Appointment With Death (Hercule Poirot 19)

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—’

‘Something is 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 was a somewhat strenuous business for an old woman whose cardiac condition was unsatisfactory.’

‘It seems a perfectly straight forward 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—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 travelling 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?’