Agatha Christie - Appointment with Death

Poirot said: "You did not leave the marquee again until your mother-in-law was found dead? That is what you have just said. That, Mrs. Boynton, was one of the points I found curious about this case."

"What do you mean?"

"It is here on my list. Point 9. At half-past six, when dinner was ready, a servant was dispatched to announce the fact to Mrs. Boynton."

Raymond said: "I don't understand."

Carol said: "No more do I."

Poirot looked from one to the other of them. "You do not, eh? 'A servant was sent'. Why a servant? Were you not, all of you, most assiduous in your attendance on the old lady as a general rule? Did not one or another of you always escort her to meals? She was infirm. It was difficult for her to rise from a chair without assistance. Always one or another of you was at her elbow. I suggest then, that on dinner being announced, the natural thing would have been for one or another of her family to go out and help her. But not one of you offered to do so. You all sat there, paralyzed, watching each other, wondering perhaps, why no one went."

Nadine said sharply: "All this is absurd, M. Poirot! We were all tired that evening. We ought to have gone, I admit, but-on that evening-we just didn't!"

"Precisely-precisely-on that particular evening! You, Madame, did perhaps more waiting on her than anyone else. It was one of the duties that you accepted mechanically. But that evening you did not offer to go out to help her in. Why? That is what I asked myself-why? And I tell you my answer. Because you knew quite well that she was dead…"

"No, no, do not interrupt me, Madame." He raised an impassioned hand. "You will now listen to me-Hereule Poirot! There were witnesses to your conversation with your mother-in-law. Witnesses who could see but who could not hear! Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce were a long way off. They saw you apparently having a conversation with your mother-in-law, but what actual evidence is there of what occurred? I will propound to you instead a little theory. You have brains, Madame. If in your quiet, unhurried fashion you have decided on-shall we say the elimination of your husband's mother?-you will carry it out with intelligence and with due preparation. You have access to Dr. Gerard's tent during his absence on the morning excursion. You are fairly sure that you will find a suitable drug. Your nursing training helps you there. You choose digitoxin-the same kind of drug that the old lady is taking. You also take his hypodermic syringe since, to your annoyance, your own has disappeared. You hope to replace the latter before the doctor notices its absence."

"Before proceeding to carry out your plan, you make one last attempt to stir your husband into action. You tell him of your intention to marry Jefferson Cope. Though your husband is terribly upset, he does not react as you had hoped so you are forced to put your plan of murder into action. You return to the camp, exchanging a pleasant natural word with Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce as you pass. You go up to where your mother-in-law is sitting. You have the syringe with the drug in it ready. It is easy to seize her wrist and-proficient as you are with your nurse's training-force home the plunger. It is done before your mother-in-law realizes what you are doing. From far down the valley the others only see you talking to her, bending over her. Then, deliberately, you go and fetch a chair and sit there, apparently engaged in an amicable conversation for some minutes. Death must have been almost instantaneous. It is a dead woman to whom you sit talking, but who shall guess that? Then you put away the chair and go down to the marquee where you find your husband reading a book. And you are careful not to leave that marquee! Mrs. Boynton's death, you are sure, will be put down to heart trouble. (It will, indeed, be due to heart trouble.) In only one thing have your plans gone astray. You cannot return the syringe to Dr. Gerard's tent because the doctor is in there shivering with malaria-and although you do not know it, he has already missed the syringe. That, Madame, was the flaw in an otherwise perfect crime."

There was silence-a moment's dead silence-then Lennox Boynton sprang to his feet.

"No!" he shouted. "That's a damned lie. Nadine did nothing. She couldn't have done anything. My mother-my mother was already dead."

"Ah!" Poirot's eyes came gently around to him. "So, after all, it was you who killed her, M. Boynton?"

Again a moment's pause-then Lennox dropped back into his chair and raised trembling hands to his face.

"Yes-that's right-I killed her."

"You took the digitoxin from Dr. Gerard's tent?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"As-as-you said-in the morning."

"And the syringe?"

"The syringe? Yes."

"Why did you kill her?"

"Can you ask?"

"I am asking, M. Boynton!"

"But you know my wife was leaving me-with Cope-"

"Yes, but you only learned that in the afternoon!"

Lennox stared at him.

"Of course. When we were out-"

"But you took the poison and the syringe in the morning-before you knew?"

"Why the hell do you badger me with questions?" He paused and passed a shaking hand across his forehead. "What does it matter, anyway?"

"It matters a great deal. I advise you, M. Lennox Boynton, to tell me the truth."

"The truth?" Lennox stared at him.

Nadine suddenly turned abruptly in her chair and gazed into her husband's face.

"That is what I said-the truth."

"By God, I will," said Lennox suddenly. "But I don't know whether you will believe me." He drew a deep breath. "That afternoon, when I left Nadine, I was absolutely all to pieces. I'd never dreamed she'd go from me to someone else. I was-I was nearly mad! I felt as though I was drunk or recovering from a bad illness."

Poirot nodded. He said: "I noted Lady Westholme's description of your gait when you passed her. That is why I knew your wife was not speaking the truth when she said she told you after you were both back at the camp. Continue, M. Boynton."

"I hardly knew what I was doing… But as I got near, my brain seemed to clear. It flashed over me that I had only myself to blame! I'd been a miserable worm! I ought to have defied my stepmother and cleared out years ago. And it came to me that it mightn't be too late even now. There she was, the old devil, sitting up like an obscene idol against the red cliffs. I went right up to have it out with her. I meant to tell her just what I thought and to announce that I was clearing out. I had a wild idea I might get away at once that evening-clear out with Nadine and get as far as Ma'an anyway that night."

"Oh, Lennox-my dear-" It was a long soft sigh.

He went on: "And then, my God-you could have struck me down with a touch! She was dead. Sitting there-dead… I-I didn't know what to do. I was dumb-dazed. Everything I was going to shout out at her bottled up inside me-turning to lead-I can't explain… Stone-that's what it felt like-being turned to stone. I did something mechanically. I picked up her wristwatch (it was lying in her lap) and put it around her wrist-her horrid, limp, dead wrist…"

He shuddered.

"God! It was awful! Then I stumbled down, went into the marquee. I ought to have called someone, I suppose but I couldn't. I just sat there, turning the pages-waiting…"

He stopped.

"You won't believe that-you can't. Why didn't I call someone? Tell Nadine? I don't know."

Dr. Gerard cleared his throat. "Your statement is perfectly plausible, M. Boynton," he said. "You were in a bad nervous condition. Two severe shocks administered in rapid succession would be quite enough to put you in the condition you have described It is the Weissenhalter reaction-best exemplified in the case of a bird that has dashed its head against a window. Even after its recovery it refrains instinctively from all action-giving itself time to readjust the nerve centers. I do not express myself well in English, but what I mean is this: You could not have acted any other way. Any decisive action of any kind would have been quite impossible for you! You passed through a period of mental paralysis."