Appointment With Death (Hercule Poirot 19)

ted to be very rude to me,’ said Sarah.

(Was she crazy, she wondered, what on earth was urging her on to talk like this?)

‘You’ve tried to prevent your son and daughter making friends with me. Don’t you think, really, that that is all very silly and childish? You like to make yourself out a kind of ogre, but really, you know, you’re just pathetic and rather ludicrous. If I were you I’d give up all this silly play-acting. I expect you’ll hate me for saying this, but I mean it—and some of it may stick. You know you could have a lot of fun still. It’s really much better to be—friendly—and kind. You could be if you tried.’

There was a pause.

Mrs Boynton had frozen into a deadly immobility. At last she passed her tongue over her dry lips, her mouth opened…Still for a moment, no words came.

‘Go on,’ said Sarah encouragingly. ‘Say it! It doesn’t matter what you say to me. But think over what I’ve said to you.’

The words came at last—in a soft, husky, but penetrating voice. Mrs Boynton’s basilisk eyes looked, not at Sarah, but oddly over her shoulder. She seemed to address, not Sarah, but some familiar spirit.

‘I never forget,’ she said. ‘Remember that. I’ve never forgotten anything—not an action, not a name, not a face…’

There was nothing in the words themselves, but the venom with which they were spoken made Sarah retreat a step. And then Mrs Boynton laughed—it was, definitely, rather a horrible laugh.

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. ‘You poor old thing,’ she said.

She turned away. As she went towards the lift she almost collided with Raymond Boynton. On an impulse she spoke quickly.

‘Goodbye. I hope you’ll have a lovely time. Perhaps we’ll meet again some day.’ She smiled at him, a warm, friendly smile, and passed quickly on.

Raymond stood as though turned to stone. So lost in his own thoughts was he that a small man with big moustaches, endeavouring to pass out of the lift, had to speak several times.

‘Pardon.’

At last it penetrated. Raymond stepped aside.

‘So sorry,’ he said. ‘I—I was thinking.’

Carol came towards him.

‘Ray, get Jinny, will you? She went back to her room. We’re going to start.’

‘Right. I’ll tell her she’s got to come straight away.’

Raymond walked into the lift.

Hercule Poirot stood for a moment looking after him, his eyebrows raised, his head a little on one side as though he was listening.

Then he nodded his head as though in agreement. Walking through the lounge, he took a good look at Carol, who had joined her mother.

Then he beckoned the head waiter who was passing.

‘Pardon. Can you tell me the name of those people over there?’

‘The name is Boynton, monsieur; they are Americans.’

‘Thank you,’ said Hercule Poirot.

On the third floor Dr Gerard, going to his room, passed Raymond Boynton and Ginevra walking towards the waiting lift. Just as they were about to get into it, Ginevra said: ‘Just a minute, Ray, wait for me in the lift.’

She ran back, turned a corner, caught up with the walking man. ‘Please—I must speak to you.’

Dr Gerard looked up in astonishment.

The girl came up close to him and caught his arm.