Five Little Pigs

For a moment Poirot was dazzled coming in from the shade outside. The Battery was an artificially cleared plateau with battlements set with cannon. It gave one the impression of overhanging the sea. There were trees above it and behind it, but on the sea side there was nothing but the dazzling blue water below.

‘Attractive spot,’ said Meredith. He nodded contemptuously towards a kind of pavilion set back against the back wall. ‘That wasn’t there, of course – only an old tumbledown shed where Amyas kept his painting muck and some bottled beer and a few deck chairs. It wasn’t concreted then, either. There used to be a bench and a table – painted iron ones. That was all. Still – it hasn’t changed much.’

His voice held an unsteady note.

Poirot said: ‘And it was here that it happened?’

Meredith nodded.

‘The bench was there – up against the shed. He was sprawled on that. He used to sprawl there sometimes when he was painting – just fling himself down and stare and stare – and then suddenly up he’d jump and start laying the paint on the canvas like mad.’

He paused.

‘That’s why, you know, he looked – almost natural. As though he might be asleep – just have dropped off. But his eyes were open – and he’d – just stiffened up. Stuff sort of paralyses you, you know. There isn’t any pain… I’ve – I’ve always been glad of that…’

Poirot asked a thing that he already knew.

‘Who found him?’

‘She did. Caroline. After lunch. I and Elsa, 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 followed him without speaking.

The two men went on up the zigzag path. At a higher level than the Battery there was another small plateau. It was over-shadowed 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, but a lovely view.’

Poirot agreed. Through a framework of trees one looked down 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 round.’

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.’

They returned to the quay by a somewhat longer and more rambling route. Neither of them spoke. Poirot respected his companion’s mood.

When they reached Handcross Manor once more, Meredith 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 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.