Appointment with Death

‘Why, I bet you do,’ said the stranger heartily. ‘Well, Lennox, and what do you think of King David’s city?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

Lennox spoke apathetically—without interest.

‘Find it kind of disappointing, do you? I’ll confess it struck me that way at first. But perhaps you haven’t been around much yet?’

Carol Boynton said: ‘We can’t do very much because of Mother.’

Mrs Boynton explained: ‘A couple of hours’ sightseeing is about all I can manage every day.’

The stranger said heartily: ‘I think it’s wonderful you manage to do all you do, Mrs Boynton.’

Mrs Boynton gave a slow, wheezy chuckle; it had an almost gloating sound.

‘I don’t give in to my body! It’s the mind that matters! Yes, it’s the mind…’

Her voice died away. Gerard saw Raymond Boynton give a nervous jerk.

‘Have you been to the Wailing Wall yet, Mr Cope?’ he asked.

‘Why, yes, that was one of the first places I visited. I hope to have done Jerusalem thoroughly in a couple more days, and I’m letting them get me out an itinerary at Cook’s so as to do the Holy Land thoroughly—Bethlehem, Nazareth, Tiberias, the Sea of Galilee. It’s all going to be mighty interesting. Then there’s Jerash, there are some very interesting ruins there—Roman, you know. And I’d very much like to have a look at the Rose Red City of Petra, a most remarkable natural phenomenon, I believe that is—and right off the beaten track—but it takes the best part of a week to get there and back, and do it properly.’

Carol said: ‘I’d love to go there. It sounds marvellous.’

‘Why, I should say it was definitely worth seeing—yes, definitely worth seeing.’ Mr Cope paused, shot a somewhat dubious glance at Mrs Boynton, and then went on in a voice that to the listening Frenchman was palpably uncertain:

‘I wonder now if I couldn’t persuade some of you people to come with me? Naturally I know you couldn’t manage it, Mrs Boynton, and naturally some of your family would want to remain with you, but if you were to divide forces, so to speak—’

He paused. Gerard heard the even click of Mrs Boynton’s knitting needles. Then she said:

‘I don’t think we’d care to divide up. We’re a very homey group.’ She looked up. ‘Well, children, what do you say?’

There was a queer ring in her voice. The answers came promptly. ‘No, Mother.’ ‘Oh, no.’ ‘No, of course not.’

Mrs Boynton said, smiling that very odd smile of hers: ‘You see—they won’t leave me. What about you, Nadine? You didn’t say anything.’

‘No, thank you, Mother, not unless Lennox cares about it.’

Mrs Boynton turned her head slowly towards her son.

‘Well, Lennox, what about it, why don’t you and Nadine go? She seems to want to.’

He started—looked up. ‘I—well—no, I—I think we’d better all stay together.’

Mr Cope said genially: ‘Well, you are a devoted family!’ But something in his geniality rang a little hollow and forced.

‘We keep to ourselves,’ said Mrs Boynton. She began to wind up her ball of wool. ‘By the way, Raymond, who was that young woman who spoke to you just now?’

Raymond started nervously. He flushed, then went white.

‘I—I don’t know her name. She—she was on the train the other night.’

Mrs Boynton began slowly to try to heave herself out of her chair.

‘I don’t think we’ll have much to do with her,’ she said.

Nadine rose and assisted the old woman to struggle out of her chair. She did it with a professional deftness that attracted Gerard’s attention.

‘Bedtime,’ said Mrs Boynton. ‘Good night, Mr Cope.’

‘Good night, Mrs Boynton. Good night, Mrs Lennox.’

They went off—a little procession. It did not seem to occur to any of the younger members of the party to stay behind.

Mr Cope was left looking after them. The expression on his face was an odd one.

As Dr Gerard knew by experience, Americans are disposed to be a friendly race. They have not the uneasy suspicion of the travelling Briton. To a man of Dr Gerard’s tact making the acquaintance of Mr Cope presented few difficulties. The American was lonely and was, like most of his race, disposed to friendliness. Dr Gerard’s card-case was again to the fore.

Reading the name on it, Mr Jefferson Cope was duly impressed.

‘Why, surely, Dr Gerard, you were over in the States not very long ago?’

‘Last autumn. I was lecturing at Harvard.’

‘Of course. Yours, Dr Gerard, is one of the most distinguished names in your profession. You’re pretty well at the head of your subject in Paris.’

‘My dear sir, you are far too kind! I protest.’

‘No, no, this is a great privilege—meeting you like this. As a matter of fact, there are several very distinguished people here in Jerusalem just at present. There’s yourself and there’s Lord Welldon, and Sir Gabriel Steinbaum, the financier. Then there’s the veteran English archaeologist, Sir Manders Stone. And there’s Lady Westholme, who’s very prominent in English politics. And there’s that famous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot.’

‘Little Hercule Poirot? Is he here?’

‘I read his name in the local paper as having lately arrived. Seems to me all the world and his wife are at the Solomon Hotel. A mighty fine hotel it is, too. And very tastefully decorated.’

Mr Jefferson Cope was clearly enjoying himself. Dr Gerard was a man who could display a lot of charm when he chose. Before long the two men had adjourned to the bar.

After a couple of highballs Gerard said: ‘Tell me, is that a typical American family to whom you were talking?’

Jefferson Cope sipped his drink thoughtfully. Then he said: ‘Why, no, I wouldn’t say it was exactly typical.’

‘No? A very devoted family, I thought.’

Mr Cope said slowly: ‘You mean they all seem to revolve round the old lady? That’s true enough. She’s a very remarkable old lady, you know.’

‘Indeed?’

Mr Cope needed very little encouragement. The gentle invitation was enough.