Free Appointment with Death by Agatha Christie Page B

a bit true! Some girls are business-like and some aren’t.
    Some men are sentimental and muddle-headed, others are clear-headed and logical. There are just different types of brains. Sex only matters where sex is directly concerned.’
    Miss Pierce flushed a little at the word sex and adroitly changed the subject.
    â€˜One can’t help wishing that there were a little shade,’ she murmured. ‘But I do think all this emptiness is so wonderful, don’t you?’
    Sarah nodded.
    Yes, she thought, the emptiness was marvellous…Healing…Peaceful…No human beings to agitate one with their tiresome inter-relationships…No burning personal problems! Now, at last, she felt, she was free of the Boyntons. Free of that strange compelling wish to interfere in the lives of people whose orbit did not remotely touch her own. She felt soothed and at peace. Here was loneliness, emptiness, spaciousness…In fact, peace…
    Only, of course, one wasn’t alone to enjoy it. Lady Westholme and Dr Gerard had finished with drugs and were now arguing about guileless young women who were exported in a sinister manner to Argentinian cabarets. Dr Gerard had displayed throughout the conversation a levity which Lady Westholme, who, being a true politician, had no sense of humour, found definitely deplorable.
    â€˜We go on now, yes?’ announced the tarbrushed dragoman, and began to talk about the iniquities of Jews again.
    It was about an hour off sunset when they reached Ma’an at last. Strange wild-faced men crowded round the car. After a short halt they went on.
    Looking over the flat desert country, Sarah was at a loss as to where the rocky stronghold of Petra could be. Surely they could see for miles and miles all round them? There were no mountains, no hills anywhere. Were they, then, still many miles from their journey’s end?
    They reached the village of Ain Musa where the cars were to be left. Here horses were waiting for them—sorry-looking thin beasts. The inadequacy of her striped washing-frock disturbed Miss Pierce greatly. Lady Westholme was sensibly attired in riding breeches, not perhaps a particularly becoming style to her type of figure, but certainly practical.
    The horses were led out of the village along a slippery path with loose stones. The ground fell away and the horses zig-zagged down. The sun was close on setting.
    Sarah was very tired with the long, hot journey in the car. Her senses felt dazed. The ride was like a dream. It seemed to her afterwards that it was like the pit of Hell opening at one’s feet. The way wound down—downinto the ground. The shapes of rock rose up round them—down, down into the bowels of the earth, through a labyrinth of red cliffs. They towered now on either side. Sarah felt stifled—menaced by the ever-narrowing gorge.
    She thought confusedly to herself: ‘Down into the valley of death—down into the valley of death…’
    On and on. It grew dark—the vivid red of the walls faded—and still on, winding in and out, imprisoned, lost in the bowels of the earth.
    She thought: ‘It’s fantastic and unbelievable…a dead city.’
    And again like a refrain came the words: ‘ The valley of death …’
    Lanterns were lit now. The horses wound along through the narrow ways. Suddenly they came out into a wide space—the cliffs receded. Far ahead of them was a cluster of lights.
    â€˜That is camp!’ said the guide.
    The horses quickened their pace a little—not very much—they were too starved and dispirited for that, but they showed just a shade of enthusiasm. Now the way ran along a gravelly water-bed. The lights grew nearer.
    They could see a cluster of tents, a higher row up against the face of a cliff. Caves, too, hollowed out in the rock.
    They were arriving. Bedouin servants came running out.
    Sarah stared up at one of the caves. It held a sitting figure. What