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

10

"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—"