always been glad of that...”
Poirot asked a thing he already knew: “Who found him here?”
“She did. Caroline. After lunch. Elsa and I, I suppose, were the last ones to see him alive. It must have been coming on then. He - looked queer. I'd rather not talk about it. I'll write it to you. Easier that way.”
He turned abruptly and went out of the Battery. Poirot flowed him without speaking.
The two men went on up the zigzag path. At a higher left-brace than the Battery, there was another small plateau. It was overshadowed with trees and there was a bench there and a table. Meredith said, “They haven't changed this much. But the bench used not to be Ye Olde Rustic. It was just a painted iron business. A bit hard for sitting, a lovely view.”
Poirot agreed. Through a framework of trees one looked over the Battery to the creek mouth.
“I sat up here part of the morning,” Meredith explained. “Trees weren't quite so overgrown then. One could see the battlements of the Battery quite plainly. That's where Elsa was posing, you know. Sitting on one, with her head twisted around.”
He gave a slight twitch of his shoulders. “Trees grow faster than one thinks,” he muttered. “Oh, well, suppose I'm getting old. Come on up to the house.”
They continued to follow the path till it emerged near the house. It had been a fine old house, Georgian in style. It had been added to, and on a green lawn near it were set some fifty little wooden bathing hutches.
“Young men sleep there, girls in the house,” Meredith explained.
“I don't suppose there's anything you want to see here. All the rooms have been cut about. Used to be a little conservatory tacked on here. These people have built a loggia. Oh, well - I suppose they enjoy their holidays. Can't keep everything as it used to be - more's the pity.”
He turned away abruptly. “We'll go down another way. It - it all comes back to me, you know. Ghosts. Ghosts everywhere!”
Five Little Pigs
Chapter 5
They returned to the quay by a somewhat longer and more rambling route. Poirot did not speak, nor did Blake. When they reached Handcross Manor once more, Blake said abruptly:
“I bought that picture, you know. The one that Amyas was painting. I just couldn't stand the idea of its being sold for - well, publicity value - a lot of dirty-minded brutes gaping at it. It was a fine piece of work. Amyas said it was the best thing he'd ever done. I shouldn't be surprised if he was right. It was practically finished. He only wanted to work on it another day or so. Would - would you care to see it?”
Hercule Poirot said quickly, “Yes, indeed.”
Blake led the way across the hall and took a key from his pocket. He unlocked a door and they went into a fair-sized, dusty-smelling room. It was closely shuttered. Blake went across to the windows and opened the wooden shutters. Then, with a little difficulty, he flung up a window and a breath of fragrant spring air came wafting into the room.
Meredith said, “That's better.”
He stood by the window inhaling the air, and Poirot joined him. There was no need to ask what the room had been. The shelves were empty, but there were marks upon them where bottles had once stood. Against one wall was some derelict chemical apparatus and a sink. The room was thick in dust.
Meredith Blake was looking out of the window. He said: “How easily it all comes back. Standing here, smelling the jasmine, and talking - talking, like the damned fool I was, about my precious potions and distillations!”
Absently, Poirot stretched a hand through the window. He pulled off a spray of jasmine leaves just breaking from their woody stem.
Meredith Blake moved resolutely across the floor. On the wall was a picture covered with a dust sheet. He jerked the dust sheet away.
Poirot caught his breath. He had seen, so far, four pictures of Amyas Crale's - two at the Tate; one at a London dealer's; one, the still life of roses. But now he was looking at
Poirot asked a thing he already knew: “Who found him here?”
“She did. Caroline. After lunch. Elsa and I, I suppose, were the last ones to see him alive. It must have been coming on then. He - looked queer. I'd rather not talk about it. I'll write it to you. Easier that way.”
He turned abruptly and went out of the Battery. Poirot flowed him without speaking.
The two men went on up the zigzag path. At a higher left-brace than the Battery, there was another small plateau. It was overshadowed with trees and there was a bench there and a table. Meredith said, “They haven't changed this much. But the bench used not to be Ye Olde Rustic. It was just a painted iron business. A bit hard for sitting, a lovely view.”
Poirot agreed. Through a framework of trees one looked over the Battery to the creek mouth.
“I sat up here part of the morning,” Meredith explained. “Trees weren't quite so overgrown then. One could see the battlements of the Battery quite plainly. That's where Elsa was posing, you know. Sitting on one, with her head twisted around.”
He gave a slight twitch of his shoulders. “Trees grow faster than one thinks,” he muttered. “Oh, well, suppose I'm getting old. Come on up to the house.”
They continued to follow the path till it emerged near the house. It had been a fine old house, Georgian in style. It had been added to, and on a green lawn near it were set some fifty little wooden bathing hutches.
“Young men sleep there, girls in the house,” Meredith explained.
“I don't suppose there's anything you want to see here. All the rooms have been cut about. Used to be a little conservatory tacked on here. These people have built a loggia. Oh, well - I suppose they enjoy their holidays. Can't keep everything as it used to be - more's the pity.”
He turned away abruptly. “We'll go down another way. It - it all comes back to me, you know. Ghosts. Ghosts everywhere!”
Five Little Pigs
Chapter 5
They returned to the quay by a somewhat longer and more rambling route. Poirot did not speak, nor did Blake. When they reached Handcross Manor once more, Blake said abruptly:
“I bought that picture, you know. The one that Amyas was painting. I just couldn't stand the idea of its being sold for - well, publicity value - a lot of dirty-minded brutes gaping at it. It was a fine piece of work. Amyas said it was the best thing he'd ever done. I shouldn't be surprised if he was right. It was practically finished. He only wanted to work on it another day or so. Would - would you care to see it?”
Hercule Poirot said quickly, “Yes, indeed.”
Blake led the way across the hall and took a key from his pocket. He unlocked a door and they went into a fair-sized, dusty-smelling room. It was closely shuttered. Blake went across to the windows and opened the wooden shutters. Then, with a little difficulty, he flung up a window and a breath of fragrant spring air came wafting into the room.
Meredith said, “That's better.”
He stood by the window inhaling the air, and Poirot joined him. There was no need to ask what the room had been. The shelves were empty, but there were marks upon them where bottles had once stood. Against one wall was some derelict chemical apparatus and a sink. The room was thick in dust.
Meredith Blake was looking out of the window. He said: “How easily it all comes back. Standing here, smelling the jasmine, and talking - talking, like the damned fool I was, about my precious potions and distillations!”
Absently, Poirot stretched a hand through the window. He pulled off a spray of jasmine leaves just breaking from their woody stem.
Meredith Blake moved resolutely across the floor. On the wall was a picture covered with a dust sheet. He jerked the dust sheet away.
Poirot caught his breath. He had seen, so far, four pictures of Amyas Crale's - two at the Tate; one at a London dealer's; one, the still life of roses. But now he was looking at
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