"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.

9

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."