‘Exactly.’ And shut her lips very tight after the word.
‘What was your opinion of Elsa Greer?’
‘I had no opinion of her at all. A thoroughly unprincipled young woman.’
‘She was very young.’
‘Old enough to know better. I can see no excuse for her-none at all.’
‘She fell in love with him, I suppose-’
Miss Williams interrupted with a snort.
‘Fell in love with him indeed. I should hope, M. Poirot, that whatever our feelings, we can keep them in decent control. And we can certainly control our actions. That girl had absolutely no morals of any kind. It meant nothing to her that Mr Crale was a married man. She was absolutely shameless about it all- cool and determined. Possibly she may have been badly brought up-but that’s the only excuse I can find for her.’
‘Mr Crale’s death must have been a terrible shock to her.’
‘Oh, it was. And she herself was entirely to blame for it. I don’t go as far as condoning murder, but all the same, M. Poirot, if ever a woman was driven to breaking point, that woman was Caroline Crale. I tell you frankly, there were moments when I would have liked to murder them both myself. Flaunting the girl in his wife’s face, listening to her having to put up with the girl’s insolence-and she was insolent, M. Poirot. Oh no, Amyas Crale deserved what he got. No man should treat his wife as he did and not be punished for it. His death was a just retribution.’
Hercule Poirot said: ‘You feel strongly…’
The small woman looked at him with those indomitable grey eyes. She said:
‘I feel very strongly about the marriage tie. Unless it is respected and upheld, a country degenerates. Mrs Crale was a devoted and faithful wife. Her husband deliberately flouted her and introduced his mistress into her home. As I say, he deserved what he got. He goaded her past endurance and I, for one, do not blame her for what she did.’
Poirot said slowly: ‘He acted very badly-that I admit-but he was a great artist, remember.’
Miss Williams gave a terrific snort.
‘Oh yes, I know. That’s always the excuse nowadays. An artist! An excuse for every kind of loose living, for drunkenness, for brawling, for infidelity. And what kind of an artist was Mr Crale, when all is said and done? It may be the fashion to admire his pictures for a few years. But they won’t last. Why, he couldn’t even draw! His perspective was terrible! Even his anatomy was quite incorrect. I know something of what I am talking about, M. Poirot. I studied painting for a time, as a girl, in Florence, and to any one who knows and appreciates the great masters, these daubs of Mr Crale’s are really ludicrous. Just splashing a few colours about on the canvas-no construction-no careful drawing. No,’ she shook her head, ‘don’t ask me to admire Mr Crale’s painting.’
‘Two of them are in the Tate Gallery,’ Poirot reminded her.
Miss Williams sniffed.
‘Possibly. So is one of Mr Epstein’s statues, I believe.’
Poirot perceived that, according to Miss Williams, the last word had been said. He abandoned the subject of art.
He said:
‘You were with Mrs Crale when she found the body?’
‘Yes. She and I went down from the house together after lunch. Angela had left her pullover on the beach after bathing, or else in the boat. She was always very careless about her things. I parted from Mrs Crale at the door of the Battery garden, but she called me back almost at once. I believe Mr Crale had been dead over an hour. He was sprawled on the bench near his easel.’
‘Was she terribly upset at the discovery?’
‘What exactly do you mean by that, M. Poirot?’
‘I am asking you what your impressions were at the time.’
‘Oh, I see. Yes, she seemed to me quite dazed. She sent me off to telephone for the doctor. After all, we couldn’t be absolutely sure he was dead-it might have been a cataleptic seizure.’
‘Did she suggest such a possibility?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘And you went and telephoned?’
Miss William’s tone was dry and brusque.
‘I had gone half up the path when I met Mr Meredith Blake. I entrusted my errand to him and returned to Mrs Crale. I thought, you see, she might have collapsed-and men are no good in a matter of that kind.’
‘And had she collapsed?’
Miss Williams said drily:
‘Mrs Crale was quite in command of herself. She was quite different from Miss Greer, who made a hysterical and very unpleasant scene.’
‘What kind of a scene?’
‘She tried to attack Mrs Crale.’
‘You mean she realized that Mrs Crale was responsible for Mr Crale’s death?’
Miss Williams considered for a moment or two.
‘No, she could hardly be sure of that. That-er-terrible suspicion had not yet arisen. Miss Greer just screamed out: “It’s all your doing, Caroline. You killed him. It’s all your fault.” She did not actually say “You’ve poisoned him,” but I think there is no doubt that she thought so.’
‘And Mrs Crale?’
Miss Williams moved restlessly.
‘Must we be hypocritical, M. Poirot? I cannot tell you what Mrs Crale really felt or thought at that moment. Whether it was horror at what she had done-’
‘Did it seem like that?’
‘N-no, n-no, I can’t say it did. Stunned, yes-and, I think, frightened. Yes, I am sure, frightened. But that is natural enough.’
Hercule Poirot said in a dissatisfied tone:
‘Yes, perhaps that is natural enough…What view did she adopt officially as to her husband’s death?’
‘Suicide. She said, very definitely from the first, that it must be suicide.’
‘Did she say the same when she was talking to you privately, or did she put forward any other theory.’
‘No. She-she-took pains to impress upon me that it must be suicide.’
Miss Williams sounded embarrassed.
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘Really, M. Poirot, does it matter what I said?’
‘Yes, I think it does.’
‘I don’t see why-’
But as though his expectant silence hypnotized her, she said reluctantly:
‘I think I said: “Certainly, Mrs Crale. It must have been suicide.” ’
‘Did you believe your own words?’
Miss Williams raised her head. She said firmly:
‘No, I did not. But please understand, M. Poirot, that I was entirely on Mrs Crale’s side, if you like to put it that way. My sympathies were with her, not with the police.’
‘You would have liked to have seen her acquitted?’
Miss Williams said defiantly:
‘Yes, I would.’
