"Jinny?"

"My sister. You haven't seen her. She was going-well-queer. And Mother was making her worse. She didn't seem to realize. We were afraid, Ray and I, that Jinny was going quite mad! And we saw [unreadable]

Poirot nodded his head slowly. "Yes, it has seemed so, I know, to many. That is, by history."

"That's how Ray and I felt that night…" She put her hand on the table. "But we didn't really do it. Of course we didn't do it! When daylight came the thing seemed absurd, melodramatic. Oh, yes, and wicked too! Indeed, indeed, M. Poirot, Mother died naturally of heart failure. Ray and I had nothing to do with it."

Poirot said quietly: "Will you swear to me, Mademoiselle, as your salvation after death, that Mrs. Boynton did not die as a result of any action of yours?"

She lifted her head. Her voice came steadily "I swear," said Carol, "as I hope for salvation I never harmed her…"

Poirot leaned back in his chair. "No," he said, "that is that."

There was silence. Poirot thoughtfully caressed his moustache. Then he said: "What exactly was your plan?"

"Plan?"

"Yes, you and your brother must have had a plan."

In his mind he ticked off the seconds before her answer came. One, two, three.

"We had no plan," said Carol at last. "We never got as far as that."

Hercule Poirot got up.

"That is all, Mademoiselle. Will you be so good as to send your brother to me."

Carol rose. She stood undecidedly for a minute. "M. Poirot, you do-you do believe me?"

"Have I said," asked Poirot, "that I do not?"

"No, but-" She stopped.

He said: "You will ask your brother to come here?"

"Yes."

She went slowly towards the door. She stopped as she got to it, turning around passionately. "I have told you the truth-I have!"

Hercule Poirot did not answer and Carol Boynton went slowly out of the room.

Poirot noted the likeness between brother and sister as Raymond Boynton came into the room.

His face was stern and set. He did not seem nervous or afraid. He dropped into a chair, stared hard at Poirot and said: "Well?"

Poirot said gently: "Your sister has spoken with you?"

Raymond nodded. "Yes, when she told me to come here. Of course I realize that your suspicions are quite justified. If our conversation was overheard that night, the fact that my stepmother died rather suddenly certainly would seem suspicious! I can only assure you that that conversation was the madness of an evening! We were, at the time, under an intolerable strain. This fantastic plan of killing my stepmother did-oh, how shall I put it?-it let off steam somehow!"

Hercule Poirot bent his head slowly. "That," he said, "is possible."

"In the morning, of course, it all seemed rather absurd! I swear to you, M. Poirot, that I never thought of the matter again!"

Poirot did not answer.

Raymond said quickly: "Well, yes, I know that that is easy enough to say. I cannot expect you to believe me on my bare word. But consider the facts. I spoke to my mother just a little before six o'clock. She was certainly alive and well then. I went to my tent, had a wash and joined the others in the marquee. From that time onwards neither Carol nor I moved from the place. We were in full sight of everyone. You must see, M. Poirot, that my mother's death was natural, a case of heart failure. It couldn't be anything else! There were servants about, a lot of coming and going. Any other idea is absurd."

Poirot said quietly: "Do you know, M. Boynton, that Miss King is of the opinion that when she examined the body-at six-thirty-death had occurred at least an hour and a half and probably two hours earlier?"

Raymond stared at him. He looked dumbfounded. "Sarah said that?" he gasped.

Poirot nodded. "What have you to say now?"

"But-it's impossible!"

"That is Miss King's testimony. Now you come and tell me that your mother was alive and well only forty minutes before Miss King examined the body."

Raymond said: "But she was!"

"Be careful, M. Boynton."

"Sarah must be mistaken! There must be some factor she didn't take into account. Refraction off the rock-something. I can assure you, M. Poirot, that my mother was alive at just before six and that I spoke to her."

Poirot's face showed nothing.

Raymond leaned forward earnestly. "M. Poirot, I know how it must seem to you, but look at it fairly. You are a biased person. You are bound to be by the nature of things. You live in an atmosphere where even sudden death must seem to you a possible murder. Can't you realize that your sense of proportion is to be relied upon? People die every day-especially those with weak hearts-and there is nothing in the least sinister about such deaths."

Poirot sighed. "So you would teach me my business, is that it?"

"No of course not. But I do think that you are prejudiced-because of that unfortunate conversation. There is nothing really about my mother's death to awaken suspicion except that unlucky hysterical conversation between Carol and myself."

Poirot shook his head. "You are in error," he said. "There is something else. There is the poison taken from Dr. Gerard's medicine chest."

"Poison?" Ray stared at him. "Poison!" He pushed his chair back a little. He looked completely stupefied. "Is that what you suspect?"

Poirot gave him a minute or two. Then he said quietly, almost indifferently: "Your plan was different-eh?"

"Oh, yes." Raymond answered mechanically. "That's why this changes everything… I-I can't think clearly."

"What was your plan?"

"Our plan? It was-" Raymond stopped abruptly. His eyes became alert, suddenly watchful. "I don't think," he said, "that I'll say any more." He got up.

"As you please," said Poirot.

He watched the young man out of the room. He drew his pad towards him and in small neat characters made a final entry. "R. B. 5:55."

Then, taking a large sheet of paper, he proceeded to write. His task completed, he sat back with his head on one side contemplating the result. It ran as follows:

Boyntons and Jefferson Cope leave the camp 3:05 (approx.)

Dr. Gerard and Sarah King leave the camp 3:15 (approx.)

Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce leave the camp 4:15

Dr. Gerard returns to camp 4:20 (approx.)

Lennox Boynton returns to camp 4:35

Nadine Boynton returns to camp and talks to Mrs. Boynton 4:40

Nadine Boynton leaves her mother-in-law and goes to marquee 4:50 (approx.)

Carol Boynton returns to camp 5:10

Lady Westholme, Miss Pierce and M. Jefferson Cope return to camp 5:40.

Raymond Boynton returns to camp 5:50

Sarah King returns to camp 6:00

Body discovered 6:30

"I wonder," said Hercule Poirot. He folded up the list, went to the door and ordered Mahmoud to be brought to him. The stout dragoman was voluble. Words dripped from him in a rising flood.

"Always, always, I am blamed. When anything happens, say always my fault. Always my fault. When Lady Ellen Hunt sprain her ankle coming down from Place of Sacrifice, it my fault, though she would go high-heeled shoes and she sixty at least-perhaps seventy. My life all one misery! Ah! What with miseries and iniquities Jews do to us-"

At last Poirot succeeded in stemming the flood and in getting in his question.

"Half-past five o'clock, you say? No, I not think any of servants were about then. You see, lunch it late-two o'clock. And then to clear it away. After the lunch all afternoon sleep. Yes, Americans, they not take tea. We all settle sleep by half-past three. At five I, who am soul of efficiency-always-always I watch for the comfort of ladies and gentlemen I serving, I come out knowing that time all English ladies want tea. But no one there. They all gone walking. For me, that is very well-better than usual. I can go back sleep. At quarter to six trouble beg. Large English lady-very grand lady-come back and want tea although boys are now laying dinner. She makes quite fuss-says water must be boiling-I am see myself. Ah, my good gentleman! What a life-what life! I do all I can-always I blamed-I-"

Poirot cut short the recriminations. "There is another small matter. The dead lady was angry with one of the boys. Do you know which one it was and what it was about?"

Mahmoud's hands rose to heaven. "Should I know? But naturally not. Old lady did not complain to me."

"Could you find out?"

"No, my good gentleman, that would be impossible. None of the boys admit it for a moment. Old lady angry, you say? Then naturally boys would not tell. Abdul say it Mohammed, and Mohammed say it Aziz, and Aziz say it Aissa, and so on. They are all very stupid Bedouin-understand nothing." He took a breath and continued: "Now I, I have advantage of Mission education. I recite to you Keats-Shelley-ladadoveandasweedovedied-"

Poirot flinched. Though English was not his native tongue he knew it well enough to suffer from the strange enunciation of Mahmoud.

"Superb!" he said hastily. "Superb! Definitely I recommend you to all my friends." He contrived to escape from the dragoman's eloquence. Then he took his list to Colonel Carbury, whom he found in his office.

Carbury pushed his tie a little more askew and asked: "Got anything?"

Poirot sat down. "Shall I tell you a theory of mine?"

"If you like," said Colonel Carbury, and sighed. One and another he had heard a good many theories in the course of his existence.

"My theory is that criminology is the easiest science in the world! One has only to let the criminal talk-sooner or later he will tell you everything."

"I remember you said something of the kind before. Who's been telling you things?"

"Everybody."

Briefly, Poirot retailed the interviews he had had that morning.

"Hm," said Carbury. "Yes, you've got hold of a pointer or two, perhaps. Pity of it is, they all seem to point in opposite directions. Have we got a case, that's what I want to know?"