Agatha Christie - Appointment with Death

"Yes, I think-I am quite sure she did."

Poirot asked: "What did she do?"

Lady Westholme stared at him. "What did she do, M. Poirot? She did not do anything, as far as I can remember."

"I mean was she sewing, or reading, did she look anxious, did she say anything?"

"Well, really-" Lady Westholme frowned. "She-er-she just sat there, as far as I can remember."

"She twiddled her fingers," said Miss Pierce suddenly. "I remember noticing-poor thing; I thought, it shows what she's feeling! Not that there was anything to show in her face, you know-just her hands turning and twisting."

"Once," went on Miss Pierce conversationally, "I remember tearing up a pound note that way-not thinking of what I was doing. 'Shall I catch the first train and go to her?' I thought (it was a great aunt of mine-taken suddenly ill), 'or shall I not?' And I couldn't make up my mind one way or the other and then I looked down, and instead of the telegram I was tearing up a pound note-a pound note!-into tiny pieces!" Miss Pierce paused dramatically.

Not entirely approving of this sudden bid for the limelight on the part of her satellite Lady Westholme said coldly: "Is there anything else, M. Poirot?"

With a start, Poirot seemed to come out of a brown study. "Nothing, nothing. You have been most clear-most definite."

"I have an excellent memory," said Lady Westholme with satisfaction.

"One last little demand. Lady Westholme," said Poirot. "Please continue to sit as you are sitting-without looking around. Now, would you be so kind as to describe to me just what Miss Pierce is wearing today-that is, if Miss Pierce does not object?"

"Oh, no, not in the least!" twittered Miss Pierce. "Really, M. Poirot, is there any object-"

"Please be so kind as to do as I ask, Madame."

Lady Westholme shrugged her shoulders and then said with a rather bad grace: "Miss Pierce has on a striped brown and white cotton dress and is wearing with it a Sudanese belt of red, blue and beige leather. She is wearing beige silk stockings and brown glace strap shoes. There is a ladder in her left stocking. She has a necklace of cornelian beads and one of bright royal blue beads and is wearing a brooch with a pearl butterfly on it. She has an imitation scarab ring on the third finger of her right hand. On her head she has a double terai of pink and brown felt." She paused-a pause of quiet competence. Then: "Is there anything further?" she asked coldly.

Poirot spread out his hands in a wide gesture. "You have my entire admiration, Madame. Your observation is of the highest order."

"Details rarely escape me." Lady Westholme rose, made a slight inclination of her head and left the room. As Miss Pierce was following her, gazing down ruefully at her left leg, Poirot said: "A little moment, please, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes?" Miss Pierce looked up, a slightly apprehensive look upon her face.

Poirot leaned forward confidentially. "You see this bunch of wild flowers on the table here?"

"Yes," said Miss Pierce staring.

"And you noticed that, when you first came into the room, I sneezed once or twice?"

"Yes."

"Did you notice if I had just been sniffing those flowers?"

"Well-really-no-I couldn't say."

"But you remember my sneezing?"

"Oh, yes, I remember that!"

"Ah, well-no matter. I wondered, you see, if these flowers might induce the hay fever. No matter!"

"Hay fever!" cried Miss Pierce. "I remember a cousin of mine was a martyr to it! She always said that if you sprayed your nose daily with a solution of boracic-"

With some difficulty Poirot shelved the cousin's nasal treatment and got rid of Miss Pierce. He shut the door and came back into the room with his eyebrows raised.

"But I did not sneeze," he murmured. "So much for that. No, I did not sneeze."

Lennox Boynton came into the room with a quick resolute step. Had he been there, Dr. Gerard would have been surprised at the change in the man. The apathy was gone. His bearing was alert-although he was plainly nervous. His eyes had a tendency to shift rapidly from point to point about the room.

"Good morning, M. Boynton." Poirot rose and bowed ceremoniously. Lennox responded somewhat awkwardly. "I much appreciate your giving me this interview."

Lennox Boynton said rather uncertainly: "Er-Colonel Carbury said it would be a good thing. Advised it. Some formalities he said."

"Please sit down, M. Boynton."

Lennox sat down on the chair lately vacated by Lady Westholme.

Poirot went on conversationally: "This has been a great shock to you, I am afraid."

"Yes, of course. Well, no, perhaps not… We always knew that my mother's heart was not strong."

"Was it wise, under those circumstances, to allow her to undertake such an arduous expedition?"

Lennox Boynton raised his head. He spoke not without a certain sad dignity. "My mother, M.-er, Poirot, made her own decisions. If she had made up her mind to anything it was no good our opposing her." He drew in his breath sharply as he said the last words. His face suddenly grew rather white.

"I know well," admitted Poirot, "that elderly ladies are sometimes headstrong."

Lennox said irritably: "What is the purpose of all this? That is what I want to know. Why have all these formalities arisen?"

"Perhaps you do not realize, M. Boynton, that in cases of sudden and unexplained deaths, formalities must necessarily arise."

Lennox said sharply: "What do you mean by 'unexplained'?"

Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "There is always the question to be considered: Is a death natural or might it perhaps be suicide?"

"Suicide?" Lennox Boynton stared.

Poirot said lightly: "You, of course, would know best about such possibilities. Colonel Carbury, naturally, is in the dark. It is necessary for him to decide whether to order an inquiry-an autopsy-all the rest of it. As I was on the spot and as I have much experience of these matters, he suggested that I should make a few inquiries and advise him upon the matter. Naturally, he does not wish to cause you inconvenience if it can be helped."

Lennox Boynton said angrily: "I shall wire to our Consul in Jerusalem."

Poirot said noncommittally: "You are quite within your rights in doing so, of course." There was a pause. Then Poirot said, spreading out his hands: "If you object to answering my questions-"

Lennox Boynton said quickly: "Not at all. Only-it seems-all so unnecessary."

"I comprehend. I comprehend perfectly. But it is all very simple, really. A matter, as they say, of routine. Now, on the afternoon of your mother's death, M. Boynton, I believe you left the camp at Petra and went for a walk?"

"Yes. We all went, with the exception of my mother and my younger sister."

"Your mother was then sitting in the mouth of her cave?"

"Yes, just outside it. She sat there every afternoon."

"Quite so. You started-when?"

"Soon after three, I should say."

"You returned from your walk-when?"

"I really couldn't say what time it was-four o'clock-five o'clock perhaps."

"About an hour to two hours after you set out?"

"Yes-about that, I should think."

"Did you pass anyone on your way back?"

"Did I what?"

"Pass anyone. Two ladies sitting on a rock, for instance?"

"I don't know. Yes, I think I did."

"You were, perhaps, too absorbed in your thoughts to notice?"

"Yes, I was."

"Did you speak to your mother when you got back to the camp?"

"Yes-yes, I did."

"She did not then complain of feeling ill?"

"No-no, she seemed perfectly all right."

"May I ask what passed between you?"

Lennox paused a minute. "She said I had come back soon. I said, yes, I had." He paused again in an effort of concentration. "I said it was hot. She-she asked me the time-said her wristwatch had stopped. I took it from her, wound it up, set it and put it back on her wrist."