Appointment With Death (Hercule Poirot 19)

‘I can tell you exactly,’ she said. ‘I talked to Raymond Boynton in the wagons-lits corridor coming to Jerusalem. I had two conversations with Carol Boynton—one at the Mosque of Omar and one late that evening in my bedroom. I had a conversation with Mrs Lennox Boynton the following morning. That’s all—up to the afternoon of Mrs Boynton’s death, when we all went walking together.’

‘You did not have any conversation with Mrs Boynton herself?’

Sarah flushed uncomfortably.

‘Yes. I exchanged a few words with her on the day she left Jerusalem.’ She paused and then blurted out: ‘As a matter of fact, I made a fool of myself.’

‘Ah?’

The interrogation was so patent that, stiffly and unwillingly, Sarah gave an account of the conversation.

Poirot seemed interested and cross-examined her closely.

‘The mentality of Mrs Boynton—it is very important in this case,’ he said. ‘And you are an outsider—an unbiased observer. That is why your account of her is very significant.’

Sarah did not reply. She still felt hot and uncomfortable when she thought of that interview.

‘Thank you, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot. ‘I will now converse with the other witnesses.’

Sarah rose. ‘Excuse me, M. Poirot, but if I might make a suggestion—’

‘Certainly. Certainly.’

‘Why not postpone all this until an autopsy can be made and you discover whether or not your suspicions are justified? I think all this is rather like putting the cart before the horse.’

Poirot waved a grandiloquent hand. ‘This is the method of Hercule Poirot,’ he announced.

Pressing her lips together, Sarah left the room.

Chapter 5

Lady Westholme entered the room with the assurance of a transatlantic liner coming into dock.

Miss Amabel Pierce, an indeterminate craft, followed in the liner’s wake and sat down in an inferior make of chair slightly in the background.

‘Certainly, M. Poirot,’ boomed Lady Westholme. ‘I shall be delighted to assist you by any means in my power. I have always considered that in matters of this kind one has a public duty to perform—’

When Lady Westholme’s public duty had held the stage for some minutes, Poirot was adroit enough to get in a question.

‘I have a perfect recollection of the afternoon in question,’ replied Lady Westholme. ‘Miss Pierce and I will do all we can to assist you.’

‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Miss Pierce, almost ecstatically. ‘So tragic, was it not? Dead—just like that—in the twinkle of an eye!’

‘If you will tell me exactly what occurred on the afternoon in question?’

‘Certainly,’ said Lady Westholme. ‘After we had finished lunch I decided to take a brief siesta. The morning excursion had been somewhat fatiguing. Not that I was really tired—I seldom am. I do not really know what fatigue is. One has so often, on public occasions, no matter what one really feels—’

Again an adroit murmur from Poirot.

‘As I say, I was in favour of a siesta. Miss Pierce agreed with me.’

‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Miss Pierce. ‘And I was terribly tired after the morning. Such a dangerous climb—and although interesting, most exhausting. I’m afraid I’m not quite as strong as Lady Westholme.’

‘Fatigue,’ said Lady Westholme, ‘can be conquered like everything else. I make a point of never giving in to my bodily needs.’

Poirot said:

‘After lunch, then, you two ladies went to your tents?’