As Dr Gerard knew by experience, Americans are disposed to be a friendly race. They have notthe uneasy suspicion of the travelling Briton. To a man of Dr Gerards tact making theacquaintance of Mr Cope presented few difficulties. The American was lone...
Chapter 5 Into these dark imaginings a breath of the commonplace came with almost ludicrous effect. A man came into the lounge, caught sight of the Boyntons and came across to them. He was apleasant middle-aged American of a strictly conventional typ...
Dr Gerard thought: What an absurdity of an old tyrant! And then, suddenly, the old womans eyes were full on him, and he drew in his breath sharply. Small black smouldering eyes they were, but something came from them, a power, a definiteforce, a wave...
Chapter 4 There was a slow asthmatic wheezing coughthen the monumental knitting woman spoke. Ginevra, youre tired, youd better go to bed. The girl started, her fingers stopped their mechanical action. Im not tired, Mother. Gerard recognized appreciat...
Ordinary commonplace tourists talk. And yet, somehow, Dr Gerard felt a queer conviction thatthese overheard scraps of dialogue were all singularly unreal. They were a maska cover forsomething that surged and eddied underneathsomething too deep and fo...
Chapter 3 When Sarah had left the lounge, Dr Gerard sat where he was for some minutes. Then he strolled tothe table, picked up the latest number of Le Matin and strolled with it to a chair a few yards awayfrom the Boynton family. His curiosity was ar...
Sarah shrugged an impatient shoulder. Frenchmen were all alike, she thought, obsessed by sex! Though, of course, as a conscientious psychologist she herself was bound to admit that there wasalways an underlying basis of sex to most phenomena. Sarahs...
Dr Gerard scrutinized her again. This time his eye was professional, not aesthetic. Dropsycardiac he added a glib medical phrase. Oh, yes, that! Sarah dismissed the medical side. But there is something odd in their attitude to her, dont you think? Wh...
Chapter 2 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 lookedpreoccupied. The tall middle-aged Frenchman who entered t...
Chapter 1 You do see, dont you, that shes got to be killed? The question floated out into the still night air, seemed to hang there a moment and then driftaway down into the darkness towards the Dead Sea. Hercule Poirot paused a minute with his hand...
