He thought it an effect of fever - but it was the truth.
Ginevra was in Dr. Gerard's tent.
Is it not possible that she had come to put back the hypodermic syringe after using it?"
Ginevra Boynton raised her head with its crown of red-gold hair.
Her wide beautiful eyes stared at Poirot. They were singularly expressionless.
She looked like a vague saint.
"Ah! Me non!" cried Dr. Gerard.
"Is it then so psychologically impossible?" inquired Poirot.
The Frenchman's eyes dropped.
Nadine Boynton said sharply: "It's quite impossible!"
Poirot's eyes came quickly round to her.
"Impossible, Madame?"
"Yes." She paused, bit her lip, then went on: "I will not hear of such a disgraceful accusation against my young sister-in-law.
We - all of us - know it to be impossible."
Ginevra moved a little on her chair.
The lines of her mouth relaxed into a smile - the touching, innocent, half-unconscious smile of a very young girl.
Nadine said again: "Impossible."
Her gentle face had hardened into lines of determination. The eyes that met Poirot's were hard and unflinching.
Poirot leaned forward in what was half a bow. "Madame is very intelligent," he said.
Nadine said quietly: "What do you mean by that, M. Poirot?"
"I mean, Madame, that all along I have realized you have what I believe is called an 'excellent headpiece.'"
"You flatter me."
"I think not.
All along you have envisaged the situation calmly and collectedly.
You have remained on outwardly good terms with your husband's mother, deeming that the best thing to be done, but inwardly you have judged and condemned her.
I think that some time ago you realized that the only chance for your husband's happiness was for him to make an effort to leave home - strike out on his own, no matter how difficult and penurious such a life might be.
You were willing to take all risks and you endeavored to influence him to exactly that course of action. But you failed, Madame.
Lennox Boynton had no longer the will to freedom. He was content to sink into a condition of apathy and melancholy."
"Now, I have no doubt at all, Madame, but that you love your husband.
Your decision to leave him was not actuated by a greater love for another man.
It was, I think, a desperate venture undertaken as a last hope.
A woman in your position could only try three things.
She could try appeal.
That, as I have said, failed.
She could threaten to leave her husband.
But it is possible that even that threat would not have moved Lennox Boynton. It would plunge him deeper in misery but it would not cause him to rebel. There was one last desperate throw.
You could go away with another man.
Jealousy and the instinct of possession are two of the most deeply rooted fundamental instincts in man.
You showed your wisdom in trying to reach that deep, underground, savage instinct.
If Lennox Boynton would let you go to another man without an effort - then he must indeed be beyond human aid, and you might as well then try to make a new life for yourself elsewhere."
"But let us suppose that even that last desperate remedy failed.
Your husband was terribly upset at your decision, but in spite of that he did not, as you had hoped, react as a primitive man might have done, with an uprush of the possessive instinct.
Was there anything at all that could save your husband from his own rapidly failing mental condition?
Only one thing.
If his stepmother were to die, it might not be too late.
He might be able to start life anew as a free man, building up in himself independence and manliness once more." Poirot paused, then repeated gently: "If your mother-in-law were to die..."
Nadine's eyes were still fixed on his.
In an unmoved gentle voice she said: "You are suggesting that I helped to bring that event about, are you not?
But you cannot do so, M. Poirot.
After I had broken the news of my impending departure to Mrs. Boynton, I went straight to the marquee and joined Lennox.