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Five Little Pigs :: Christie Agatha
Страница: 87 из 147But from what I remember of him, I should say he was a person of rather limited imagination.’
‘And a limited imagination predisposes you to murder?’
‘It might lead you to take a crude way of settling your difficulties. Men of that type get a certain satisfaction from action of some kind or other. Murder is a very crude business, don’t you think so?’
‘Yes-I think you are right…It is definitely a point of view, that. But all the same, Miss Warren, there must be more to it than that. What motive could Philip Blake possibly have had?’
Angela Warren did not answer at once. She stood frowning down at the floor.
Hercule Poirot said:
‘He was Amyas Crale’s best friend, was he not?’
She nodded.
‘But there is something in your mind, Miss Warren. Something that you have not yet told me. Were the two men rivals, perhaps, over the girl-over Elsa?’
Angela Warren shook her head.
‘Oh, no, not Philip.’
‘What is there then?’
Angela Warren said slowly:
‘Do you know the way that things suddenly come back to you-after years perhaps. I’ll explain what I mean. Somebody told me a story once, when I was eleven. I saw no point in that story whatsoever. It didn’t worry me-it just passed straight over my head. I don’t believe I ever, as they say, thought of it again. But about two years ago, sitting in the stalls at a revue, that story came back to me, and I was so surprised that I actually said aloud, “Oh,now I see the point of that silly story about the rice pudding.” And yet there had been no direct allusion on the same lines-only some fun sailing rather near the wind.’
Poirot said: ‘I understand what you mean, mademoiselle.’
‘Then you will understand what I am going to tell you. I was once staying at a hotel. As I walked along a passage, one of the bedroom doors opened and a woman I knew came out. It was not her bedroom-and she registered the fact plainly on her face when she saw me.
‘And I knew then the meaning of the expression I had once seen on Caroline’s face when at Alderbury she came out of Philip Blake’s room one night.’
She leant forward, stopping Poirot’s words.
‘I had no idea at thetime, you understand. Iknew things-girls of the age I was usually do-but I didn’t connect them with reality. Caroline coming out of Philip Blake’s bedroom was just Caroline coming out of Philip Blake’s bedroom to me. It might have been Miss William’s room or my room. But what Idid notice was the expression on her face-a queer expression that I didn’t know and couldn’t understand.
‘And a limited imagination predisposes you to murder?’
‘It might lead you to take a crude way of settling your difficulties. Men of that type get a certain satisfaction from action of some kind or other. Murder is a very crude business, don’t you think so?’
‘Yes-I think you are right…It is definitely a point of view, that. But all the same, Miss Warren, there must be more to it than that. What motive could Philip Blake possibly have had?’
Angela Warren did not answer at once. She stood frowning down at the floor.
Hercule Poirot said:
‘He was Amyas Crale’s best friend, was he not?’
She nodded.
‘But there is something in your mind, Miss Warren. Something that you have not yet told me. Were the two men rivals, perhaps, over the girl-over Elsa?’
Angela Warren shook her head.
‘Oh, no, not Philip.’
‘What is there then?’
Angela Warren said slowly:
‘Do you know the way that things suddenly come back to you-after years perhaps. I’ll explain what I mean. Somebody told me a story once, when I was eleven. I saw no point in that story whatsoever. It didn’t worry me-it just passed straight over my head. I don’t believe I ever, as they say, thought of it again. But about two years ago, sitting in the stalls at a revue, that story came back to me, and I was so surprised that I actually said aloud, “Oh,now I see the point of that silly story about the rice pudding.” And yet there had been no direct allusion on the same lines-only some fun sailing rather near the wind.’
Poirot said: ‘I understand what you mean, mademoiselle.’
‘Then you will understand what I am going to tell you. I was once staying at a hotel. As I walked along a passage, one of the bedroom doors opened and a woman I knew came out. It was not her bedroom-and she registered the fact plainly on her face when she saw me.
‘And I knew then the meaning of the expression I had once seen on Caroline’s face when at Alderbury she came out of Philip Blake’s room one night.’
She leant forward, stopping Poirot’s words.
‘I had no idea at thetime, you understand. Iknew things-girls of the age I was usually do-but I didn’t connect them with reality. Caroline coming out of Philip Blake’s bedroom was just Caroline coming out of Philip Blake’s bedroom to me. It might have been Miss William’s room or my room. But what Idid notice was the expression on her face-a queer expression that I didn’t know and couldn’t understand.