‘Did you speak to your mother when you got back to the camp?’
‘Yes—yes, I did.’
‘She did not then complain of feeling ill?’
‘No—no, she seemed perfectly all right.’
‘May I ask what exactly passed between you?’
Lennox paused a minute.
‘She said I had come back soon. I said, yes, I had.’ He paused again in an effort of concentration. ‘I said it was hot. She—she asked me the time—said her wrist-watch had stopped. I took it from her, wound it up, set it, and put it back on her wrist.’
Poirot interrupted gently: ‘And what time was it?’
‘Eh?’ said Lennox.
‘What time was it when you set the hands of the wrist-watch?’
‘Oh, I see. It—it was twenty-five minutes to five.’
‘So, you do know exactly the time you returned to the camp!’ said Poirot gently.
Lennox flushed.
‘Yes, what a fool I am! I’m sorry, M. Poirot, my wits are all astray, I’m afraid. All this worry—’
Poirot chimed in quickly: ‘Oh! I understand—I understand perfectly! It is all of the most disquieting! And what happened next?’
‘I asked my mother if she wanted anything. A drink—tea, coffee, etc. She said no. Then I went to the marquee. None of the servants seemed to be about, but I found some soda water and drank it. I was thirsty. I sat there reading some old numbers of the Saturday Evening Post. I think I must have dozed off.’
‘Your wife joined you in the marquee?’
‘Yes, she came in not long after.’
‘And you did not see your mother again alive?’
‘No.’
‘She did not seem in any way agitated or upset when you were talking to her?’
‘No, she was exactly as usual.’
‘She did not refer to any trouble or annoyance with one of the servants?’
Lennox stared.
‘No, nothing at all.’
‘And that is all you can tell me?’
‘I am afraid so—yes.’
‘Thank you, Mr Boynton.’
Poirot inclined his head as a sign that the interview was over. Lennox did not seem very willing to depart. He stood hesitating by the door. ‘Er—there’s nothing else?’
‘Nothing. Perhaps you would be so good as to ask your wife to come here?’