Appointment with Death. Agatha Christie

to you.’

      ‘Yes?’ said Sarah.

      Carol was trembling violently. Her face was quite white.

      ‘It’s about—my brother. When you—you spoke to him last night you must have thought him very rude. But he didn’t mean to be—he—he couldn’t help it. Oh, do please believe me.’

      Sarah felt that the whole scene was ridiculous. Both her pride and her good taste were offended. Why should a strange girl suddenly rush up and tender a ridiculous apology for a boorish brother?

      An off-hand reply trembled on her lips—and then, quickly, her mood changed.

      There was something out of the ordinary here. This girl was in deadly earnest. That something in Sarah which had led her to adopt a medical career reacted to the girl’s need. Her instinct told her there was something badly wrong.

      She said encouragingly: ‘Tell me about it.’

      ‘He spoke to you on the train, didn’t he?’ began Carol.

      Sarah nodded. ‘Yes; at least, I spoke to him.’

      ‘Oh, of course. It would be that way round. But, you see, last night Ray was afraid—’

      She stopped.

      ‘Afraid?’

      Carol’s white face crimsoned.

      ‘Oh, I know it sounds absurd—mad. You see, my mother—she’s—she’s not well—and she doesn’t like us making friends outside. But—but I know Ray would—would like to be friends with you.’

      Sarah was interested. Before she could speak, Carol went on: ‘I—I know what I’m saying sounds very silly, but we are—rather an odd family.’ She cast a quick look round—it was a look of fear.

      ‘I—I mustn’t stay,’ she murmured. ‘They may miss me.’

      Sarah made up her mind. She spoke.

      ‘Why shouldn’t you stay—if you want to? We might walk back together.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Carol drew back. ‘I—I couldn’t do that.’

      ‘Why not?’ said Sarah.

      ‘I couldn’t really. My mother would be—would be—’

      Sarah said clearly and calmly:

      ‘I know it’s awfully difficult sometimes for parents to realize that their children are grown up. They will go on trying to run their lives for them. But it’s a pity, you know, to give in! One must stand up for one’s rights.’

      Carol murmured: ‘You don’t understand—you don’t understand in the least…’

      Her hands twisted together nervously.

      Sarah went on: ‘One gives in sometimes because one is afraid of rows. Rows are very unpleasant, but I think freedom of action is always worth fighting for.’

      ‘Freedom?’ Carol stared at her. ‘None of us have ever been free. We never will be.’

      ‘Nonsense!’ said Sarah clearly.

      Carol leaned forward and touched her arm.

      ‘Listen. I must try and make you understand! Before her marriage my mother—she’s my stepmother really—was a wardress in a prison. My father was the Governor and he married her. Well, it’s been like that ever since. She’s gone on being a wardress—to us. That’s why our life is just—being in prison!’

      Her head jerked round again.

      ‘They’ve missed me. I—I must go.’

      Sarah caught her by the arm as she was darting off.

      ‘One minute. We must meet again and talk.’

      ‘I can’t. I shan’t be able to.’

      ‘Yes, you can.’ She spoke authoritatively. ‘Come to my room after you go to bed. It’s 319. Don’t forget, 319.’

      She released her hold. Carol ran off after her family.

      Sarah stood staring after her. She awoke from her thoughts to find Dr Gerard by her side.

      ‘Good morning, Miss King. So you’ve been talking to Miss Carol Boynton?’

      ‘Yes, we had the most extraordinary conversation. Let me tell you.’

      She repeated the substance of her conversation with the girl. Gerard pounced on one point.

      ‘Wardress in a prison, was she, that old hippopotamus? That is significant, perhaps.’

      Sarah said:

      ‘You mean that that is the cause of her tyranny? It is the habit of her former profession.’

      Gerard shook his head.

      ‘No, that is approaching it from the wrong angle. There is some deep underlying compulsion. She does not love tyranny because she has been a wardress. Let us rather say that she became a wardress because she loved tyranny. In my theory it was a secret desire for power over other human beings that led her to adopt that profession.’

      His face was very grave.

      ‘There are such strange things buried down in the unconscious. A lust for power—a lust for cruelty—a savage desire to tear and rend—all the inheritance of our past racial memories…They are all there, Miss King, all the cruelty and savagery and lust…We shut the door on them and deny them conscious life, but sometimes—they are too strong.’

      Sarah shivered. ‘I know.’

      Gerard continued: ‘We see it all round us today—in political creeds, in the conduct of nations. A reaction from humanitarianism—from pity—from brotherly good-will. The creeds sound well sometimes—a wise régime—a beneficent government—but imposed by force—resting on a basis of cruelty and fear. They are opening the door, these apostles of violence, they are letting up the old savagery, the old delight in cruelty for its own sake! Oh, it is difficult—Man is an animal very delicately balanced. He has one prime necessity—to survive. To advance too quickly is as fatal as to lag behind. He must survive! He must, perhaps, retain some of the old savagery, but he must not—no definitely he must not—deify it!’

      There was a pause. Then Sarah said:

      ‘You think old Mrs Boynton is a kind of sadist?’

      ‘I am almost sure of it. I think she rejoices in the infliction of pain—mental pain, mind you, not physical. That is very much rarer and very much more difficult to deal with. She likes to have control of other human beings and she likes to make them suffer.’

      ‘It’s pretty beastly,’ said Sarah.

      Gerard told her of his conversation with Jefferson Cope. ‘He doesn’t realize what is going on?’ she said thoughtfully.

      ‘How should he? He is not a psychologist.’

      ‘True. He hasn’t got our disgusting minds!’

      ‘Exactly. He has a nice, upright, sentimental, normal American mind. He believes in good rather than evil. He sees that the atmosphere of the Boynton family is all wrong, but he credits Mrs Boynton with misguided devotion rather than active maleficence.’

      ‘That should amuse her,’ said Sarah.

      ‘I should imagine it does!’

      Sarah said impatiently:

      ‘But why don’t they break away? They could.’

      Gerard shook his head.

      ‘No, there you are wrong. They cannot. Have you ever seen the old experiment with a cock? You chalk a line on the floor and put the cock’s beak on it. The cock believes he is tied there. He cannot raise his head. So with these unfortunates. She has worked on them, remember, since