded to the actual events of their first day at Petra, describing how he had returned to the camp. "I was in for a bad bout of malaria-cerebral type," he explained. "For that I proposed to treat myself 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 of drugs, someone had moved it from where I had originally placed it. Then, when I had found that I could not find my hypodermic syringe, I hunted for it for some time, then gave it up and took a large 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 was sitting and the support the chair gave to her body no change occurred in her position and it was not until one of the boys went to summon her to dinner at six-thirty that it was noticed that anything 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 qualified doctor, examined the body. She did not disturb me, knowing that I had fever. There was, indeed, nothing that could be done. Mrs. Boynton was dead-and had been dead for some little time."

Poirot murmured: "How long exactly?"

Gerard said slowly: "I do not think that Miss King paid much attention to that point. She did not, I presume, think it of any importance."

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