"Ginevra-Ah! La pauvre Ginevra-she, from her mother's point of view, gives the poorest sport of all! Ginevra has found a way of escape! She escapes from reality into fantasy. The more her mother goads her the more easily she gets a secret thrill out of being a persecuted heroine! From Mrs. Boynton's point of view it is all deadly dull. She seeks, like Alexander, new worlds to conquer. And so she plans the voyage abroad. There will be the danger of her tamed beasts rebelling, there will be opportunities for inflicting fresh pain! It sounds absurd does it not, but it was so! She wanted a new thrill."

Poirot took a deep breath. "It is perfect, that. Yes, I see exactly what you mean. It was so. It all fits in. She chose to live dangerously, la Maman Boynton and she paid the penalty!"

Sarah leaned forward, her pale intelligent face very serious.

"You mean," she said, "that she drove her victims too far and-and they turned on her-or-or one of them did?"

Poirot bowed his head.

Sarah said, and her voice was a little breathless: "Which of them?"

Poirot looked at her, at her hands clenched fiercely on the wild flowers, at the pale rigidity of her face.

He did not answer-was indeed saved from answering-for at that moment Gerard touched his shoulder and said: "Look."

A girl was wandering along the side of the hill. She moved with a strange rhythmic grace that somehow gave the impression that she was not quite real. The gold-red of her hair shone in the sunlight, a strange secretive smile lifted the beautiful corners of her mouth.

Poirot drew in his breath. He said: "How beautiful… How strangely, movingly beautiful. That is how Ophelia should be played-like a young goddess straying from another world, happy because she has escaped out of the bondage of human joys and griefs."

"Yes, yes, you are right," said Gerard. "It is a face to dream of, is it not? I dreamt of it. In my fever I opened my eves and saw that face-with its sweet unearthly smile… It was a good dream. I was sorry to wake…"

Then, with a return to his commonplace manner: "That is Ginevra Boynton," he said.

In another minute the girl had reached them. Dr. Gerard performed the introduction.

"Miss Boynton, this is M. Hercule Poirot."

"Oh!" She looked at him uncertainly. Her fingers joined together, twined themselves uneasily in and out. The enchanted nymph had come back from the country of enchantment. She was now just an ordinary, awkward girl, slightly nervous and ill at ease.

Poirot said: "It is a piece of good fortune meeting you here, Mademoiselle. I tried to see you in the hotel."

"Did you?" Her smile was vacant. Her fingers began plucking at the belt of her dress.

He said gently: "Will you walk with me a little way?"

She moved docilely enough, obedient to his whim. Presently she said, rather unexpectedly, in a queer hurried voice: "You are-you are a detective, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle,"

"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 moustache thoughtfully. He said: "Are you then in danger, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes. Yes!" She looked around with a quick suspicious dance. "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 face 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 around me. Sometimes they are disguised."

"Yes, yes," said Poirot gently. "But you are safe here-with all your family around 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 foot. "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?"

She answered readily: "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."

The doctor nodded his head thoughtfully. "And she was angry! That is a good sign. It shows, you see, that she has not yet completely passed through the gate. Still knows that it is not the truth! I shall cure her."

[unreadable]

"Yes. I have discussed the matter with young Mrs. Boynton and her husband. Ginevra will come to Paris and enter one of my clinics. Afterwards she will have her training for the stage."

"The stage?"

"Yes, there is a possibility there for her, of great success. And that is what she needs-what she must have! In many essentials she has the same nature as her mother."

"No!" cried Sarah, revolted.

"It seems impossible to you, but certain fundamental traits are the same. They were both born with a great yearning for importance, they both demand that their personalities shall impress! This poor child has been thwarted and suppressed at every turn, she has been given no outlet for her fierce ambition, for her love of life, for the expressing of her vivid romantic personality." He gave a little laugh. "Nous voullons changer tout pa!"

Then, with a little bow, he murmured: "You will excuse me?" And he hurried down the hill after the girl.

Sarah said: "Dr. Gerard is tremendously keen on his job."

"I perceive his keenness," said Poirot.

Sarah said with a frown: "All the same, I can't bear his comparing her to that horrible old woman although once I felt sorry for Mrs. Boynton myself."

"When was that, Mademoiselle?"

"That time I told you about in Jerusalem. I suddenly felt as though I'd got the whole business wrong. You know that feeling one has sometimes when just for a short time you see everything the other way round? I got all 'het up' about it and went and made a fool of myself!"

"Oh, no-not that!"

Sarah, as always, when she remembered her conversation with Mrs. Boynton, was blushing acutely. "I felt all exalted as though I had a mission! And then later, when Lady W. fixed a fishy eye on me and said she had seen me talking to Mrs. Boynton, I thought she had probably overheard, and I felt the most complete ass."

Poirot said: "What exactly was it that old Mrs. Boynton said to you? Can you remember the exact words?"

"I think so. They made rather an impression on me. 'I never forget.' That's what she said. 'Remember that. I've never forgotten anything-not an action, not a name, not a face.'" Sarah shivered. "She said it so malevolently-not even looking at me. I feel-I feel as if, even now, I can hear her…"

Poirot said gently: "It impressed you very much?"

"Yes. I'm not easily frightened but sometimes I dream of her saying just these words and I can see her evil, leering, triumphant face. Ugh!" She gave a quick shiver. Then she turned suddenly to him.

"M. Poirot, perhaps I ought not to ask, but have you come to a conclusion about this business? Have you found out anything definite?"

"Yes."

He saw her lips tremble as she asked: "What?"

"I have found out to whom Raymond Boynton spoke that night in Jerusalem. It was to his sister Carol."

"Carol-of course!" Then she went on: "Did you tell him-did you ask him-" It was no use. She could not go on. Poirot looked at her gravely and compassionately. He said quietly: "It means so much to you, Mademoiselle?"

"It means just everything!" said Sarah. Then she squared her shoulders. "But I've got to know."

Poirot said quietly: "He told me that it was a hysterical outburst-no more! That he and his sister were worked up. He told me that in daylight such an idea appeared fantastic to them both."

"I see…"

Poirot said gently: "Miss Sarah, will you not tell me what it is you fear?"

Sarah turned a white despairing face upon him. "That afternoon we were together. And he left me saying-saying he wanted to do something now-while he had the courage. I thought he meant just to-to tell her. But supposing he meant…" Her voice died away. She stood rigid, fighting for control.

NADINE BOYNTON CAME out of the hotel. As she hesitated uncertainly, a waiting figure sprang forward. Mr. Jefferson Cope was immediately at his lady's side "Shall we walk up this way? I think it's the pleasantest."

She acquiesced.

They walked along and Mr. Cope talked. His words came freely, if a trifle monotonously. It is not certain whether he perceived that Nadine was not listening. As they turned aside onto the stony flower-covered hillside she interrupted him.