Appointment with Death (15 page)

‘It's a lie,' said Raymond in a low, trembling voice.

Poirot went on: ‘Let us now take the possibility of Carol Boynton being the murderess. What is the evidence against her? She has the same highly-strung temperament—the kind of temperament that might see such a deed coloured with heroism. It was she to whom Raymond Boynton was talking that night in Jerusalem. Carol Boynton returned to the camp at ten minues past five. According to her own story she went up and spoke to her mother. No one saw her do so. The camp was deserted—the boys were asleep. Lady Westholme, Miss Pierce and Mr Cope were exploring caves out of sight of the camp. There was no witness of Carol Boynton's possible action. The time would agree well enough. The case, then, against Carol Boynton is a perfectly possible one.' He paused. Carol had raised her head. Her eyes looked steadily and sorrowfully into his.

‘There is one other point. The following morning, very early, Carol Boynton was seen to throw something into the stream. There is reason to believe that that something was a hypodermic syringe.'

‘
Comment?
' Dr Gerard looked up surprised. ‘But my hypodermic was
returned
. Yes, yes, I have it now.'

Poirot nodded vigorously.

‘Yes, yes. This second hypodermic, it is very curious—very interesting. I have been given to understand that
this hypodermic belonged to Miss King. Is that so?'

Sarah paused for a fraction of a second.

Carol spoke quickly: ‘It was not Miss King's syringe,' she said. ‘It was mine.'

‘Then you admit throwing it away, mademoiselle?'

She hesitated just a second.

‘Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I?'

‘Carol!' It was Nadine. She leaned forward, her eyes wide and distressed. ‘Carol…Oh, I don't understand…'

Carol turned and looked at her. There was something hostile in her glance.

‘There's nothing to understand! I threw away an old hypodermic. I never touched the—the poison.'

Sarah's voice broke in: ‘It is quite true what Miss Pierce told you, M. Poirot. It
was
my syringe.'

Poirot smiled.

‘It is very confusing, this affair of the hypodermic—and yet, I think, it could be explained. Ah, well, we have now two cases made out—the case for the innocence of Raymond Boynton—the case for the guilt of his sister Carol. But me, I am scrupulously fair. I look always on both sides. Let us examine what occurred if Carol Boynton was innocent.

‘She returns to the camp, she goes up to her stepmother, and she finds her—shall we say—dead! What is the first thing she will think? She will suspect that her
brother Raymond may have killed her. She does not know what to do. So she says nothing. And presently, about an hour later, Raymond Boynton returns and having presumably spoken to his mother,
says nothing of anything being amiss
. Do you not think that then her suspicions would become certainties? Perhaps she goes to his tent and finds there a hypodermic syringe. Then, indeed, she is
sure
! She takes it quickly and hides it. Early in the morning she flings it as far away as she can.

‘There is one more indication that Carol Boynton is innocent. She assures me when I question her that she and her brother never seriously intended to carry out their plan. I ask her to swear—and she swears immediately and with the utmost solemnity that she is not guilty of the crime! You see, that is the way she puts it. She does not swear that
they
are not guilty. She swears for
herself
, not her brother—and thinks that I will not pay special attention to the pronoun.

‘
Eh bien
, that is the case for the innocence of Carol Boynton. And now let us go back a step and consider not the innocence but the possible guilt of Raymond. Let us suppose that Carol is speaking the truth, that Mrs Boynton was alive at five-ten. Under what circumstances can Raymond be guilty? We can suppose that he killed his mother at ten minutes to six when he went up to speak to her. There were boys about
the camp, true, but the light was fading. It might have been managed, but it then follows that Miss King lied. Remember, she came back to the camp only five minutes after Raymond. From the distance she would see him go up to his mother. Then, when later she is found dead, Miss King realizes that
Raymond has killed her
, and to save him, she lies—knowing that Dr Gerard is down with fever and cannot expose her lie!'

‘I did
not
lie!' said Sarah clearly.

‘There is yet another possibility. Miss King, as I have said, reached the camp a few minutes after Raymond. If Raymond Boynton found his mother alive, it may have been
Miss King
who administered the fatal injection. She believed that Mrs Boynton was fundamentally evil. She may have seen herself as a just executioner. That would equally well explain her lying about the time of death.'

Sarah had grown very pale. She spoke in a low, steady voice.

‘It is true that I spoke of the expediency of one person dying to save many. It was the Place of Sacrifice that suggested the idea to me. But I can swear to you that I never harmed that disgusting old woman—nor would the idea of doing so ever have entered my head!'

‘And yet,' said Poirot softly, ‘one of you two
must be lying
.'

Raymond Boynton shifted in his chair. He cried out impetuously:

‘You win, M. Poirot! I'm the liar. Mother was dead when I went up to her. It—it quite knocked me out. I'd been going, you see, to have it out with her. To tell her that from henceforth I was a free agent. I was—all set, you understand. And there she was—dead! Her hand all cold and flabby. And I thought—just what you said. I thought maybe Carol—you see, there was the mark on her wrist—'

Poirot said quickly: ‘That is the one point on which I am not completely informed. What was the method you counted on employing? You
had
a method—and it was connected with a hypodermic syringe. That much I know. If you want me to believe you, you must tell me the rest.'

Raymond said hurriedly: ‘It was a way I read in a book—an English detective story—you stuck an empty hypodermic syringe into someone and it did the trick. It sounded perfectly scientific. I—I thought we'd do it that way.'

‘Ah,' said Poirot. ‘I comprehend. And you purchased a syringe?'

‘No. As a matter of fact I pinched Nadine's.'

Poirot shot a quick look at her. ‘The syringe that is in your baggage in Jerusalem?' he murmured.

A faint colour showed in the young woman's face.

‘I—I wasn't sure what had become of it,' she murmured. Poirot murmured: ‘You are so quick-witted, madame.'

There was a pause. Then clearing his throat with a slightly affected sound, Poirot went on:

‘We have now solved the mystery of what I might term
the second hypodermic
. That belonged to Mrs Lennox Boynton, was taken by Raymond Boynton before leaving Jerusalem, was taken from Raymond by Carol after the discovery of Mrs Boynton's dead body, was thrown away by her, found by Miss Pierce, and claimed by Miss King as hers. I presume Miss King has it now.'

‘I have,' said Sarah.

‘So that when you said it was yours just now, you were doing what you told us you do not do—you told a lie.'

Sarah said calmly: ‘That's a different kind of lie. It isn't—it isn't a
professional
lie.'

Gerard nodded appreciation.

‘Yes, it is a point that. I understand you perfectly, mademoiselle.'

‘Thanks,' said Sarah.

Again Poirot cleared his throat.

‘Let us now review our time-table. Thus:

 

‘There is, you will notice, a gap of twenty minutes between four-fifty when Nadine Boynton left
her mother-in-law and five-ten when Carol returned. Therefore, if Carol is speaking the truth, Mrs Boynton must have been killed in that twenty minutes.

‘Now who could have killed her? At that time Miss King and Raymond Boynton were together. Mr Cope (not that he had any perceivable motive for killing her) has an alibi. He was with Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce. Lennox Boynton was with his wife in the marquee. Dr Gerard was groaning with fever in his tent. The camp is deserted, the boys are asleep. It is a suitable moment for a crime! Was there a person who could have committed it?'

His eyes went thoughtfully to Ginevra Boynton.

‘
There was one person
. Ginevra Boynton was in her tent all the afternoon. That is what we have been told—but actually there is evidence that she was
not
in her tent all the time. Ginevra Boynton made a very significant remark. She said that Dr Gerard spoke her name in his fever. And Dr Gerard has also told us that he dreamt in his fever of Ginevra Boynton's face. But it was not a dream! It was actually her face he saw, standing there by his bed. He thought it an effect of fever—but it was the truth. Ginevra was in Dr Gerard's tent. Is it not possible that she had come to put back the hypodermic syringe after using it?'

Ginevra Boynton raised her head with its crown of red-gold hair. Her wide beautiful eyes stared at Poirot.
They were singularly expressionless. She looked like a vague saint.

‘
Ah, ça non!
' cried Dr Gerard.

‘Is it, then, so psychologically impossible?' inquired Poirot.

The Frenchman's eyes dropped.

Nadine Boynton said sharply: ‘It's quite impossible!'

Poirot's eyes came quickly round to her.

‘Impossible, madame?'

‘Yes.' She paused, bit her lip, then went on, ‘I will not hear of such a disgraceful accusation against my young sister-in-law. We—all of us—know it to be impossible.'

Ginevra moved a little on her chair. The lines of her mouth relaxed into a smile—the touching, innocent half-unconscious smile of a very young girl.

Nadine said again: ‘Impossible.'

Her gentle face had hardened into lines of determination. The eyes that met Poirot's were hard and unflinching.

Poirot leaned forward in what was half a bow.

‘Madame is very intelligent,' he said.

Nadine said quietly: ‘What do you mean by that, M. Poirot?'

‘I mean, madame, that all along I have realized that you have what I believe is called an “excellent headpiece”.'

‘You flatter me.'

‘I think not. All along you have envisaged the situation calmly and collectively. You have remained on outwardly good terms with your husband's mother, deeming that the best thing to be done, but inwardly you have judged and condemned her. I think that some time ago you realized that the only chance for your husband's happiness was for him to make an effort to leave home—strike out on his own no matter how difficult and penurious such a life might be. You were willing to take all risks and you endeavoured to influence him to exactly that course of action. But you failed, madame. Lennox Boynton had no longer
the will to freedom
. He was content to sink into a condition of apathy and melancholy.

‘Now I have no doubt at all, madame, but that you love your husband. Your decision to leave him was not actuated by a greater love for another man. It was, I think, a desperate venture undertaken as a last hope. A woman in your position could only try three things. She could try appeal. That, as I have said, failed. She could threaten to leave herself. But it is possible that even that threat would not have moved Lennox Boynton. It would plunge him deeper in misery, but it would not cause him to rebel. There was one last desperate throw.
You could go away with another man
. Jealousy and the instinct of possession is
one of the most deeply rooted fundamental instincts in man. You showed your wisdom in trying to reach that deep underground savage instinct. If Lennox Boynton would let you go without an effort to another man—then he must indeed be beyond human aid, and you might as well then try to make a new life for yourself elsewhere.

‘But let us suppose that even that last desperate remedy failed. Your husband was terribly upset at your decision, but in spite of that he did not, as you had hoped, react as a primitive man might have done with an uprush of the possessive instinct. Was there anything at all that could save your husband from his own rapidly failing mental condition? Only one thing.
If his stepmother were to die
, it might not be too late. He might be able to start life anew as a free man, building up in himself independence and manliness once more.'

Poirot paused, then repeated gently: ‘If your mother-in-law were to die…'

Nadine's eyes were still fixed on him. In an unmoved gentle voice she said: ‘You are suggesting that I helped to bring that event about, are you not? But you cannot do so, M. Poirot. After I had broken the news of my impending departure to Mrs Boynton, I went straight to the marquee and joined Lennox. I did not leave it again until my mother-in-law was found dead. Guilty
of her death I may be, in the sense that I gave her a shock—that, of course, presupposes a natural death. But if, as you say (though so far you have no direct evidence of it and cannot have until an autopsy has taken place) she was deliberately killed, then
I
had no opportunity of doing so.'

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 nine. 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 other 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 other of you was at her elbow. I suggest then, that on dinner being announced the natural thing would have been for one or other 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—Hercule Poirot! There were witnesses to your conversation with your mother-in-law. Witnesses who could
see
but could not
hear
! Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce were a long way away. 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 syringe 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 round to him. ‘So, after all, it was
you
who killed her, Mr 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, Mr Boynton!'

‘But you
know
—my wife was leaving me—with Cope—'

‘Yes, but you only learnt 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, Mr Lennox Boynton, to tell me the truth.'

‘The truth?' Lennox stared at him.

‘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, Mr Boynton.'