Five Little Pigs by Agatha Christie Page B

you’d suggest that the child Angela did it? No, Mr. Poirot, there’s no alternative. Nobody could have killed Amyas Crale but his wife. But he drove her to it. And so, in a way, it was suicide after all, I suppose.”
    â€œMeaning that he died by the result of his own actions, though not by his own hand?”
    â€œYes, it’s a fanciful point of view, perhaps. But—well—cause and effect, you know.”
    Hercule Poirot said:
    â€œHave you ever reflected, Mr. Blake, that the reason for murder is nearly always to be found by a study of the person murdered?”
    â€œI hadn’t exactly—yes, I suppose I see what you mean.”
    Poirot said:
    â€œUntil you know exactly what sort of a person the victim was, you cannot begin to see the circumstances of a crime clearly.”
    He added:
    â€œThat is what I am seeking for—and what you and your brother have helped to give me—a reconstruction of the man Amyas Crale.”
    Meredith Blake passed the main point of the remark over. His attention had been attracted by a single word. He said quickly:
    â€œPhilip?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou have talked with him also?”
    â€œCertainly.”
    Meredith Blake said sharply:
    â€œYou should have come to me first.”
    Smiling a little, Poirot made a courteous gesture.
    â€œAccording to the laws of primogenitude, that is so,” he said. “I am aware that you are the elder. But you comprehend that as your brother lives near London, it was easier to visit him first.”
    Meredith Blake was still frowning. He pulled uneasily at his lip. He repeated:
    â€œYou should have come to me first.”
    This time, Poirot did not answer. He waited. And presently Meredith Blake went on:
    â€œPhilip,” he said, “is prejudiced.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact he’s a mass of prejudices—always has been.” He shot a quick uneasy glance at Poirot. “He’ll have tried to put you against Caroline.”
    â€œDoes that matter, so long—after?”
    Meredith Blake gave a sharp sigh.
    â€œI know. I forget that it’s so long ago—that it’s all over. Caroline is beyond being harmed. But all the same I shouldn’t like you to get a false impression.”
    â€œAnd you think your brother might give me a false impression?”
    â€œFrankly, I do. You see, there was always a certain—how shall I put it?—antagonism between him and Caroline.”
    â€œWhy?”
    The question seemed to irritate Blake. He said:
    â€œWhy? How should I know why? These things are so. Philip always crabbed her whenever he could. He was annoyed, I think, when Amyas married her. He never went near them for over a year. And yet Amyas was almost his best friend. That was the reason really, I suppose. He didn’t feel that any woman was good enough. And he probably felt that Caroline’s influence would spoil their friendship.”
    â€œAnd did it?”
    â€œNo, of course it didn’t. Amyas was always just as fond of Philip—right up to the end. Used to twit him with being a money grabber and with growing a corporation and being a Philistine generally. Philip didn’t care. He just used to grin and say it was a good thing Amyas had one respectable friend.”
    â€œHow did your brother react to the Elsa Greer affair?”
    â€œDo you know, I find it rather difficult to say. His attitude wasn’t really easy to define. He was annoyed, I think, with Amyas for making a fool of himself over the girl. He said more than once that it wouldn’t work and that Amyas would live to regret it. At the same time I have a feeling—yes, very definitely I have a feeling that he was just faintly pleased at seeing Caroline let down.”
    Poirot’s eyebrows rose. He said:
    â€œHe really felt like that?”
    â€œOh, don’t misunderstand me. I wouldn’t go further than to say that I believe