Five Little Pigs. Agatha Christie
to Inspector Conway. It was to this effect. He had that morning received a telephone message from his brother, Mr Meredith Blake (who lived at Handcross Manor, a mile and a half away). Mr Meredith Blake was an amateur chemist—or perhaps herbalist would describe it best. On entering his laboratory that morning, Mr Meredith Blake had been startled to note that a bottle containing a preparation of hemlock, which had been quite full the day before, was now nearly empty. Worried and alarmed by this fact he had rung up his brother to ask his advice as to what he should do about it. Mr Philip Blake had urged his brother to come over to Alderbury at once and they would talk the matter over. He himself walked part way to meet his brother and they had come up to the house together. They had come to no decision as to what course to adopt and had left the matter in order to consult again after lunch.
‘As a result of further inquiries, Inspector Conway ascertained the following facts: On the preceding afternoon five people had walked over from Alderbury to tea at Handcross Manor. There were Mr and Mrs Crale, Miss Angela Warren, Miss Elsa Greer and Mr Philip Blake. During the time spent there, Mr Meredith Blake had given quite a dissertation on his hobby and had taken the party into his little laboratory and “shown them round”. In the course of this tour, he had mentioned certain specific drugs—one of which was coniine, the active principle of the spotted hemlock. He had explained its properties, had lamented the fact that it had now disappeared from the Pharmacopœia and boasted that he had known small doses of it to be very efficacious in whooping cough and asthma. Later he had mentioned its lethal properties and had actually read to his guests some passage from a Greek author describing its effects.’
Superintendent Hale paused, refilled his pipe and passed on to Chapter Three.
‘Colonel Frere, the Chief Constable, put the case into my hands. The result of the autopsy put the matter beyond any doubt. Coniine, I understand, leaves no definite post-mortem appearances, but the doctors knew what to look for, and an ample amount of the drug was recovered. The doctor was of the opinion that it had been administered two or three hours before death. In front of Mr Crale, on the table, there had been an empty glass and an empty beer bottle. The dregs of both were analysed. There was no coniine in the bottle, but there was in the glass. I made inquiries and learned that although a case of beer and glasses were kept in a small summerhouse in the Battery garden in case Mr Crale should feel thirsty when painting, on this particular morning Mrs Crale had brought down from the house a bottle of freshly iced beer. Mr Crale was busy painting when she arrived and Miss Greer was posing for him, sitting on one of the battlements.
‘Mrs Crale opened the beer, poured it out and put the glass into her husband’s hand as he was standing before the easel. He tossed it off in one draught—a habit of his, I learned. Then he made a grimace, set down the glass on the table, and said: “Everything tastes foul to me today!” Miss Greer upon that laughed and said, “Liver!” Mr Crale said: “Well, at any rate it was cold.” ’
Hale paused. Poirot said:
‘At what time did this take place?’
‘At about a quarter-past eleven. Mr Crale continued to paint. According to Miss Greer, he later complained of stiffness in the limbs and grumbled that he must have got a touch of rheumatism. But he was the type of man who hates to admit to illness of any kind, and he undoubtedly tried not to admit that he was feeling ill. His irritable demand that he should be left alone and the others go up to lunch was quite characteristic of the man, I should say.’
Poirot nodded.
Hale continued.
‘So Crale was left alone in the Battery garden. No doubt he dropped down on the seat and relaxed as soon as he was alone. Muscular paralysis would then set in. No help was at hand, and death supervened.’
Again Poirot nodded.
Hale said:
‘Well, I proceeded according to routine. There wasn’t much difficulty in getting down to the facts. On the preceding day there had been a set-to between Mrs Crale and Miss Greer. The latter had pretty insolently described some change in the arrangement of the furniture “when I am living here.” Mrs Crale took her up, and said, “What do you mean? When you are living here.” Miss Greer replied: “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean, Caroline. You’re just like an ostrich that buries its head in the sand. You know perfectly well that Amyas and I care for each other and are going to be married.” Mrs Crale said: “I know nothing of the kind.” Miss Greer then said: “Well, you know it now.” Whereupon, it seems, Mrs Crale turned to her husband who had just come into the room and said: “Is it true, Amyas, that you are going to marry Elsa?” ’
Poirot said with interest:
‘And what did Mr Crale say to that?’
‘Apparently he turned on Miss Greer and shouted at her: “What the devil do you mean by blurting that out? Haven’t you got the sense to hold your tongue?”
‘Miss Greer said: “I think Caroline ought to recognize the truth.”
‘Mrs Crale said to her husband: “Is it true, Amyas?”
‘He wouldn’t look at her, it seems, turned his face away and mumbled something.
‘She said: “Speak out. I’ve got to know.” Whereupon he said:
‘ “Oh, it’s true enough—but I don’t want to discuss it now.”
‘Then he flounced out of the room again and Miss Greer said:
‘ “You see!” and went on—with something about its being no good for Mrs Crale to adopt a dog-in-the-
manger attitude about it. They must all behave like rational people. She herself hoped that Caroline and Amyas would always remain good friends.’
‘And what did Mrs Crale say to that?’ asked Poirot curiously.
‘According to the witnesses she laughed. She said: “Over my dead body, Elsa.” She went to the door and Miss Greer called after her: “What do you mean?” Mrs Crale looked back and said: “I’ll kill Amyas before I give him up to you.” ’
Hale paused.
‘Pretty damning—eh?’
‘Yes.’ Poirot seemed thoughtful. ‘Who overheard this scene?’
‘Miss Williams was in the room and Philip Blake. Very awkward for them.’
‘Their accounts of the scene agree?’
‘Near enough—you never got two witnesses to remember a thing exactly alike. You know that just as well as I do, M. Poirot.’
Poirot nodded. He said thoughtfully:
‘Yes, it will be interesting to see—’ He stopped with the sentence unfinished.
Hale went on: ‘I instituted a search of the house. In Mrs Crale’s bedroom I found in a bottom drawer, tucked away underneath some winter stockings, a small bottle labelled jasmine scent. It was empty. I finger-printed it. The only prints on it were those of Mrs Crale. On analysis it was found to contain faint traces of oil of jasmine, and a strong solution of coniine hydrobromide.
‘I cautioned Mrs Crale and showed her the bottle. She replied readily. She had, she said, been in a very unhappy state of mind. After listening to Mr Meredith Blake’s description of the drug she had slipped back to the laboratory, had emptied out a bottle of jasmine scent which was in her bag and had filled the bottle up with coniine solution. I asked her why she had done this and she said: “I don’t want to speak of certain things more than I can help, but I had received a bad shock. My husband was proposing to leave me for another woman. If that was so, I didn’t want to live. That is why I took it.” ’
Hale paused.
Poirot said: ‘After all—it is likely enough.’
‘Perhaps, M. Poirot. But it doesn’t square with what she was overheard to say. And then there was a further scene on the following morning. Mr Philip Blake overheard a portion of it. Miss Greer overheard