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Five Little Pigs :: Christie Agatha
Страница: 133 из 147How long is it? Sixteen years?’
Hercule Poirot seized his opportunity.
‘Yes, it is sixteen years since the events of which we are to speak, but let me first tell you why we are here.’
And in a few simple words he outlined Carla’s appeal to him and his acceptance of the task.
He went on quickly, ignoring the gathering storm visible on Philip’s face, and the shocked distaste on Meredith’s.
‘I accepted that commision-I set to work to find out-the truth.’
Carla Lemarchant, in the big grandfather chair, heard Poirot’s words dimly, from a distance.
With her hand shielding her eyes she studied five faces, surreptitiously. Could she see any of these people committing murder? The exotic Elsa, the red-faced Philip, dear, nice, kind Mr Meredith Blake, that grim tartar of a governess, the cool, competent Angela Warren?
Could she-if she tried hard-visualize one of them killing someone? Yes, perhaps-but it wouldn’t be the right kind of murder. She could picture Philip Blake, in an outburst of fury, strangling some women-yes, shecould picture that…And she could picture Meredith Blake, threatening a burglar with a revolver-and letting it off by accident…And she could picture Angela Warren, also firing a revolver, but not by accident. With no personal feeling in the matter-the safety of the expedition depended on it! And Elsa, in some fantastic castle, saying from her couch of oriental silks: ‘Throw the wretch over the battlements!’ All wild fancies-and not even in the wildest flight of fancy could she imagine little Miss Williams killing anybody at all! Another fantastic picture: ‘Did you ever kill anybody, Miss Williams?’ ‘Go on with your arithmetic, Carla, and don’t ask silly questions. To kill anybody is very wicked.’
Carla thought: ‘I must be ill-and I must stop this. Listen, you fool, listen to that little man who says he knows.’
Hercule Poirot was talking.
‘That was my task-to put myself in reverse gear, as it were, and go back through the years and discover what really happened.’
Philip Blake said: ‘We all know what happened. To pretend anything else is a swindle-that’s what it is, a bare-faced swindle. You’re getting money out of this girl on false pretences.’
Poirot did not allow himself to be angered. He said:
‘You say,we all know what happened. You speak without reflection. The accepted version of certain facts is not necessarily the true one. On the face of it, for instance, you, Mr Blake, disliked Caroline Crale. That is the accepted version of your attitude.
Hercule Poirot seized his opportunity.
‘Yes, it is sixteen years since the events of which we are to speak, but let me first tell you why we are here.’
And in a few simple words he outlined Carla’s appeal to him and his acceptance of the task.
He went on quickly, ignoring the gathering storm visible on Philip’s face, and the shocked distaste on Meredith’s.
‘I accepted that commision-I set to work to find out-the truth.’
Carla Lemarchant, in the big grandfather chair, heard Poirot’s words dimly, from a distance.
With her hand shielding her eyes she studied five faces, surreptitiously. Could she see any of these people committing murder? The exotic Elsa, the red-faced Philip, dear, nice, kind Mr Meredith Blake, that grim tartar of a governess, the cool, competent Angela Warren?
Could she-if she tried hard-visualize one of them killing someone? Yes, perhaps-but it wouldn’t be the right kind of murder. She could picture Philip Blake, in an outburst of fury, strangling some women-yes, shecould picture that…And she could picture Meredith Blake, threatening a burglar with a revolver-and letting it off by accident…And she could picture Angela Warren, also firing a revolver, but not by accident. With no personal feeling in the matter-the safety of the expedition depended on it! And Elsa, in some fantastic castle, saying from her couch of oriental silks: ‘Throw the wretch over the battlements!’ All wild fancies-and not even in the wildest flight of fancy could she imagine little Miss Williams killing anybody at all! Another fantastic picture: ‘Did you ever kill anybody, Miss Williams?’ ‘Go on with your arithmetic, Carla, and don’t ask silly questions. To kill anybody is very wicked.’
Carla thought: ‘I must be ill-and I must stop this. Listen, you fool, listen to that little man who says he knows.’
Hercule Poirot was talking.
‘That was my task-to put myself in reverse gear, as it were, and go back through the years and discover what really happened.’
Philip Blake said: ‘We all know what happened. To pretend anything else is a swindle-that’s what it is, a bare-faced swindle. You’re getting money out of this girl on false pretences.’
Poirot did not allow himself to be angered. He said:
‘You say,we all know what happened. You speak without reflection. The accepted version of certain facts is not necessarily the true one. On the face of it, for instance, you, Mr Blake, disliked Caroline Crale. That is the accepted version of your attitude.