Five Little Pigs (Hercule Poirot 25)

Miss Williams sniffed.

“Possibly. So is one of Mr. Epstein’s statues, I believe.”

Poirot perceived that, according to Miss Williams, the last word had been said. He abandoned the subject of art.

He said:

“You were with Mrs. Crale when she found the body?”

“Yes. She and I went down from the house together after lunch. Angela had left her pullover on the beach after bathing, or else in the boat. She was always very careless about her things. I parted from Mrs. Crale at the door of the Battery garden, but she called me back almost at once. I believe Mr. Crale had been dead over an hour. He was sprawled on the bench near his easel.”

“Was she terribly upset at the discovery?”

“What exactly do you mean by that, Mr. Poirot?”

“I am asking you what your impressions were at the time.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, she seemed to me quite dazed. She sent me off to telephone for the doctor. After all, we couldn’t be absolutely sure he was dead—it might have been a cataleptic seizure.”

“Did she suggest such a possibility?”

“I don’t remember.”

“And you went and telephoned?”

Miss William’s tone was dry and brusque.

“I had gone half up the path when I met Mr. Meredith Blake. I entrusted my errand to him and returned to Mrs. Crale. I thought, you see, she might have collapsed—and men are no good in a matter of that kind.”

“And had she collapsed?”

Miss Williams said drily:

“Mrs. Crale was quite in command of herself. She was quite different from Miss Greer, who made a hysterical and very unpleasant scene.”

“What kind of a scene?”

“She tried to attack Mrs. Crale.”

“You mean she realized that Mrs. Crale was responsible for Mr. Crale’s death?”

Miss Williams considered for a moment or two.

“No, she could hardly be sure of that. That—er—terrible suspicion had not yet arisen. Miss Greer just screamed out: ‘It’s all your doing, Caroline. You killed him. It’s all your fault.’ She did not actually say ‘You’ve poisoned him,’ but I think there is no doubt that she thought so.”

“And Mrs. Crale?”

Miss Williams moved restlessly.

“Must we be hypocritical, Mr. Poirot? I cannot tell you what Mrs. Crale really felt or thought at that moment. Whether it was horror at what she had done—”

“Did it seem like that?”

“N-no, n-no, I can’t say it did. Stunned, yes—and, I think, frightened. Yes, I am sure, frightened. But that is natural enough.”

Hercule Poirot said in a dissatisfied tone:

“Yes, perhaps that is natural enough…What view did she adopt officially as to her husband’s death?”