Five Little Pigs Read Free Page B

was she—four—five? They changed her name and sent her out of England somewhere to some relatives. What can she know or remember?”
    â€œChildren know people very well sometimes.”
    â€œMaybe they do. But that doesn’t follow in this case. Naturally the girl wants to believe her mother didn’t do it. Let her believe it. It doesn’t do any harm.”
    â€œBut unfortunately she demands proof.”
    â€œProof that Caroline Crale didn’t kill her husband?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell,” said Depleach. “She won’t get it.”
    â€œYou think not?”
    The famous K.C. looked thoughtfully at his companion.
    â€œI’ve always thought you were an honest man, Poirot. What are you doing? Trying to make money by playing on a girl’s natural affections?”
    â€œYou do not know the girl. She is an unusual girl. A girl of great force of character.”
    â€œYes, I should imagine the daughter of Amyas and Caroline Crale might be that. What does she want?”
    â€œShe wants the truth.”
    â€œHm—I’m afraid she’ll find the truth unpalatable. Honestly, Poirot, I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. She killed him.”
    â€œYou will forgive me, my friend, but I must satisfy myself on that point.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know what more you can do. You can read up the newspaper accounts of the trial. Humphrey Rudolph appeared for the Crown. He’s dead—let me see, who was his junior? Young Fogg, I think. Yes, Fogg. You can have a chat with him. And then there are the people who were there at the time. Don’t suppose they’ll enjoy your butting in and raking the whole thing up, but I dare say you’ll get what you want out of them. You’re a plausible devil.”
    â€œAh yes, the people concerned. That is very important. You remember, perhaps, who they were?”
    Depleach considered.
    â€œLet me see—it’s a long time ago. There were only five people who were really in it, so to speak—I’m not counting the servants—a couple of faithful old things, scared-looking creatures—they didn’t know anything about anything. No one could suspect them.”
    â€œThere are five people, you say. Tell me about them.”
    â€œWell, there was Philip Blake. He was Crale’s greatest friend—had known him all his life. He was staying in the house at the time. He’s alive. I see him now and again on the links. Lives at St. George’s Hill. Stockbroker. Plays the markets and gets away with it. Successful man, running to fat a bit.”
    â€œYes. And who next?”
    â€œThen there was Blake’s elder brother. Country squire—stay at home sort of chap.”
    A jingle ran through Poirot’s head. He repressed it. He must not always be thinking of nursery rhymes. It seemed an obsession with him lately. And yet the jingle persisted.
    â€œThis little pig went to market, this little pig stayed at home….”
    He murmured:
    â€œHe stayed at home—yes?”
    â€œHe’s the fellow I was telling you about—messed about with drugs—and herbs—bit of a chemist. His hobby. What was his name now? Literary sort of name—I’ve got it. Meredith. Meredith Blake. Don’t know whether he’s alive or not.”
    â€œAnd who next?”
    â€œNext? Well, there’s the cause of all the trouble. The girl in the case. Elsa Greer.”
    â€œThis little pig ate roast beef,” murmured Poirot.
    Depleach stared at him.
    â€œThey’ve fed her meat all right,” he said. “She’s been a go-getter. She’s had three husbands since then. In and out of the divorce court as easy as you please. And every time she makes a change, it’s for the better. Lady Dittisham—that’s who she is now. Open any Tatler and you’re sure to find her.”
    â€œAnd the other two?”
    â€œThere