I am fulfilling my promise and herewith find enclosed an account of the events relating to the death of Amyas Crale. After such a lapse of time I am bound to point out that my memories may not be strictly accurate, but I have put down what occurred to the best of my recollection.
Yours truly,
Philip Blake
Notes on Progress of Events Leading up to Murder of Amyas Crale on Sept., 19….
My friendship with deceased dates back to a very early period. His home and mine were next door to each other in the country, and our families were friends. Amyas Crale was a little over two years older than I was. We played together as boys, in the holidays, though we were not at the same school.
From the point of view of my long knowledge of the man I feel myself particularly qualified to testify as to his character and general outlook on life. And I will say this straight away—to anyone who knew Amyas Crale well—the notion of his committing suicide is quite ridiculous. Crale would never have taken his own life. He was far too fond of living! The contention of the defence
at the trial that Crale was obsessed by conscience, and took poison in a fit of remorse, is utterly absurd to anyone who knew the man. Crale, I should say, had very little conscience, and certainly not a morbid one. Moreover, he and his wife were on bad terms, and I don’t think he would have had any scruples about breaking up what was, to him, a very unsatisfactory married life. He was prepared to look after her financial welfare and that of the child of the marriage, and I am sure would have done so generously. He was a very generous man—and altogether a warm-hearted and lovable person. Not only was he a great painter, but he was a man whose friends were devoted to him. As far as I know he had no enemies.
I had also known Caroline Crale for many years. I knew her before her marriage, when she used to come and stay at Alderbury. She was then a somewhat neurotic girl, subject to uncontrollable outbursts of temper, not without attraction, but unquestionably a difficult person to live with.
She showed her devotion to Amyas almost immediately. He, I do not think, was really very much in love with her. But they were frequently thrown together—she was, as I say, attractive, and they eventually became engaged. Amyas Crale’s best friends were rather apprehensive about the marriage, as they felt that Caroline was quite unsuited to him.
This caused a certain amount of strain in the first few years between Crale’s wife and Crale’s friends, but Amyas was a loyal friend and was not disposed to give up his old friends at the bidding of his wife. After a few years, he and I were on the same old terms and I was a frequent visitor at Alderbury. I may add that I stood godfather to the little girl, Carla. This proves, I think, that Amyas considered me his best friend, and it gives me authority to speak for a man who can no longer speak for himself.
To come to the actual events of which I have been asked to write, I arrived down at Alderbury (so I see by an old diary) five days before the crime. That is, on Sept. 13th. I was conscious at once of a certain tension in the atmosphere. There was also staying in the house Miss Elsa Greer whom Amyas was painting at the time.
It was the first time I had seen Miss Greer in the flesh, but I had been aware of her existence for some time. Amyas had raved about her to me a month previously. He had met, he said, a marvellous girl. He talked about her so enthusiastically that I said to him jokingly: “Be careful, old boy, or you’ll be losing your head again.” He told me not to be a bloody fool. He was painting the girl; he’d no personal interest in her. I said: “Tell that to the marines! I’ve heard you say that before.” He said: “This time it’s different;” to which I answered somewhat cynically: “It always is!” Amyas then looked quite worried and anxious. He said: “You don’t understand. She’s just a girl. Not much more than a child.” He added that she had very modern views and was absolutely free from old-fashioned prejudices. He said: “She’s honest and natural and absolutely fearless!”
I thought to myself, though I didn’t say so, that Amyas had certainly got it badly this time. A few weeks later I heard comments from other people. It was said that the “Greer girl was absolutely infatuated.” Somebody else said that it was a bit thick of Amyas considering how young the girl was, whereupon somebody else sniggered and said that Elsa Greer knew her way about all right. Further remarks were that the girl was rolling in money and had always got everything she wanted, and also that “she was the one who was making most of the running.” There was a question as to what Crale’s wife thought about it—and the significant reply that she must be used to that sort of thing by now, to which someone demurred by saying they’d heard that she was jealous as hell and led Crale such an impossible life that any man would be justified in having a fling from time to time.
I mention all this because I think it is important that the state of affairs before I got down there should be fully realized.
I was interested to see the girl—she was remarkably good-looking and very attractive—and I was, I must admit, maliciously amused to note that Caroline was cutting up very rough indeed.
Amyas Crale himself was less light-hearted than usual. Though to anyone who did not know him well, his manner would have appeared much as usual, I who knew him so intimately noted at once various signs of strain, uncertain temper, fits of moody abstraction, general irritability of manner.
Although he was always inclined to be moody when painting, the picture he was at work upon did not account entirely for the strain he showed. He was pleased to see me and said as soon as we were alone: “Thank goodness you’ve turned up, Phil. Living in a house with four women is enough to send any man clean off his chump. Between them all they’ll send me into a lunatic asylum.”
It was certainly an uncomfortable atmosphere. Caroline, as I said, was obviously cutting up rough about the whole thing. In a polite, well-bred way, she was ruder to Elsa than one would believe possible—without a single actually offensive word. Elsa herself was openly and flagrantly rude to Caroline. She was top dog and she knew it—and no scruples of good breeding restrained her from overt bad manners. The result was that Crale spent most of his time scrapping with the girl Angela when he wasn’t painting. They were usually on affectionate terms, though they teased and fought a good deal. But on this occasion there was an edge in everything Amyas said or did, and the two of them really lost their tempers with each other. The fourth member of the party was the governess. “A sour-faced hag,” Amyas called her. “She hates me like poison. Sits there with her lips set together, disapproving of me without stopping.”
It was then that he said:
“God damn all women! If a man is to have any peace he must steer clear of women!”
“You oughtn’t to have married,” I said. “You’re the sort of man who ought to have kept clear of domestic ties.”
He replied that it was too late to talk about that now. He added that no doubt Caroline would be only too glad to get rid of him. That was the first indication I had that something unusual was in the wind.
I said: “What’s all this? Is this business with the lovely Elsa serious then?” He said with a sort of groan:
“She is lovely, isn’t she? Sometimes I wish I’d never seen her.”
I said: “Look here, old boy, you must take a hold on yourself. You don’t want to get tied up with any more women.” He looked at me and laughed. He said: “It’s all very well for you to talk. I can’t let women alone—simply can’t do it—and if I could, they wouldn’t let me alone!” Then he shrugged those great shoulders of his, grinned at me and said: “Oh well, it will all pan out in the end, I expect. And you must admit the picture is good?”
He was referring to the portrait he was doing of Elsa, and although I had very little technical knowledge of painting, even I could see that it was going to be a work of especial power.
Whilst he was painting, Amyas was a different man. Although he would growl, groan, frown, swear extravagantly, and sometimes hurl his brushes away, he was really intensely happy.
It was only when he came back to the house for meals that the hostile atmosphere between the women got him down. That hostility came to a head on Sept. 17th. We had had an embarrassing lunch. Elsa had been particularly—really, I think insolent is the only word for it! She had ignored Caroline pointedly, persistently addressing the conversation to Amyas as though he and she were alone in the room. Caroline had talked lightly and gaily to the rest of us, cleverly contriving so that several perfectly innocent-sounding remarks should have a sting. She hadn’t got Elsa Greer’s scornful honesty—with Caroline every thing was oblique, suggested rather than said.
Things came to a head after lunch in the drawing room just as we were finishing coffee. I had commented on a carved head in highly polished beechwood—a very curious thing, and Caroline said: “That is the work of a young Norwegian sculptor. Amyas and I admire his work very much. We hope to go and see him next summer.” That calm assumption of possession was too much for Elsa. She was never one to let a challenge pass. She waited a minute or two and then she spoke in her clear, rather overemphasized voice. She
said: “This would be a lovely room if it was properly fixed. It’s got far too much furniture in it. When I’m living here I shall take all the rubbish out and just leave one or two good pieces. And I shall have copper-coloured curtains, I think—so that the setting sun will just catch them through that big western window.” She turned to me and said. “Don’t you think that would be rather lovely?”