Appointment With Death (Hercule Poirot 19)

‘Yes, madem

oiselle.’

‘A very well-known detective?’

‘The best detective in the world,’ said Poirot, stating it as a simple truth, no more, no less.

Ginevra Boynton breathed very softly:

‘You have come here to protect me?’

Poirot stroked his moustaches thoughtfully. He said:

‘Are you, then, in danger, mademoiselle?’

‘Yes, yes.’ She looked round with a quick, suspicious glance. ‘I told Dr Gerard about it in Jerusalem. He was very clever. He gave no sign at the time. But he followed me—to that terrible place with the red rocks.’ She shivered. ‘They meant to kill me there. I have to be continually on my guard.’

Poirot nodded gently and indulgently.

Ginevra Boynton said: ‘He is kind—and good. He is in love with me!’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh, yes. He says my name in his sleep…’ Her voice softened—again a kind of trembling, unearthly beauty hovered there. ‘I saw him—lying there turning and tossing—and saying my name…I stole away quietly.’ She paused. ‘I thought, perhaps, he had sent for you? I have a terrible lot of enemies, you know. They are all round me. Sometimes they are disguised.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Poirot gently. ‘But you are safe here—with all your family round you.’

She drew herself up proudly.

‘They are not my family! I have nothing to do with them. I cannot tell you who I really am—that is a great secret. It would surprise you if you knew.’

He said gently: ‘Was your mother’s death a great shock to you, mademoiselle?’

Ginevra stamped her feet.

‘I tell you—she wasn’t my mother! My enemies paid her to pretend she was and to see I did not escape!’

‘Where were you on the afternoon of her death?’

‘I was in the tent…It was hot in there, but I didn’t dare come out…They might have got me…’ She gave a little quiver. ‘One of them—looked into my tent. He was disguised but I knew him. I pretended to be asleep. The Sheikh had sent him. The Sheikh wanted to kidnap me, of course.’

For a few moments Poirot walked in silence, then he said: ‘They are very pretty, these histories you recount to yourself?’

She stopped. She glared at him. ‘They’re true. They’re all true.’ Again she stamped an angry foot.

‘Yes,’ said Poirot, ‘they are certainly ingenious.’

She cried out: ‘They are true—true—’

Then, angrily, she turned from him and ran down the hillside. Poirot stood looking after her. In a minute or two he heard a voice close behind him.

‘What did you say to her?’

Poirot turned to where Dr Gerard, a little out of breath, stood beside him. Sarah was coming towards them both, but she came at a more leisurely pace.

Poirot answered Gerard’s question.

‘I told her,’ he said, ‘that she had imagined to herself some pretty stories.’