Five Little Pigs Part 14

My friends.h.i.+p with deceased dates back to a very early period. His home and mine were next door to each other in the country, and our families were friends. Amyas Crale was a little over two years older than I was. We played together as boys, in the holidays, though we were not at the same school.

From the point of view of my long knowledge of the man I feel myself particularly qualified to testify as to his character and general outlook on life. And I will say this straight away-to any one who knew Amyas Crale well-the notion of his committing suicide is quite ridiculous. Crale would never never have taken his own life. He was far too fond of living! The contention of the defence at the trial that Crale was obsessed by conscience, and took poison in a fit of remorse, is utterly absurd to any one who knew the man. Crale, I should say, had very little conscience, and certainly not a morbid one. Moreover, he and his wife were on bad terms, and I don't think he would have had any scruples about breaking up what was, to him, a very unsatisfactory married life. He was prepared to look after her financial welfare and that of the child of the marriage, and I am sure would have done so generously. He was a very generous man-and altogether a warm-hearted and lovable person. Not only was he a great painter, but he was a man whose friends were devoted to him. As far as I know he had no enemies. have taken his own life. He was far too fond of living! The contention of the defence at the trial that Crale was obsessed by conscience, and took poison in a fit of remorse, is utterly absurd to any one who knew the man. Crale, I should say, had very little conscience, and certainly not a morbid one. Moreover, he and his wife were on bad terms, and I don't think he would have had any scruples about breaking up what was, to him, a very unsatisfactory married life. He was prepared to look after her financial welfare and that of the child of the marriage, and I am sure would have done so generously. He was a very generous man-and altogether a warm-hearted and lovable person. Not only was he a great painter, but he was a man whose friends were devoted to him. As far as I know he had no enemies.

I had also known Caroline Crale for many years. I knew her before her marriage, when she used to come and stay at Alderbury. She was then a somewhat neurotic girl, subject to uncontrollable outbursts of temper, not without attraction, but unquestionably a difficult person to live with.

She showed her devotion to Amyas almost immediately. He, I do not think, was really very much in love with her. But they were frequently thrown together-she was, as I say, attractive, and they eventually became engaged. Amyas Crale's best friends were rather apprehensive about the marriage, as they felt that Caroline was quite unsuited to him.

This caused a certain amount of strain in the first few years between Crale's wife and Crale's friends, but Amyas was a loyal friend and was not disposed to give up his old friends at the bidding of his wife. After a few years, he and I were on the same old terms and I was a frequent visitor at Alderbury. I may add that I stood G.o.dfather to the little girl, Carla. This proves, I think, that Amyas considered me his best friend, and it gives me authority to speak for a man who can no longer speak for himself.

To come to the actual events of which I have been asked to write, I arrived down at Alderbury (so I see by an old diary) five days before the crime. That is, on Sept. 13th. I was conscious at once of a certain tension in the atmosphere. There was also staying in the house Miss Elsa Greer whom Amyas was painting at the time.

It was the first time I had seen Miss Greer in the flesh, but I had been aware of her existence for some time. Amyas had raved about her to me a month previously. He had met, he said, a marvellous girl. He talked about her so enthusiastically that I said to him jokingly: 'Be careful, old boy, or you'll be losing your head again.' He told me not to be a b.l.o.o.d.y fool. He was painting the girl; he'd no personal interest in her. I said: 'Tell that to the marines! I've heard you say that before.' He said: 'This time it's different'; to which I answered somewhat cynically: 'It always is!' Amyas then looked quite worried and anxious. He said: 'You don't understand. She's just a girl. Not much more than a child.' He added that she had very modern views and was absolutely free from old-fas.h.i.+oned prejudices. He said: 'She's honest and natural and absolutely fearless!'

I thought to myself, though I didn't say so, that Amyas had certainly got it badly this time. A few weeks later I heard comments from other people. It was said that the 'Greer girl was absolutely infatuated.' Somebody else said that it was a bit thick of Amyas considering how young the girl was, whereupon somebody else sn.i.g.g.e.red and said that Elsa Greer knew her way about all right. Further remarks were that the girl was rolling in money and had always got everything she wanted, and also that 'she was the one who was making most of the running.' There was a question as to what Crale's wife thought about it-and the significant reply that she must be used to that sort of thing by now, to which someone demurred by saying they'd heard that she was jealous as h.e.l.l and led Crale such an impossible life that any man would be justified in having a fling from time to time.

I mention all this because I think it is important that the state of affairs before I got down there should be fully realized.

I was interested to see the girl-she was remarkably good-looking and very attractive-and I was, I must admit, maliciously amused to note that Caroline was cutting up very rough indeed.

Amyas Crale himself was less light-hearted than usual. Though to any one who did not know him well, his manner would have appeared much as usual, I who knew him so intimately noted at once various signs of strain, uncertain temper, fits of moody abstraction, general irritability of manner.

Although he was always inclined to be moody when painting, the picture he was at work upon did not account entirely for the strain he showed. He was pleased to see me and said as soon as we were alone: 'Thank goodness you've turned up, Phil. Living in a house with four women is enough to send any man clean off his chump. Between them all they'll send me into a lunatic asylum.'

It was certainly an uncomfortable atmosphere. Caroline, as I said, was obviously cutting up rough about the whole thing. In a polite, well-bred way, she was ruder to Elsa than one would believe possible-without a single actually offensive word. Elsa herself was openly and flagrantly rude to Caroline. She was top dog and she knew it-and no scruples of good breeding restrained her from overt bad manners. The result was that Crale spent most of his time sc.r.a.pping with the girl Angela when he wasn't painting. They were usually on affectionate terms, though they teased and fought a good deal. But on this occasion there was an edge in everything Amyas said or did, and the two of them really lost their tempers with each other. The fourth member of the party was the governess. 'A sour-faced hag,' Amyas called her. 'She hates me like poison. Sits there with her lips set together, disapproving of me without stopping.'

It was then that he said: 'G.o.d d.a.m.n all women! If a man is to have any peace he must steer clear of women!'

'You oughtn't to have married,' I said. 'You're the sort of man who ought to have kept clear of domestic ties.'

He replied that it was too late to talk about that now. He added that no doubt Caroline would be only too glad to get rid of him. That was the first indication I had that something unusual was in the wind.

I said: 'What's all this? Is this business with the lovely Elsa serious then?' He said with a sort of groan: 'She is is lovely, isn't she? Sometimes I wish I'd never seen her.' lovely, isn't she? Sometimes I wish I'd never seen her.'

I said: 'Look here, old boy, you must take a hold on yourself. You don't want to get tied up with any more women.' He looked at me and laughed. He said: 'It's all very well for you to talk. I can't let women alone-simply can't do it-and if I could, they wouldn't let me alone!' Then he shrugged those great shoulders of his, grinned at me and said: 'Oh well, it will all pan out in the end, I expect. And you must admit the picture is good?'

He was referring to the portrait he was doing of Elsa, and although I had very little technical knowledge of painting, even I could see that it was going to be a work of especial power.

Whilst he was painting, Amyas was a different man. Although he would growl, groan, frown, swear extravagantly, and sometimes hurl his brushes away, he was really intensely happy.

It was only when he came back to the house for meals that the hostile atmosphere between the women got him down. That hostility came to a head on Sept. 17th. We had had an embarra.s.sing lunch. Elsa had been particularly-really, I think insolent insolent is the only word for it! She had ignored Caroline pointedly, persistently addressing the conversation to Amyas as though he and she were alone in the room. Caroline had talked lightly and gaily to the rest of us, cleverly contriving so that several perfectly innocent-sounding remarks should have a sting. She hadn't got Elsa Greer's scornful honesty-with Caroline every thing was oblique, suggested rather than said. is the only word for it! She had ignored Caroline pointedly, persistently addressing the conversation to Amyas as though he and she were alone in the room. Caroline had talked lightly and gaily to the rest of us, cleverly contriving so that several perfectly innocent-sounding remarks should have a sting. She hadn't got Elsa Greer's scornful honesty-with Caroline every thing was oblique, suggested rather than said.

Things came to a head after lunch in the drawing-room just as we were finis.h.i.+ng coffee. I had commented on a carved head in highly polished beechwood-a very curious thing, and Caroline said: 'That is the work of a young Norwegian sculptor. Amyas and I admire his work very much. We hope to go and see him next summer.' That calm a.s.sumption of possession was too much for Elsa. She was never one to let a challenge pa.s.s. She waited a minute or two and then she spoke in her clear, rather over-emphasized voice. She said: 'This would be a lovely room if it was properly fixed. It's got far too much furniture in it. When I'm living here I shall take all the rubbish out and just leave one or two good pieces. And I shall have copper-coloured curtains, I think-so that the setting sun will just catch them through that big western window.' She turned to me and said. 'Don't you think that would be rather lovely?'

I didn't have time to answer. Caroline spoke, and her voice was soft and silky and what I can only describe as dangerous. She said: 'Are you thinking of buying this place, Elsa?'

Elsa said: 'It won't be necessary for me to buy it.'

Caroline said: 'What do you mean?' And there was no softness in her voice now. It was hard and metallic. Elsa laughed. She said: 'Must we pretend? Come now, Caroline, you know very well what I mean!'

Caroline said: 'I've no idea.'

Elsa said to that: 'Don't be such an ostrich. It's no good pretending you don't see and know all about it. Amyas and I care for each other. This isn't your home. It's his. And after we're married I shall live here with him!'

Caroline said: 'I think you're crazy.'

Elsa said: 'Oh no, I'm not, my dear, and you know it. It would be much simpler if we were honest with each other. Amyas and I love each other-you've seen that clearly enough. There's only one decent thing for you to do. You've got to give him his freedom.'

Caroline said: 'I don't believe a word of what you are saying.'

But her voice was unconvincing. Elsa had got under her guard all right.

And at that minute Amyas Crale came into the room and Elsa said with a laugh: 'If you don't believe me, ask him.'

And Caroline said: 'I will.'

She didn't pause at all. She said: 'Amyas, Elsa says you want to marry her. Is this true?'

Poor Amyas. I felt sorry for him. It makes a man feel a fool to have a scene of that kind forced upon him. He went crimson and started bl.u.s.tering. He turned on Elsa and asked her why the devil she couldn't have held her tongue?

Caroline said: 'Then it is is true?' true?'

He didn't say anything, just stood there pa.s.sing his finger round inside the neck of his s.h.i.+rt. He used to do that as a kid when he got into a jam of any kind. He said-and he tried to make the words sound dignified and authoritative-and of course couldn't manage it, poor devil: 'I don't want to discuss it.'

Caroline said: 'But we're going to discuss it!'

Elsa chipped in and said: 'I think it's only fair to Caroline that she should be told.'

Caroline said, very quietly: 'Is it true, Amyas?'

He looked a bit ashamed of himself. Men do when women pin them down in a corner.

She said: 'Answer me, please. I've got to know.'

He flung up his head then-rather the way a bull does in the bull-ring. He snapped out: 'It's true enough-but I don't want to discuss it now.'

And he turned and strode out of the room. I went after him. I didn't want to be left with the women. I caught up with him on the terrace. He was swearing. I never knew a man swear more heartily. Then he raved: 'Why couldn't she hold her tongue? Why the devil couldn't she hold her tongue? Now the fat's in the fire. And I've got to finish that picture-do you hear, Phil? It's the best thing I've done. The best thing I've ever done in my life life. And a couple of d.a.m.n' fool women want to muck it up between them!'

Then he calmed down a little and said women had no sense of proportion.

I couldn't help smiling a little. I said: 'Well, dash it all, old boy, you have brought this on yourself.'

'Don't I know it,' he said, and groaned. Then he added: 'But you must admit, Phil, that a man couldn't be blamed for losing his head about her. Even Caroline ought to understand that.'

I asked him what would happen if Caroline got her back up and refused to give him a divorce.

But by now he had gone off into a fit of abstraction. I repeated the remark and he said absently: 'Caroline would never be vindictive. You don't understand, old boy.'

'There's the child,' I pointed out.

He took me by the arm.

'Phil, old boy, you mean well-but don't go on croaking like a raven. I can manage my affairs. Everything will turn out all right. You'll see if it doesn't.'

That was Amyas all over-an absolutely unjustified optimist. He said now, cheerfully: 'To h.e.l.l with the whole pack of them!'

I don't know whether we would have said anything more, but a few minutes later Caroline swept out on the terrace. She'd got a hat on, a queer, flopping, dark-brown hat, rather attractive.

She said in an absolutely ordinary, every-day voice: 'Take off that paint-stained coat, Amyas. We're going over to Meredith's to tea-don't you remember?'

He stared, stammered a bit as he said: 'Oh, I'd forgotten. Yes, of c-c-course we are.'

She said: 'Then go and try and make yourself look less like a rag-and-bone man.'

Although her voice was quite natural, she didn't look at him. She moved over towards a bed of dahlias and began picking off some of the overblown flowers.

Amyas turned round slowly and went into the house.

Caroline talked to me. She talked a good deal. About the chances of the weather lasting. And whether there might be mackerel about, and if so Amyas and Angela and I might like to go fis.h.i.+ng. She was really amazing. I've got to hand it to her.

But I think, myself, that that showed the sort of woman she was. She had enormous strength of will and complete command over herself. I don't know whether she'd made up her mind to kill him then-but I shouldn't be surprised. And she was capable of making her plans carefully and unemotionally, with an absolutely clear and ruthless mind.

Caroline Crale was a very dangerous woman. I ought to have realized then that she wasn't prepared to take this thing lying down. But like a fool I thought that she had made up her mind to accept the inevitable-or else possibly she thought that if she carried on exactly as usual Amyas might change his mind.

Presently the others came out. Elsa looking defiant-but at the same time triumphant. Caroline took no notice of her. Angela really saved the situation. She came out arguing with Miss Williams that she wasn't going to change her skirt for any one. It was quite all right-good enough for darling old Meredith anyway-he never noticed anything. never noticed anything.

We got off at last. Caroline walked with Angela. And I walked with Amyas. And Elsa walked by herself-smiling.

I didn't admire her myself-too violent a type-but I have to admit that she looked incredibly beautiful that afternoon. Women do when they've got what they want.

I can't remember the events of that afternoon clearly at all. It's all blurred. I remember old Merry coming out to meet us. I think we walked round the garden first. I remember having a long discussion with Angela about the training of terriers for ratting. She ate an incredible lot of apples, and tried to persuade me to do so too.

When we got back to the house, tea was going on under the big cedar tree. Merry, I remember, was looking very upset. I suppose either Caroline or Amyas had told him something. He was looking doubtfully at Caroline, and then he stared at Elsa. The old boy looked thoroughly worried. Of course Caroline liked to have Meredith on a string more or less, the devoted, platonic friend who would never, never go too far. She was that kind of woman.

After tea Meredith had a hurried word with me. He said: 'Look here, Phil, Amyas can't can't do this thing!' do this thing!'

I said: 'Make no mistake, he's going to do it.'

'He can't leave his wife and child and go off with this girl. He's years older than she is. She can't be more than eighteen.'

I said to him that Miss Greer was a fully sophisticated twenty.

He said: 'Anyway, that's under age. She can't know what she's doing.'

Poor old Meredith. Always the chivalrous pukka sahib. I said: 'Don't worry, old boy. She She knows what she's doing, knows what she's doing, and and she likes it!' she likes it!'

That's all we had the chance of saying. I thought to myself that probably Merry felt disturbed at the thought of Caroline being a deserted wife. Once the divorce was through she might expect her faithful Dobbin to marry her. I had an idea that hopeless devotion was really far more in his line. I must confess that that side of it amused me.

Curiously enough I remember very little about our visit to Meredith's stink room. He enjoyed showing people his hobby. Personally I always found it very boring. I suppose I was in there with the rest of them when he gave a dissertation on the efficacy of coniine, but I don't remember it. And I didn't see Caroline pinch the stuff. As I've said, she was a very adroit woman. I do remember Meredith reading aloud the pa.s.sage from Plato describing Socrates' death. Very boring I thought it. Cla.s.sics always did bore me.

There's nothing much more I can remember about that day. Amyas and Angela had a first-cla.s.s row, I know, and the rest of us rather welcomed it. It avoided other difficulties. Angela rushed off to bed with a final vituperative outburst. She said A, she'd pay him out. B, she wished he were dead. C, she hoped he'd die of leprosy, it would serve him right. D, she wished a sausage would stick to his nose, like in the fairy story, and never come off. When she'd gone we all laughed, we couldn't help it, it was such a funny mixture.

Caroline went up to bed immediately afterwards. Miss Williams disappeared after her pupil. Amyas and Elsa went off together into the garden. It was clear that I wasn't wanted. I went for a stroll by myself. It was a lovely night.

I came down late the following morning. There was no one in the dining-room. Funny the things you do remember. I remember the taste of the kidneys and bacon I ate quite well. They were very good kidneys. Devilled.

Afterwards I wandered out looking for everybody. I went outside, didn't see anybody, smoked a cigarette, encountered Miss Williams running about looking for Angela, who had played truant as usual when she ought to have been mending a torn frock. I went back into the hall and realized that Amyas and Caroline were having a set-to in the library. They were talking very loud. I heard her say: 'You and your women! I'd like to kill you. Some day I will kill you.' Amyas said: 'Don't be a fool, Caroline.' And she said: 'I mean it, Amyas.'

Well, I didn't want to overhear any more. I went out again. I wandered along the terrace the other way and came across Elsa.

She was sitting on one of the long seats. The seat was directly under the library window, and the window was open. I should imagine that there wasn't much she had missed of what was going on inside. When she saw me she got up as cool as a cuc.u.mber and came towards me. She was smiling. She took my arm and said: 'Isn't it a lovely morning?'

It was a lovely morning for her all right! Rather a cruel girl. No, I think merely honest and lacking in imagination. What she wanted herself was the only thing that she could see.

We'd been standing on the terrace talking for about five minutes, when I heard the library door bang and Amyas Crale came out. He was very red in the face.

He caught hold of Elsa unceremoniously by the shoulder.

He said: 'Come on, time for you to sit. I want to get on with that picture.'

She said: 'All right. I'll just go up and get a pullover. There's a chilly wind.'

She went into the house.

I wondered if Amyas would say anything to me, but he didn't say much. Just: 'These women!'

I said: 'Cheer up, old boy.'

Then we neither of us said anything till Elsa came out of the house again.

They went off together down to the Battery garden. I went into the house. Caroline was standing in the hall. I don't think she even noticed me. It was a way of hers at times. She'd seem to go right away-to get inside herself as it were. She just murmured something. Not to me-to herself. I just caught the words: 'It's too cruel...'

That's what she said. Then she walked past me and upstairs, still without seeming to see me-just like a person intent on some inner vision. I think myself (I've no authority for saying this, you understand) that she went up to get the stuff, and that it was then she decided to do what she did do.

And just at that moment the telephone rang. In some houses one would wait for the servants to answer it, but I was so often at Alderbury that I acted more or less as one of the family. I picked up the receiver.

It was my brother Meredith's voice that answered. He was very upset. He explained that he had been into his laboratory and that the coniine bottle was half-empty.

I don't need to go again over all the things I know now I ought to have done. The thing was so startling and I was foolish enough to be taken aback. Meredith was dithering a good bit at the other end. I heard someone on the stairs, and I just told him sharply to come over at once.

I myself went down to meet him. In case you don't know the lay of the land, the shortest way from one estate to the other was by rowing across a small creek. I went down the path to where the boats were kept by a small jetty. To do so I pa.s.sed under the wall of the Battery garden. I could hear Elsa and Amyas talking as he painted. They sounded very cheerful and carefree. Amyas said it was an amazingly hot day (so it was, very hot for September), and Elsa said that sitting where she was, poised on the battlements, there was a cold wind blowing in from the sea. And then she said: 'I'm horribly stiff from posing. Can't I have a rest, darling?' And I heard Amyas cry out: 'Not on your life. Stick it. You're a tough girl. And this is going good, I tell you.' I heard Elsa say, 'Brute' and laugh, as I went out of earshot.

Meredith was just rowing himself across from the other side. I waited for him. He tied up the boat and came up the steps. He was looking very white and worried. He said to me: 'Your head's better than mine, Philip. What ought I to do? That stuff's dangerous.'

I said: 'Are you absolutely sure about this?' Meredith, you see, was always a rather vague kind of chap. Perhaps that's why I didn't take it as seriously as I ought to have done. And he said he was quite sure. The bottle had been full yesterday afternoon.

I said: 'And you've absolutely no no idea who pinched it?' idea who pinched it?'

He said none whatever and asked me what I I thought. Could it have been one of the servants? I said I supposed it might have been, but it seemed unlikely to me. He always kept the door locked, didn't he? Always, he said, and then began a rigmarole about having found the window a few inches open at the bottom. Someone might have got in that way. thought. Could it have been one of the servants? I said I supposed it might have been, but it seemed unlikely to me. He always kept the door locked, didn't he? Always, he said, and then began a rigmarole about having found the window a few inches open at the bottom. Someone might have got in that way.