Appointment With Death - Agatha Christie [45]
‘Good morning, M. Boynton.’ Poirot rose and bowed ceremoniously. Lennox responded somewhat awkwardly. ‘I much appreciate your giving me this interview.’
Lennox Boynton said rather uncertainly: ‘Er—Colonel Carbury said it would be a good thing—advised it—some formalities—he said.’
‘Please sit down, M. Boynton.’
Lennox sat down on the chair lately vacated by Lady Westholme. Poirot went on conversationally:
‘This has been a great shock to you, I am afraid?’
‘Yes, of course. Well, no, perhaps not…We always knew that my mother’s heart was not strong.’
‘Was it wise, under those circumstances, to allow her to undertake such an arduous expedition?’
Lennox Boynton raised his head. He spoke not without a certain sad dignity.
‘My mother, M.—er—Poirot, made her own decisions. If she made up her mind to anything it was no good our opposing her.’
He drew in his breath sharply as he said the last words. His face suddenly went rather white.
‘I know well,’ admitted Poirot, ‘that elderly ladies are sometimes headstrong.’
Lennox said irritably:
‘What is the purpose of all this? That is what I want to know. Why have all these formalities arisen?’
‘Perhaps you do not realize, Mr Boynton, that in cases of sudden and unexplained deaths, formalities must necessarily arise.’
Lennox said sharply: ‘What do you mean by “unexplained”?’
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
‘There is always the question to be considered: Is a death natural—or might it perhaps be suicide?’
‘Suicide?’ Lennox Boynton stared.
Poirot said lightly:
‘You, of course, would know best about such possibilities. Colonel Carbury, naturally, is in the dark. It is necessary for him to decide whether to order an inquiry—an autopsy—all the rest of it. As I was on the spot and as I have much experience of these matters, he suggested that I should make a few inquiries and advise him upon the matter. Naturally he does not wish to cause you inconvenience if it can be helped.’
Lennox Boynton said angrily: ‘I shall wire to our Consul in Jerusalem.’
Poirot said non-committally: ‘You are quite within your rights in doing so, of course.’
There was a pause. Then Poirot said, spreading out his hands:
‘If you object to answering my questions—’
Lennox Boynton said quickly: ‘Not at all. Only—it seems—all so unnecessary.’
‘I comprehend. I comprehend perfectly. But it is all very simple, really. A matter, as they say, of routine. Now, on the afternoon of your mother’s death, M. Boynton, I believe you left the camp at Petra and went for a walk?’
‘Yes. We all went—with the exception of my mother and my youngest sister.’
‘Your mother was then sitting in the mouth of her cave?’
‘Yes, just outside it. She sat there every afternoon.’
‘Quite so. You started—when?’
‘Soon after three, I should say.’
‘You returned from your walk—when?’
‘I really couldn’t say what time it was—four o’clock, five o’clock, perhaps.’
‘About an hour or two hours after you set out?’
‘Yes—about that, I should think.’
‘Did you pass anyone on your way back?’
‘Did I what?’
‘Pass anyone. Two ladies sitting on a rock, for instance.’
‘I don’t know. Yes, I think I did.’
‘You were, perhaps, too absorbed in your thoughts to notice?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘Did you speak to your mother when you got back to the camp?’
‘Yes—yes, I did.’
‘She did not then complain of feeling ill?’
‘No—no, she seemed perfectly all right.’
‘May I ask what exactly passed between you?’
Lennox paused a minute.
‘She said I had come back soon. I said, yes, I had.’ He paused again in an effort of concentration. ‘I said it was hot. She—she asked me the time—said her wrist-watch had stopped. I took it from her, wound it up, set it, and put it back on her wrist.’
Poirot interrupted gently: ‘And what time was it?’
‘Eh?’ said Lennox.
‘What time was it when