thought, still smiling: ‘Those words might be remembered, one day, and given a more sinister meaning.’
There had been, he now recollected, a curious nervous intensity in the voice—a tremor that spoke of some intense emotional strain. A man’s voice—or a boy’s…
Hercule Poirot thought to himself as he turned out the light by his bed: ‘I should know that voice again…’
II
Their elbows on the window-sill, their heads close together, Raymond and Carol Boynton gazed out into the blue depths of the night. Nervously, Raymond repeated his former words: ‘You do see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?’
Carol Boynton stirred slightly. She said, her voice deep and hoarse: ‘It’s horrible…’
‘It’s not more horrible than this!’
‘I suppose not…’
Raymond said violently: ‘It can’t go on like this—it can’t…We must do something…And there isn’t anything else we can do…’
Carol said—but her voice was unconvincing and she knew it: ‘If we could get away somehow—?’
‘We can’t.’ His voice was empty and hopeless. ‘Carol, you know we can’t…’
The girl shivered. ‘I know, Ray—I know.’
He gave a sudden short, bitter laugh.
‘People would say we were crazy—not to be able just to walk out—’
Carol said slowly: ‘Perhaps we—are crazy!’
‘I dare say. Yes, I dare say we are. Anyway, we soon shall be…I suppose some people would say we are already—here we are calmly planning, in cold blood, to kill our own mother!’
Carol said sharply: ‘She isn’t our own mother!’
‘No, that’s true.’
There was a pause and then Raymond said, his voice now quietly matter-of-fact: ‘You do agree, Carol?’
Carol answered steadily: ‘I think she ought to die—yes…’
Then she broke out suddenly: ‘She’s mad…I’m quite sure she’s mad…She—she couldn’t torture us like she does if she were sane. For years we’ve been saying: “This can’t go on!” and it has gone on! We’ve said, “She’ll die some time”—but she hasn’t died! I don’t think she ever will die unless—’
Raymond said steadily: ‘Unless we kill her…’
‘Yes.’
She clenched her hands on the window-sill in front of her.
Her brother went on in a cool, matter-of-fact tone, with just a slight tremor denoting his deep underlying excitement.
‘You see why it’s got to be one of us, don’t you? With Lennox, there’s Nadine to consider. And we couldn’t bring Jinny into it.’
Carol shivered.
‘Poor Jinny…I’m so afraid…’
‘I know. It’s getting pretty bad, isn’t it? That’s why something’s got to be done quickly—before she goes right over the edge.’
Carol stood up suddenly, pushing back the tumbled chestnut hair from her forehead.
‘Ray,’ she said, ‘you don’t think it’s really wrong, do you?’
He answered in that same would-be dispassionate tone. ‘No. I think it’s just like killing a mad dog—something that’s doing harm in the world and must be stopped. This is the only way of stopping it.’
Carol murmured: ‘But they’d—they’d send us to the chair just the same…I mean we couldn’t explain what she’s like…It would sound fantastic…In a way, you know, it’s all in our own minds!’
Raymond said: ‘Nobody will ever know. I’ve got a plan. I’ve thought it all out. We shall be quite safe.’
Carol turned suddenly round on him.
‘Ray—somehow or another—you’re different. Something’s happened to you…What’s put all this into your head?’
‘Why should you think anything’s happened to me?’
He turned his head away, staring out into the night.
‘Because it has…Ray, was it that girl on the train?’
‘No, of course not—why should it be? Oh, Carol, don’t talk nonsense. Let’s get back again to—to—’
‘To your plan? Are you sure it’s a—good plan?’
‘Yes. I think so…We must wait for the right opportunity, of course. And then—if it goes all right—we shall be free—all of us.’
‘Free?’ Carol gave a little sigh. She looked up at the stars. Then suddenly she shook from head to foot in a sudden storm of weeping.
‘Carol, what’s the matter?’
She sobbed out brokenly: ‘It’s so lovely—the night and the blueness and the stars. If only we could be part of it all…If only we could be like other people instead of being as we are—all queer and warped and wrong.’
‘But we shall be—all right—when she’s dead!’
‘Are you sure? Isn’t it too late? Shan’t we always be queer and different?’
‘No, no, no.’
‘I wonder—’
‘Carol, if you’d rather not—’
She pushed his comforting arm aside.
‘No, I’m with you—definitely I’m with you! Because of the others—especially Jinny. We must save Jinny!’
Raymond paused a moment. ‘Then—we’ll go on with it?’
‘Yes!’
‘Good. I’ll tell you my plan…’
He bent his head to hers.
Miss Sarah King, M.B., stood by the table in the writing-room of the Solomon Hotel in Jerusalem, idly turning over the papers and magazines. A frown contracted her brows and she looked preoccupied.
The tall middle-aged
