Agatha Christie - Appointment with Death

The Frenchman's face was grave. He said: "I should say that mentally she is in an extremely dangerous condition. She has already begun to display symptoms of schizophrenia. Unable to bear the suppression of her life, she is escaping into a realm of fantasy. She has advanced delusions of persecution-that is to saw, she claims to be a Royal Personage in danger, enemies surrounding her, all the usual things!"

"And that is dangerous?"

"Very dangerous. It is the beginning of what is often homicidal mania. The sufferer kills-not for the lust of killing-but in self-defense. He or she kills in order not to be killed themselves. From their point of view it is eminently rational."

"So you think that Ginevra Boynton might have killed her mother?"

"Yes. But I doubt if she would have had the knowledge or the constructiveness to do it the way it was done. The cunning of that class of mania is usually very simple and obvious. And I am almost certain she would have chosen a more spectacular method."

"But she is a possibility?" Poirot insisted.

"Yes," admitted Gerard.

"And afterwards-when the deed was done? Do you think the rest of the family knew who had done it?"

"They know!" said Colonel Carbury unexpectedly. "If ever I came across a bunch of people who had something to hide these are they! They're putting something over, all right."

"We will make them tell us what it is," said Poirot.

"Third degree?" said Colonel Carbury, raising his eyebrows.

"No." Poirot shook his head. "Just ordinary conversation. On the whole, you know, people tell you the truth. Because it is easier! Because it is less strain on the inventive faculties! You can tell one lie-or two lies, or three or even four lies-but you cannot lie all the time. The truth becomes plain."

"Something in that," agreed Carbury. Then he said bluntly: "You'll talk to them, you say? That means you're willing to take this on?"

Poirot bowed his head. "Let us be very clear about this," he said. "What you demand, and what I undertake to supply, is the truth. But mark this, even when we have got the truth, there may be no proof. That is to say, no proof that would be accepted in a court of law. You comprehend?"

"Quite," said Carbury. "You satisfy me of what really happened, then it's up to me to decide whether action is possible or not-having regard to the International aspects. Anyway it will be cleared up-no mess. Don't like a mess."

Poirot smiled.

"One more thing," said Carbury. "I can't give you much time. Can't detain these people here indefinitely."

Poirot said quietly: "You can detain them twenty-four hours. You shall have the truth by tomorrow night."

Colonel Carbury stared hard at him. "Pretty confident, aren't you?" he asked.

"I know my own ability," murmured Poirot.

Rendered uncomfortable by this un-British attitude, Colonel Carbury looked away and fingered his untidy moustache. "Well," he mumbled. "It's up to you."

"And if you succeed, my friend," said Dr. Gerard, "you are indeed a marvel!"

Sarah King looked long and searchingly at Hercule Poirot. She saw the egg-shaped head, the gigantic moustaches, the dandified appearance and the suspicious blackness of his hair. A look of doubt crept into her eyes.

"Well, Mademoiselle, are you satisfied?"

Sarah flushed as he met the amused ironical glance of his eyes. "I beg your pardon," she said awkwardly.

"Du tout! To use an expression I have recently learnt, you give me the one 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 moustaches complacently and Sarah thought (for the second time), "The man's a mountebank!"

Her self-confidence restored, she sat up a little straighter and said inquiringly: "I don't think I quite 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-"

"That there is something rotten in the state of Denmark." quoted Poirot. "You see, I know your Shakespeare."

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 for you-"

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 shrugged her shoulders. "Really, M. Poirot, if you had been to Petra you would realize that the journey there is a somewhat strenuous business for an old woman whose cardiac condition was unsatisfactory."

"It seems a perfectly straightforward business to you?"

"Certainly. I can't understand Dr. Gerard's attitude. He didn't even know anything about it. He was down with fever. I'd bow to his superior medical knowledge naturally, but in this case he had nothing whatever to go on. I suppose they can have a p.m. in Jerusalem if they like, if they're not satisfied 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 traveling medicine case."

"Oh!" Quickly Sarah took in this new aspect of the case. Equally quickly she pounced on the one 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 his statements."

"Oh, of course. That goes without saying. But Dr. Gerard had malaria 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 some phenacetin as his head was aching badly. When he replaced the phenacetin on the following morning 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 the same, M. Poirot, the evidence is very slight. It seems to me-" She paused.

Poirot finished the sentence for her. "It seems to you that an inquiry 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 can play 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 than alive? That also-hm?"

"When you put it like that-" Sarah paused, flushed, went on: "One shouldn't, I agree, take that into 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 infamy. It moves me not. The fact is the same. A life taken! I say it always, I do not approve of murder."