Poirot met two people on his way home. The first was Mr Jefferson Cope.
‘M. Hercule Poirot? My name’s Jefferson Cope.’
The two men shook hands ceremoniously.
Then, falling into step beside Poirot, Mr Cope explained: ‘It’s just got round to me that you’re making a kind of routine inquiry into the death of my old friend Mrs Boynton. That certainly was a shocking business. Of course, mind you, the old lady ought never to have undertaken such a fatiguing journey. But she was headstrong, M. Poirot. Her family could do nothing with her. She was by way of being a household tyrant—had had her own way too long, I guess. It certainly is true what she said went. Yes, sir, that certainly was true.’
There was a momentary pause.
‘I’d just like to tell you, M. Poirot, that I’m an old friend of the Boynton family. Naturally they’re all a good deal upset over this business; they’re a trifle nervous and highly strung, too, you know, so if there are any arrangements to be made—necessary formalities, arrangements for the funeral—transport of the body to Jerusalem, why, I’ll take as much trouble as I can off their hands. Just call upon me for anything that needs doing.’
‘I am sure the family will appreciate your offer,’ said Poirot. He added, ‘You are, I think, a special friend of young Mrs Boynton’s.’
Mr Jefferson Cope went a little pink.
‘Well, we won’t say much about that, M. Poirot. I hear you had an interview with Mrs Lennox Boynton this morning, and she may have given you a hint how things were between us, but that’s all over now. Mrs Boynton is a very fine woman and she feels that her first duty is to her husband in his sad bereavement.’
There was a pause. Poirot received the information by a delicate gesture of the head. Then he murmured:
‘It is the desire of Colonel Carbury to have a clear statement concerning the afternoon of Mrs Boynton’s death. Can you give me an account of that afternoon?’
‘Why, certainly. After our luncheon and a brief rest we set out for a kind of informal tour round. We escaped, I’m glad to say, without that pestilential dragoman. That man’s just crazy on the subject of the Jews. I don’t think he’s quite sane on that point. Anyway, as I was saying, we set out. It was then that I had my interview with Nadine. Afterwards she wished to be alone with her husband to discuss matters with him. I went off on my own, working gradually back towards the camp. About half-way there I met the two English ladies who had been on the morning expedition—one of them’s an English peeress, I understand?’
Poirot said that such was the case.
‘Ah, she’s a fine woman, a very powerful intellect and very well informed. The other seemed to me rather a weak sister—and she looked about dead with fatigue. That expedition in the morning was very strenuous for an elderly lady, especially when she doesn’t like heights. Well, as I was saying, I met these two ladies and was able to give them some information on the subject of the Nabateans. We went around a bit and got back to the camp about six. Lady Westholme insisted on having tea and I had the pleasure of having a cup with her—the tea was kind of weak, but it had an interesting flavour. Then the boys laid the table for supper and sent out to the old lady only to find that she was sitting there dead in her chair.’
‘Did you notice her as you walked home?’
‘I did notice she was there—it was her usual seat in the afternoon and evening, but I didn’t pay special attention. I was just explaining to Lady Westholme the conditions of our slump. I had to keep an eye on Miss Pierce, too. She was so tired she kept turning her ankles.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cope. May I be so indiscreet as to ask if Mrs Boynton is likely to have left a large fortune?’
‘A very considerable one. That is to say, strictly speaking, it was not hers to leave. She had a life interest in it and at her death it is divided between the late Elmer Boynton’s children. Yes, they will all be very comfortably off now.’
‘Money,’ murmured Poirot, ‘makes a lot of difference. How many crimes have been committed for it?’
Mr Cope looked a little startled.
‘Why, that’s so, I suppose,’ he admitted.
Poirot smiled sweetly and murmured: ‘But there are so many motives for murder, are there not? Thank you, Mr Cope, for your kind co-operation.’
‘You’re welcome, I’m sure,’ said Mr Cope. ‘Do I see Miss King sitting up there? I think I’ll go and have a word with her.’
Poirot continued to descend the hill.
He met Miss Pierce fluttering up it.
She greeted him breathlessly.
‘Oh, M. Poirot, I’m so glad to meet you. I’ve been talking to that very odd girl—the youngest one, you know. She has been saying the strangest things—about enemies, and some sheikh that wanted to kidnap her and how she has spies all round her. Really, it sounded most romantic! Lady Westholme says it is all nonsense and that she once had a red-headed kitchenmaid who told lies just like that, but I think sometimes that Lady Westholme is rather hard. And after all, it might be true, mightn’t it, M. Poirot? I read some years ago that one of the Czar’s daughters was not killed in the Revolution in Russia, but escaped secretly to America. The Grand Duchess Tatiana, I think it was. If so, this might be her daughter, mightn’t it? She did hint at something royal—and she has a look, don’t you think? Rather Slavonic—those cheek-bones. How thrilling it would be!’
Poirot said somewhat sententiously: ‘It is true that there are many strange things in life.’
‘I didn’t really take in this morning who you were,’ said Miss Pierce, clasping her hands. ‘Of course you are that very famous detective! I read all about the ABC case. It was so thrilling. I had actually a post as governess near Doncaster at the time.’
Poirot murmured something. Miss Pierce went on with growing agitation.
‘That is why I felt perhaps—I had been wrong—this morning. One must always tell everything, must one not? Even the smallest detail, however unrelated it may seem. Because, of course, if you are mixed up in this, poor Mrs Boynton must have been murdered! I see that now! I suppose Mr Mah Mood—I cannot remember his name—but the dragoman, I mean—I suppose he could not be a Bolshevik agent? Or even, perhaps, Miss King? I believe many quite well-brought-up girls of good family belong to these dreadful Communists! That’s why I wondered if I ought to tell you—because, you see, it was rather peculiar when one comes to think of it.’
‘Precisely,’ said Poirot. ‘And therefore you will tell me all about it.’
‘Well, it’s not really anything very much. It’s only that on the next morning after the discovery I was up rather early—and I looked out of my tent to see the effect of the sunrise you know (only, of course, it wasn’t actually sunrise because the sun must have risen quite an hour before). But it was early—’
‘Yes, yes. And you saw?’
‘That’s the curious thing—at least, at the time it didn’t seem much. It was only that I saw that Boynton girl come out of her tent and fling something right out into the stream—nothing in that, of course, but it glittered—in the sunlight! As it went through the air. It glittered, you know.’
‘Which Boynton girl was it?’
‘I think it was the one they call Carol—a very nice-looking girl—so like her brother—really they might be twins. Or, of course, it might have been the youngest one. The sun was in my eyes, so I couldn’t quite see. But I don’t think the hair was red—just bronze. I’m so fond of that coppery-bronze hair! Red hair always says carrots to me!’ She tittered.
‘And she threw away a brightly glittering object?’ said Poirot.
‘Yes. And of course, as I said, I didn’t think much of it at the time. But later I walked along the stream and Miss King was there. And there amongst a lot of other very unsuitable things—even a tin or two—I saw a little bright metal box—not an exact square—a sort of long square, if you understand what I mean—’
‘But yes, I understand perfectly. About so long?’
‘Yes, how clever of you! And I thought to myself, “I suppose that’s what the Boynton girl threw away, but it’s a nice little box.” And just out of curiosity I picked it up and opened it. It had a kind of syringe inside—the same thing they stuck into my arm when I was being inoculated for typhoid. And I thought how curious to throw it away like that because it didn’t seem broken or anything. But just as I was wondering, Miss King spoke behind me. I hadn’t heard her come up. And she said, “Oh, thank you—that’s my hypodermic. I was coming to look for it.” So I gave it to her, and she went back to the camp with it.’
Miss Pierce paused and then went on hurriedly:
‘And, of course, I expect there is nothing in it—only it did seem a little curious that Carol Boynton should throw away Miss King’s syringe. I mean, it was odd, if you know what I mean. Though, of course, I expect there is a very good explanation.’
She paused, looking expectantly at Poirot.
His face was grave. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle. What you have told me may not be important in itself, but I will tell you this! It completes my case! Everything is now clear and in order.’
‘Oh, really?’ Miss Pierce looked as flushed and pleased as a child.
Poirot escorted her to the hotel.
Back in his own room he added one line to his memorandum. Point No. 10. ‘I never forget. Remember that. I’ve never forgotten anything…’
‘Mais oui,’ he said. ‘It is all clear now!’
[Appointment with Death -Agatha Christie] Part 2. Chapter 14