‘What happened next?’
‘That very peculiar American came along,’ said Lady Westholme. ‘Cope, I think his name is. He told us that there was a very good example of the debased architecture of the period just round the bend of the valley. He said we ought not to miss it. Accordingly, we walked there. Mr Cope had with him quite an interesting article on Petra and the Nabateans.’
‘It was all most interesting,’ declared Miss Pierce.
Lady Westholme continued:
‘We strolled back to the camp, it being then about twenty minutes to six. It was growing quite chilly.’
‘Mrs Boynton was still sitting where you had left her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘No. As a matter of fact I hardly noticed her.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I went to my tent, changed my shoes and got out my own packet of China tea. I th
en went to the marquee. The dragoman was there and I directed him to make some tea for Miss Pierce and myself with the tea I had brought and to make quite sure that the water with which it was made was boiling. He said that dinner would be ready in about half an hour—the boys were laying the table at the time—but I said that made no difference.’
‘I always say a cup of tea makes all the difference,’ murmured Miss Pierce vaguely.
‘Was there anyone in the marquee?’
‘Oh, yes. Mr and Mrs Lennox Boynton were sitting at one end reading. And Carol Boynton was there too.’
‘And Mr Cope?’
‘He joined us at our tea,’ said Miss Pierce. ‘Though he said tea-drinking wasn’t an American habit.’
Lady Westholme coughed.
‘I became just a little afraid that Mr Cope was going to be a nuisance—that he might fasten himself upon me. It is a little difficult sometimes to keep people at arm’s length when one is travelling. I find they are inclined to presume. Americans, especially, are sometimes rather dense.’
Poirot murmured suavely:
‘I am sure, Lady Westholme, that you are quite capable of dealing with situations of that kind. When travelling acquaintances are no longer of any use to you, I am sure you are an adept at dropping them.’
‘I think I am capable of dealing with most situations,’ said Lady Westholme complacently.
The twinkle in Poirot’s eye was quite lost upon her.
‘If you will just conclude your recital of the day’s happenings?’ murmured Poirot.
‘Certainly. As far as I can remember, Raymond Boynton and the red-haired Boynton girl came in shortly afterwards. Miss King arrived last. Dinner was then ready to be served. One of the servants was dispatched by the dragoman to announce the fact to old Mrs Boynton. The man came running back with one of his comrades in a state of some agitation and spoke to the dragoman in Arabic. There was some mention of Mrs Boynton being taken ill. Miss King offered her services. She went out with the dragoman. She came back and broke the news to the members of Mrs Boynton’s family.’
‘She did it very abruptly,’ put in Miss Pierce. ‘Just blurted it out. I think myself it ought to have been done more gradually.’
‘And how did Mrs Boynton’s family take the news?’ asked Poirot.
For once both Lady Westholme and Miss Pierce seemed a little at a loss. The former said at last in a voice lacking its usual self-assurance:
‘Well—really—it is difficult to say. They—they were very quiet about it.’
‘Stunned,’ said Miss Pierce.