Read Online Five Little Pigs by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online

your neck!' That would have stopped her. Or I might have rung up the police. Oh, there were things that could have been done - and, instead, I let myself be influenced by Meredith's slow, cautious methods! 'We must be sure - talk it over - make quite certain who could have taken it...' Old fool - never made a quick decision in his life! A good thing for him he was the eldest son and has an estate to live on. If he'd ever tried to make money he'd have lost every penny he had.”
    “You had no doubt yourself who had taken the poison?” Poirot asked.
    “Of course not. I knew at once it must be Caroline. You see, I knew Caroline very well.”
    “That is very interesting,” Poirot said. “I want to know, Mr Blake, what kind of a woman Caroline Crale was.”
    Philip Blake said sharply, “She wasn't the injured that innocent people thought she was at the time of the trial!”
    “What was she, then?”
    Blake sat down again. He said seriously, “Would you really like to know?”
    “I would like to know very much indeed.”
    "Caroline was a rotter. She was a rotter through and through. Mind you, she had charm. She had that kind of sweetness of manner that deceives people utterly. She had a frail, helpless look about her that appealed to people's chivalry. Sometimes, when I've read a bit of history, I think Mary Queen of Scots must have been a bit like her. Always sweet and unfortunate and magnetic - and actually a cold, calculating woman, a scheming woman who planned the murder of Darnley and got away with it. Caroline was like that - a cold, calculating planner. And she, had a wicked temper.
    “I don't know whether they've told you - it isn't a vital point of the trial, but it shows her up - what she did to her baby sister? She was jealous, you know. Her mother had married again, and all the notice and affection went to little Angela. Caroline couldn't stand that. She tried to kill the baby - smash its head in. Luckily the blow wasn't fatal. But it was a pretty ghastly thing to do.”
    “Yes, indeed!”
    “Well, that was the real Caroline. She had to be first. That was the thing she simply could not stand - not being first. And there was a cold, egotistical devil in her that was capable of being stirred to murderous lengths.”
    He paused.
    “You'll say that I'm bitter - that I'm unduly prejudiced against Caroline. She had charm - I've felt it. But I knew - I always knew - the real woman behind. And that woman, M. Poirot, was evil. She was cruel and malignant and a grabber!”
    “And yet it has been told me that Mrs Crale put up with many hard things in her married life.”
    "Yes, and didn't she let everybody know about it? Always the martyr! Poor old Amyas. His married life was one long hell - or rather it would have been if it hadn't been for his exceptional quality. His art, you see - he always had that. It was an escape. When he was painting he didn't care; he shook off Caroline and her nagging and all the ceaseless rows and quarrels. They were endless, you know. Not a week passed without a thundering row over one thing or another.
    “She enjoyed it. Having rows stimulated her, I believe. It was an outlet. She could say all the hard, bitter, stinging things she wanted to say. She'd positively purr after one of those set-tos - go off looking as sleek and well-fed as a cat. But it took it out of him. He wanted peace, rest, a quiet life. Of course, a man like that ought never to marry; he isn't cut out for domesticity. A man like Crale should have affairs but no binding ties. They're bound to chafe him.”
    “He confided in you?”
    “Well - he knew that I was a pretty devoted pal. He let me see things. He didn't complain. He wasn't that kind of man. Sometimes he'd say, 'Damn all women.' Or he'd say, 'Never get married, old boy. Wait for hell till after this life.'”
    “You knew about his attachment to Miss Greer?”
    “Oh, yes - at least I saw it coming on. He told me he'd met a marvelous girl. She was