or a moment he sat in silence, then he raised his head. "And yet, one thing puzzles me."

"What is that?"

"The theft of the hypodermic syringe."

"It was taken," said Dr. Gerard quickly.

"Taken-and returned?"

"Yes."

"Odd," said Poirot. "Very odd. Otherwise everything fits so well…"

Colonel Carbury looked at him curiously. "Well?" he said. "What's your expert opinion? Was it murder-or wasn't it?"

Poirot held up a hand. "One moment. We have not yet arrived at that point. There is still some evidence to consider."

"What evidence? You've had it all."

"Ah! But this is evidence that I, Hercule Poirot, bring to you." He nodded his head and smiled a little at their two astonished faces. ''Yes it is droll, that! That I, to whom you tell the story, should in return present you with a piece of evidence about which you do not know. It was like this. In the Solomon Hotel, one night, I go to the window to make sure it is closed-"

"Closed-or open?" asked Carbury.

"Closed," said Poirot firmly. "It was open, so naturally, I go to close it. But before I do so, as my hand is on the latch, I hear a voice speaking-an agreeable voice, low and clear with a tremor in it of nervous excitement. I say to myself it is a voice I will know again. And what does it say, this voice? It says these words: 'You do see, don't you, that she's got to be killed?'"

He paused.

"At the moment, naturellement, I do not take those words as referring to a killing of flesh and blood. I think it is an author or perhaps a playwright who speaks. But now I am not so sure. That is to say, I am sure it was nothing of the kind."

Again he paused before saying: "Messieurs, I will tell you this-to the best of my knowledge and belief those words were spoken by a young man whom I saw later in the lounge of the hotel and who was, so they told me on inquiring, a young man of the name of Raymond Boynton."

3

"RAYMOND BOYNTON SAID THAT?" The exclamation broke from the Frenchman.

"You think it unlikely-psychologically speaking?" Poirot inquired placidly.

Gerard shook his head. "No, I should not say that. I was surprised, yes. If you follow me, I was surprised just because Raymond Boynton was so eminently fitted to be a suspect."

Colonel Carbury sighed. "These psychological fellers!" the sigh seemed to say. "Question is," he murmured, "what are we going to do about it?"

Gerard shrugged his shoulders. "I do not see what you can do," he confessed. "The evidence is bound to be inconclusive. You may know that murder has been done but it will be difficult to prove it."

"I see," said Colonel Carbury. "We suspect that murder's been done and we just sit back and twiddle our fingers! Don't like it!" He added, as if in extenuation, his former odd plea: "I'm a tidy man."

"I know. I know," Poirot nodded his head sympathetically. "You would like to clear this up. You would like to know definitely exactly what occurred and how it occurred. And you. Dr. Gerard? You have said that there is nothing to be done-that the evidence is bound to be inconclusive? That is probably true. But are you satisfied that the matter should rest so?"

"She was a bad life," said Gerard slowly. "In any case she might have died very shortly-a week-a month-a year."

"So you are satisfied?" persisted Poirot.

Gerard went on: "There is no doubt that her death was-how shall we put it?-beneficial to the community. It has brought freedom to her family. They will have scope to develop-they are all, I think, people of good character and intelligence. They will be, now, useful members of society! The death of Mrs. Boynton, as I see it, has resulted in nothing but good."

Poirot repeated for the third time: "So you are satisfied?"

"No." Dr. Gerard pounded a fist suddenly on the table. "I am not 'satisfied,' as you put it! It is my instinct to preserve life-not to hasten death. Therefore, though my conscious mind may repeat that this woman's death was a good thing, my unconscious mind rebels against it! It is not well, gentlemen, that a human being should die before his or her time has come."

Poirot smiled. He leaned back, contented with the answer he had probed for so patiently.

Colonel Carbury said unemotionally: "He don't like murder! Quite right! No more do I." He rose and poured himself out a stiff whisky and soda. His guests' glasses were still full. "And now," he said, returning to the subject, "let's get down to brass tacks. Is there anything to be done about it? We don't like it-no! But we may have to lump it! No good making a fuss if you can't deliver the goods."

Gerard leaned forward. "What is your professional opinion, M. Poirot? You are the expert."

Poirot took a little time to speak. Methodically he arranged an ashtray or two and made a little heap of used matches. Then he said: "You desire to know, do you not, Colonel Carbury, who killed Mrs. Boynton? (That is, if she was killed and did not die a natural death.) Exactly how and when she was killed-and, in fact, the whole truth of the matter?"

"I should like to know that, yes." Carbury spoke unemotionally.

Hercule Poirot said slowly: "I see no reason why you should not know it!"

Dr. Gerard looked incredulous. Colonel Carbury looked mildly interested. "Oh," he said. "So you don't, don't you? That's interestin'. How d'you propose to set about it?"

"By methodical sifting of the evidence, by a process of reasoning."

"Suits me," said Colonel Carbury.

"And by a study of the psychological possibilities."

"Suits Dr. Gerard, I expect," said Carbury. "And after that, after you've sifted the evidence and done some reasoning and paddled in psychology-hey, presto!-you think you can produce the rabbit out of the hat?"

"I should be extremely surprised if I could not do so," said Poirot calmly.

Colonel Carbury stared at him over the rim of his glass. Just for a moment the vague eyes were no longer vague- they measured-and appraised. He put down his glass with a grunt. "What do you say to that, Dr. Gerard?"

"I admit that I am skeptical of success… yet I know that M. Poirot has great powers."

"I am gifted-yes," said the little man. He smiled modestly.

Colonel Carbury turned away his head and coughed.

Poirot said: "The first thing to decide is whether this is a composite murder-planned and carried out by the Boynton family as a whole, or whether it is the work of one of them only. If the latter, which is the most likely member of the family to have attempted it?"

Dr. Gerard said: "There is your own evidence. One must, I think, consider first Raymond Boynton."

"I agree," said Poirot. "The words I overheard and the discrepancy between his evidence and that of the young woman doctor puts him definitely in the forefront of the suspects. He was the last person to see Mrs. Boynton alive. That is his own story, Sarah King contradicts that. Tell me, Dr. Gerard, is there-eh?-you know what I mean-a little tendresse, shall we say-there?"

The Frenchman nodded. "Emphatically so."

"Alas! Is she, this young lady, a brunette with hair that goes back from her forehead-so-and big hazel eyes and a manner very decided?"

Dr. Gerard looked rather surprised. "Yes, that describes her very well."

"I think I have seen her-in the Solomon Hotel. She spoke to this Raymond Boynton and afterwards he remained plantй la-in a dream-blocking the exit from the lift. Three times I had to say 'Pardon' before he heard me and moved."

Poirot remained in thought for some moments. Then he said: "So, to begin with, we will accept the medical evidence of Miss Sarah King with certain mental reservations. She is an interested party." He paused-then went on: "Tell me, Dr. Gerard, do you think Raymond Boynton is of the temperament that could commit murder easily?"

Gerard said slowly: "You mean deliberate, planned murder? Yes, I think it is possible-but only under conditions of intense emotional strain."

"Those conditions were present?"

"Definitely. This journey abroad undoubtedly heightened the nervous and mental strain under which all these people were living. The contrast between their own lives and those of other people was more apparent to them. And in Raymond Boynton's case-"

"Yes?"

"There was the additional complication of being strongly attracted to Sarah King."

"That would give him an additional motive? And an additional stimulus?"

"That is so."

Colonel Carbury coughed. "Like to butt in a moment. That sentence of his you overheard-'You do see, don't you, that she's got to be killed?'-must have been spoken to someone."

"A good point," said Poirot. "I had not forgotten it. Yes, to whom was Raymond Boynton speaking? Undoubtedly to a member of his family. But which member? Can you tell us something, Doctor, of the mental conditions of the other members of the family?"

Gerard replied promptly. "Carol Boynton was, I should say, in very much the same state as Raymond-a state of rebellion accompanied by severe nervous excitement, but uncomplicated in her case by the introduction of a sex factor. Lennox Boynton had passed the stage of revolt. He was sunk in apathy. He was finding it, I think, difficult to concentrate. His method of reaction to his surroundings was to retire further and further within himself. He was definitely an introvert."

"And his wife?"

"His wife, though tired and unhappy, showed no signs of mental conflict. She was, I believe, hesitating on the brink of a decision."

"Such a decision being?"

"Whether or not to leave her husband."

He repeated the conversation he had held with Jefferson Cope.

Poirot nodded in comprehension. "And what of the younger girl, Ginevra her name is, is it not?"

The Frenchman's face was grave. He said: "I should say that mentally she is in an extremely dangerous condition. She has already begun to display symptoms of schizophrenia. Unable to bear the suppression of her life, she is escaping into a realm of fantasy. She has advanced delusions of persecution-that is to saw, she claims to be a Royal Personage in danger, enemies surrounding her, all the usual things!"

"And that is dangerous?"

"Very dangerous. It is the beginning of what is often homicidal mania. The sufferer kills-not for the lust of killing-but in self-defense. He or she kills in order not to be killed themselves. From their point of view it is eminently rational."

"So you think that Ginevra Boynton might have killed her mother?"

"Yes. But I doubt if she would have had the knowledge or the constructiveness to do it the way it was done. The cunning of that class of mania is usually very simple and obvious. And I am almost certain she would have chosen a more spectacular method."

"But she is a possibility?" Poirot insisted.

"Yes," admitted Gerard.

"And afterwards-when the deed was done? Do you think the rest of the family knew who had done it?"

"They know!" said Colonel Carbury unexpectedly. "If ever I came across a bunch of people who had something to hide these are they! They're putting something over, all right."

"We will make them tell us what it is," said Poirot.

"Third degree?" said Colonel Carbury, raising his eyebrows.

"No." Poirot shook his head. "Just ordinary conversation. On the whole, you know, people tell you the truth. Because it is easier! Because it is less strain on the inventive faculties! You can tell one lie-or two lies, or three or even four lies-but you cannot lie all the time. The truth becomes plain."

"Something in that," agreed Carbury. Then he said bluntly: "You'll talk to them, you say? That means you're willing to take this on?"

Poirot bowed his head. "Let us be very clear about this," he said. "What you demand, and what I undertake to supply, is the truth. But mark this, even when we have got the truth, there may be no proof. That is to say, no proof that would be accepted in a court of law. You comprehend?"

"Quite," said Carbury. "You satisfy me of what really happened, then it's up to me to decide whether action is possible or not-having regard to the International aspects. Anyway it will be cleared up-no mess. Don't like a mess."

Poirot smiled.

"One more thing," said Carbury. "I can't give you much time. Can't detain these people here indefinitely."

Poirot said quietly: "You can detain them twenty-four hours. You shall have the truth by tomorrow night."

Colonel Carbury stared hard at him. "Pretty confident, aren't you?" he asked.

"I know my own ability," murmured Poirot.

Rendered uncomfortable by this un-British attitude, Colonel Carbury looked away and fingered his untidy moustache. "Well," he mumbled. "It's up to you."

"And if you succeed, my friend," said Dr. Gerard, "you are indeed a marvel!"

4

Sarah King looked long and searchingly at Hercule Poirot. She saw the egg-shaped head, the gigantic moustaches, the dandified appearance and the suspicious blackness of his hair. A look of doubt crept into her eyes.

"Well, Mademoiselle, are you satisfied?"

Sarah flushed as he met the amused ironical glance of his eyes. "I beg your pardon," she said awkwardly.

"Du tout! To use an expression I have recently learnt, you give me the one over, is it not so?"

Sarah smiled a little. "Well, at any rate you can do the same to me," she said.

"Assuredly. I have not neglected to do so."

She glanced at him sharply. Something in his tone- But Poirot was twirling his moustaches complacently and Sarah thought (for the second time), "The man's a mountebank!"

Her self-confidence restored, she sat up a little straighter and said inquiringly: "I don't think I quite understand the object of this interview?"