Five Little Pigs

‘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’tthat 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.’

‘No, Mr Blake. We are speaking now from the psychological point of view. I do not want barefacts. I want your own selections of facts. Time and your memory are responsible for that selection. There may have been things done, words spoken, that I should seek for in vain in the police files. Things and words that you never mentioned because, maybe, you judged them irrelevant, or because you preferred not to repeat them.’

Blake said sharply:

‘Is this account of mine for publication?’

‘Certainly not. It is for my eye only. To assist me to draw my own deductions.’

‘And you won’t quote from it without my consent?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Hm,’ said Philip Blake. ‘I’m a very busy man, M. Poirot.’

‘I appreciate that there will be time and trouble involved. I should be happy to agree to a-reasonable fee.’

There was a moment’s pause. Then Philip Blake said suddenly:

‘No, if I do it-I’ll do it for nothing.’

‘And you will do it?’

Philip said warningly:

‘Remember, I can’t vouch for the accuracy of my memory.’

‘That is perfectly understood.’

‘Then I think,’ said Philip Blake, ‘that I shouldlike to do it. I feel I owe it-in a way-to Amyas Crale.’

Chapter 7. This Little Pig Stayed at Home

Hercule Poirot was not a man to neglect details.

His advance towards Meredith Blake was carefully thought out. Meredith Blake was, he already felt sure, a very different proposition from Philip Blake. Rush tactics would not succeed here. The assault must be leisurely.

Hercule Poirot knew that there was only one way to penetrate the stronghold. He must approach Meredith Blake with the proper credentials. Those credentials must be social, not professional. Fortunately, in the course of his career, Hercule Poirot had made friends in many counties. Devonshire was no exception. He sat down to review what resources he had in Devonshire. As a result he discovered two people who were acquaintances or friends of Mr Meredith Blake. He descended upon him therefore armed with two letters, one from Lady Mary Lytton-Gore, a gentle widow lady of restricted means, the most retiring of creatures; and the other from a retired Admiral, whose family had been settled in the county for four generations.

Meredith Blake received Poirot in a state of some perplexity.

As he had often felt lately, things were not what they used to be. Dash it all, private detectives used to be private detectives-fellows you got to guard wedding presents at country receptions, fellows you went to-rather shame-facedly-when there was some dirty business afoot and you’d got to get the hang of it.

But here was Lady Mary Lytton-Gore writing: ‘Hercule Poirot is a very old and valued friend of mine. Please do all you can to help him, won’t you?’ And Mary Lytton-Gore wasn’t-no, decidedly she wasn’t-the sort of woman you associate with private detectives and all that they stand for. And Admiral Cronshaw wrote: ‘Very good chap-absolutely sound. Grateful if you will do what you can for him. Most entertaining fellow, can tell you lots of good stories.’