Five Little Pigs   ::   Christie Agatha

‘This little pig went to market, this little pig stayedat home…’

He murmured:

‘He stayed at home-yes?’

‘He’s the fellow I was telling you about-messed about with drugs-and herbs-bit of a chemist. His hobby. What was his name now? Literary sort of name-I’ve got it. Meredith. Meredith Blake. Don’t know whether he’s alive or not.’

‘And who next?’

‘Next? Well, there’s the cause of all the trouble. The girl in the case. Elsa Greer.’

‘This little pig ate roast beef,’ murmured Poirot.

Depleach stared at him.

‘They’ve fed her meat all right,’ he said. ‘She’s been a go-getter. She’s had three husbands since then. In and out of the divorce court as easy as you please. And every time she makes a change, it’s for the better. Lady Dittisham-that’s who she is now. Open anyTatler and you’re sure to find her.’

‘And the other two?’

‘There was the governess woman. I don’t remember her name. Nice capable woman. Thompson-Jones-something like that. And there was the child. Caroline Crale’s half-sister. She must have been about fifteen. She’s made rather a name for herself. Digs up things and goes trekking to the back of beyond. Warren-that’s her name. Angela Warren. Rather an alarming young woman nowadays. I met her the other day.’

‘She is not, then, the little pig who cried Wee Wee Wee…?’

Sir Montague Depleach looked at him rather oddly. He said drily:

‘She’s had something to cry Wee-Wee about in her life! She’s disfigured, you know. Got a bad scar down one side of her face. She-Oh well, you’ll hear all about it, I dare say.’

Poirot stood up. He said:

‘I thank you. You have been very kind. If Mrs Crale didnot kill her husband-’

Depleach interrupted him:

‘But she did, old boy, she did. Take my word for it.’

Poirot continued without taking any notice of the interruption.

‘Then it seems logical to suppose that one of these five people must have done so.’

‘One of themcould have done it, I suppose,’ said Depleach, doubtfully. ‘But I don’t see why any of themshould. No reason at all! In fact, I’m quite sure none of themdid do it. Do get this bee out of your bonnet, old boy!’

But Hercule Poirot only smiled and shook his head.



Chapter 2. Counsel for the Prosecution



‘Guilty as Hell,’ said Mr Fogg succinctly.

Hercule Poirot looked meditatively at the thin clear-cut face of the barrister.

Quentin Fogg, K.C.