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“
Balderdash
,
sir
,
”
he
exclaimed
angrily
.
“
Pure
balderdash
.
The
man
’
s
an
impostor
.
He
doesn
’
t
know
the
difference
between
the
superstitions
of
the
Middle
Ages
and
the
beliefs
of
Ancient
Egypt
.
Never
have
I
heard
such
a
hotch
-
potch
of
ignorance
and
credulity
.
”
I
calmed
the
excited
expert
,
and
joined
Poirot
in
the
tent
.
My
little
friend
was
beaming
cheerfully
.
“
We
can
now
sleep
in
peace
,
”
he
declared
happily
.
“
And
I
can
do
with
some
sleep
.
My
head
,
it
aches
abominably
.
Ah
,
for
a
good
tisane
!
”
As
though
in
answer
to
prayer
,
the
flap
of
the
tent
was
lifted
and
Hassan
appeared
,
bearing
a
steaming
cup
which
he
offered
to
Poirot
.
It
proved
to
be
camomile
tea
,
a
beverage
of
which
he
is
inordinately
fond
.
Having
thanked
Hassan
and
refused
his
offer
of
another
cup
for
myself
,
we
were
left
alone
once
more
.
I
stood
at
the
door
of
the
tent
some
time
after
undressing
,
looking
out
over
the
desert
.
“
A
wonderful
place
,
”
I
said
aloud
,
“
and
a
wonderful
work
.
I
can
feel
the
fascination
.
This
desert
life
,
this
probing
into
the
heart
of
a
vanished
civilization
.
Surely
,
Poirot
,
you
,
too
,
must
feel
the
charm
?
”
I
got
no
answer
,
and
I
turned
,
a
little
annoyed
.
My
annoyance
was
quickly
changed
to
concern
.
Poirot
was
lying
back
across
the
rude
couch
,
his
face
horribly
convulsed
.
Beside
him
was
the
empty
cup
.
I
rushed
to
his
side
,
then
dashed
out
and
across
the
camp
to
Dr
.
Ames
’
s
tent
.
“
Dr
.
Ames
!
”
I
cried
.
“
Come
at
once
.
”
“
What
’
s
the
matter
?
”
said
the
doctor
,
appearing
in
pyjamas
.
“
My
friend
.
He
’
s
ill
.
Dying
.
The
camomile
tea
.
Don
’
t
let
Hassan
leave
the
camp
.
”
