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Five Little Pigs :: Christie Agatha
Страница: 56 из 147I wouldn’t gofurther than to say that I believe that feeling was at the back of his mind. I don’t know that he ever quite realized himself that that is what he felt. Philip and I have nothing much in common, but there is a link, you know, between people of the same blood. One brother often knows what the other brother is thinking.’
‘And after the tragedy?’
Meredith Blake shook his head. A spasm of pain crossed his face. He said:
‘Poor Phil. He was terribly cut up. Just broken up by it. He’d always been devoted to Amyas, you see. There was an element of hero worship about it, I think. Amyas Crale and I are the same age. Philip was two years younger. And he looked up to Amyas always. Yes-it was a great blow to him. He was-he was terribly bitter against Caroline.’
‘He, at least, had no doubts, then?’
Meredith Blake said:
‘None of us had any doubts…’
There was a silence. Then Blake said with the irritable plaintiveness of a weak man:
‘It was all over-forgotten-and nowyou come-raking it all up…’
‘Not I. Caroline Crale.’
Meredith stared at him: ‘Caroline?What do you mean?’
Poirot said, watching him:
‘Caroline Crale the second.’
Meredith’s face relaxed.
‘Ah yes, the child. Little Carla. I-I misunderstood you for a moment.’
‘You thought I meant the original Caroline Crale? You thought that it was she who would not-how shall I say it-rest easy in her grave?’
Meredith Blake shivered.
‘Don’t, man.’
‘You know that she wrote to her daughter-the last words she ever wrote-that she was innocent?’
Meredith stared at him. He said-and his voice sounded utterly incredulous:
‘Caroline wrotethat?’
‘Yes.’
Poirot paused and said:
‘It surprises you?’
‘It would surprise you if you’d seen her in court. Poor, hunted, defenceless creature. Not even struggling.’
‘A defeatist?’
‘No, no. She wasn’t that. It was, I think, the knowledge that she’d killed the man she loved-or I thought it was that.’
‘You are not so sure now?’
‘To write a thing like that-solemnly-when she was dying.’
Poirot suggested:
‘A pious lie, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps.’ But Meredith was dubious. ‘That’s not-that’s not like Caroline…’
Hercule Poirot nodded. Carla Lemarchant had said that. Carla had only a child’s obstinate memory.
‘And after the tragedy?’
Meredith Blake shook his head. A spasm of pain crossed his face. He said:
‘Poor Phil. He was terribly cut up. Just broken up by it. He’d always been devoted to Amyas, you see. There was an element of hero worship about it, I think. Amyas Crale and I are the same age. Philip was two years younger. And he looked up to Amyas always. Yes-it was a great blow to him. He was-he was terribly bitter against Caroline.’
‘He, at least, had no doubts, then?’
Meredith Blake said:
‘None of us had any doubts…’
There was a silence. Then Blake said with the irritable plaintiveness of a weak man:
‘It was all over-forgotten-and nowyou come-raking it all up…’
‘Not I. Caroline Crale.’
Meredith stared at him: ‘Caroline?What do you mean?’
Poirot said, watching him:
‘Caroline Crale the second.’
Meredith’s face relaxed.
‘Ah yes, the child. Little Carla. I-I misunderstood you for a moment.’
‘You thought I meant the original Caroline Crale? You thought that it was she who would not-how shall I say it-rest easy in her grave?’
Meredith Blake shivered.
‘Don’t, man.’
‘You know that she wrote to her daughter-the last words she ever wrote-that she was innocent?’
Meredith stared at him. He said-and his voice sounded utterly incredulous:
‘Caroline wrotethat?’
‘Yes.’
Poirot paused and said:
‘It surprises you?’
‘It would surprise you if you’d seen her in court. Poor, hunted, defenceless creature. Not even struggling.’
‘A defeatist?’
‘No, no. She wasn’t that. It was, I think, the knowledge that she’d killed the man she loved-or I thought it was that.’
‘You are not so sure now?’
‘To write a thing like that-solemnly-when she was dying.’
Poirot suggested:
‘A pious lie, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps.’ But Meredith was dubious. ‘That’s not-that’s not like Caroline…’
Hercule Poirot nodded. Carla Lemarchant had said that. Carla had only a child’s obstinate memory.