"Yes?"
Carol said slowly: "It is true - she was a funny color - her face was very red - more so than usual."
"She might, perhaps, have had a shock of some kind." Poirot suggested.
"A shock?" She stared at him.
"Yes, she might have had, let us say, some trouble with one of the Arab servants."
"Oh!" Her face cleared. "Yes - she might."
"She did not mention such a thing having happened?"
"No, no, nothing at all."
Poirot went on: "And what did you do next Mademoiselle?"
"I went to my tent and lay down for about half an hour. Then I went down to the marquee.
My brother and his wife were there reading."
"And what did you do?"
"Oh! I had some sewing to do. And then I picked up a magazine."
"Did you speak to your mother again on your way to the marquee?"
"No, I went straight down.
I don't think I even glanced in her direction."
"And then?"
"I remained in the marquee until - until Miss King told us she was dead."
"And that is all you know, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes."
Poirot leaned forward.
His tone was the same, light and conversational. "And what did you feel, Mademoiselle?"
"What did I feel?"
"Yes, when you found that your mother - pardon - your stepmother was she not? - what did you feel when you learned she was dead?"
She stared at him. "I don't understand what you mean!"
"I think you understand very well."
Her eyes dropped.
She said, uncertainly: "It was - a great shock."
"Was it?"
The blood rushed to her face. She stared at him helplessly. Now he saw fear in her eyes.
"Was it such a great shock, Mademoiselle?
Remembering a certain conversation you had with your brother Raymond one night in Jerusalem?"
His shot proved right.
He saw it in the way the color drained out of her cheeks again.
"You know about that?" she whispered.
"Yes, I know."
"But how - how?"
"Part of your conversation was overheard."
"Oh!" Carol Boynton buried her face in her hands.
Her sobs shook the table.
Hercule Poirot waited a minute, then he said quietly:
"You were planning together to bring about your stepmother's death."
Carol sobbed out brokenly: "We were mad - mad - that evening!"
"Perhaps."
"It's impossible for you to understand the state we were in!" She sat up, pushing back the hair from her face. "It would sound fantastic.
It wasn't so bad in America - but traveling brought it home to us so."
"Brought what home to you?" His voice was kind now, sympathetic.
"Our being different from - other people!
We - we got desperate about it.
And there was Jinny."