Five Little Pigs - Agatha Christie [24]
“You did not like Elsa Greer either?”
“No, I didn’t like her. She was definitely a predatory creature. She, too, wanted to own Crale body and soul. But I think, all the same, that she’d have been better for him than Caroline. She might conceivably have let him alone once she was sure of him. Or she might have got tired of him and moved on to someone else. The best thing for Amyas would have been to be quite free of female entanglements.”
“But that, it would seem, was not to his taste?”
Philip Blake said with a sigh:
“The damned fool was always getting himself involved with some woman or other. And yet, in a way, women really meant very little to him. The only two women who really made any impression on him at all in his life were Caroline and Elsa.”
Poirot said:
“Was he fond of the child?”
“Angela? Oh! we all liked Angela. She was such a sport. She was always game for anything. What a life she led that wretched governess of hers. Yes, Amyas liked Angela all right—but sometimes she went too far and then he used to get really mad with her—and then Caroline would step in—Caro was always on Angela’s side and that would finish Amyas altogether. He hated it when Caro sided with Angela against him. There was a bit of jealousy all round, you know. Amyas was jealous of the way Caro always put Angela first and would do anything for her. And Angela was jealous of Amyas and rebelled against his overbearing ways. It was his decision that she should go to school that autumn, and she was furious about it. Not, I think, because she didn’t like the idea of school, she really rather wanted to go, I believe—but it was Amyas’s high-handed way of settling it all offhand that infuriated her. She played all sorts of tricks on him in revenge. Once she put ten slugs in his bed. On the whole, I think Amyas was right. It was time she got some discipline. Miss Williams was very efficient, but even she confessed that Angela was getting too much for her.”
He paused. Poirot said:
“When I asked if Amyas was fond of the child—I referred to his own child, his daughter?”
“Oh, you mean little Carla? Yes, she was a great pet. He enjoyed playing with her when he was in the mood. But his affection for her wouldn’t have deterred him from marrying Elsa, if that’s what you mean. He hadn’t that kind of feeling for her.”
“Was Caroline Crale very devoted to the child?” A kind of spasm contorted Philip’s face. He said:
“I can’t say that she wasn’t a good mother. No, I can’t say that. It’s the one thing—”
“Yes, Mr. Blake?”
Philip said slowly and painfully:
“It’s the one thing I really—regret—in this affair. The thought of that child. Such a tragic background to her young life. They sent her abroad to Amyas’s cousin and her husband. I hope—I sincerely hope—they managed to keep the truth from her.”
Poirot shook his head. He said:
“The truth, Mr. Blake, has a habit of making itself known. Even after many years.”
The stockbroker murmured: “I wonder.”
Poirot went on:
“In the interests of truth, Mr. Blake, I am going to ask you to do something.”
“What is it?”
“I am going to beg that you will write me out an exact account of what happened on those days at Alderbury. That is to say, I am going to ask you to write me out a full account of the murder and its attendant circumstances.”
“But, my dear fellow, after all this time? I should be hopelessly inaccurate.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Surely.”
“No, for one thing, with the passage of time, the mind retains a hold on essentials and rejects superficial matters.”
“Ho! You mean a mere broad outline?”
“Not at all. I mean a detailed conscientious account of each event as it occurred, and every conversation you can remember.”
“And supposing I remember them wrong?”
“You can give the wording at least to the best of your reflection. There may be gaps, but that cannot be helped.”
Blake looked at him curiously.
“But what’s the idea? The police files will give you the whole thing far more accurately.