Among the towering red cliffs of Petra, like somemonstrous swollen Buddha, sits the corpse of Mrs.Boynton. A tiny puncture mark on her wrist is the onlysign of the fatal injection that killed her.
With only twenty-four hours available to solve themystery, Hercule Poirot recalled a chance remark he’doverheard back in Jerusalem: “You see, don’t you, thatshe’s got to be killed?” Mrs. Boynton was, indeed, themost detestable woman he’d ever met. . . .