"Disgraceful it was!" said Miss Pierce, flushing.

"I must confess," said Lady Westholme, reddening a little, "that I then made a somewhat uncharitable remark."

"I think you were quite justified," said Miss Pierce.

"Quite—under the circumstances."

"What was this remark?" asked Poirot.

"I said to Miss Pierce that perhaps she drank! Really, her manner was most peculiar. It had been all along. I thought it possible that drink might account for it. The evils of alcoholic indulgence, as I very well know—"

Dexterously Poirot steered the conversation away from the drink question.

"Had her manner been very peculiar on this particular day? At lunch time, for instance?"

"No," said Lady Westholme, considering. "No, I should say that then her manner had been fairly normal—for an American of that type, that is to say," she added condescendingly.

"She was very abusive to that servant," said Miss Pierce

"Which one?"

"Not very long before we started out."

"Oh, yes, I remember. She did seem extraordinarily annoyed with him! Of course," went on Lady Westholme "to have servants about who cannot understand a word of English is very trying, but what I say is that when one is traveling one must make allowances."

"What servant was this?" asked Poirot.

"One of the Bedouin servants attached to the camp. He went up to her. I think she must have sent him to fetch her something and I suppose he brought the wrong thing. I don't really know what it was, but she was very angry about it. The poor man slunk away as fast as he could, and she shook her stick at him and called out."

"What did she call out?"

"We were too far away to hear. At least I didn't hear anything distinctly. Did you, Miss Pierce?"

"No, I didn't. I think she'd sent him to fetch something from her younger daughter's tent—or perhaps she was angry with him for going into her daughter's tent—I couldn't say exactly."

"What did he look like?"

Miss Pierce, to whom the question was addressed, shook her head vaguely. "Really, I couldn't say. He was too far away. All these Arabs look alike to me."

"He was a man of more than average height," said Lady Westholme, "and wore the usual native headdress. He had on a pair of very torn and patched breeches—really disgraceful they were—and his puttees were wound most untidily—all anyhow! These men need discipline!"

"You could point the man out among the camp servants?"

"I doubt it. We didn't see his face—it was too far away. And, as Miss Pierce says, really, these Arabs all look alike."

"I wonder," said Poirot thoughtfully, "what it was he did to make Mrs. Boynton so angry?"

"They are very trying to the patience sometimes," said Lady Westholme. "One of them took my shoes away, though I had expressly told him—by pantomime too—that I preferred to clean my shoes myself."

"Always I do that too," said Poirot, diverted for a moment from his interrogation. "I take everywhere my little shoe-cleaning outfit. Also, I take a duster."