Agatha Christie's Poirot

Lucy...

Hello, darling!

The Lord is my Shepperd, and I shall not fear.

In green pastures He leads me,

beside still waters...

FIVE LITTLE PIGS Based on Agatha Christie's novel

Merci.

- Santé. - Santé.

Alors,

Mademoiselle Lemarchant... - For starters, Monsieur Poirot,

that is not my name.

Pardon, but I understood it was with Mademoiselle Lemarchant

that I was to meet. - That was the name I was given as a child.

My real name is Crale, Lucy Crale.

- Crale! Now, I seem to remember... - My father was Amyas Crale,

the artist, and my mother was...

- Caroline. - Caroline... Crale.

- That's right. - Yes, yes...

A story most tragic.

- But it was a long time ago, yes? - Fourteen years.

14 years?

You know, I saw a picture that your father painted...

... in the Tate.

- "Girl In The Shadow" . - That was the one.

- It is a composition most tracking. - Yes, he was a great painter.

- His reputation is, yes, considerable. - I'm not here to discuss his art, Mr Poirot.

I'm here because I want you to investigate his murder.

I was 7 at the time. Too young, really, to know anything about it.

We lived in Devon, in a house called Alderbury.

My parents were very much in love and, in many ways,

it was an idyllic childhood.

But then, one day, I was suddenly taken from my home

and sent to relatives, in Canada.

Then finally, when I turned 21, they were obliged to tell me the truth.

For one thing, I came into my own money.

And then, you see, there's the letter...

- The letter? - That my mother wrote me

just before she died.

That was the first I knew that my mother was hanged for killing my father.

That is what I want you to prove.

- But why Hercule Poirot, Mademoiselle? - I've heard about you, the things you've done,

the way you work. The psicology is your "forte", n'est-ce pas?

Oui, c'est vrai. My success it is found in psicology, or...

... the " why" of human behavior. It is this that I use.

Tout de même, Mademoiselle, it is so long since it happened.

Secrets and lies, Monsieur.

The past keeps pulling me back, it won't let me be.

And until these ghosts are laid to rest,

I can't move on.

Bon,

I am honored by your faith in me.

But...

I can not, you understand, accept the insurance about the innocence of your mother?

- And if she was guillty, what then? - I have to know the truth, Monsieur.

And if the truth is not what you wish to hear?

I have to know.

... taken for a place of execution,

where you'll be hanged by the neck, until death.

Not one of my greatest successes, I have to say.

- The defence was suicide, yes? - Didn't get on too well, I'm affraid.

Amyas Crale simply wasn't that kind of chap.

Wine, women, beer... the lusts of the flesh.

The idea of his killing himself out of conscience...

Well, frankly, I don't think he had one.

So, in your opinion, Sir Montague, Caroline Crale, she was guilty?

I rather thought that we were taking that for granted.

- Did she ever admit as much? - Monsieur Poirot, she didn't need to.

I knew we had lost as soon as she stepped into this box.

She certainly had a motive.

Amyas Crale was always mixed up with some woman around him,

but this was rather different.

A girl.: Elsa Greer. Just turned 18.

Quite a looker, I might say. She knew what she wanted,

and that was Amyas Crale. She got him to paint her

he ended up falling for her.

Caroline Crale was overheard to say this...

... if he didn't give her up, she'd kill him.

What was the evidence against her?

She stole some poison to the neighbor who dabbled in herbs and alike,

and hid it in a scent bottle, and when the police found it

in her room, she claimed she intended to kill herself.

What she couldn't explain was why the bottle was empty

and only her fingerprints were on it.

We contempted, of course, that Amyas Crale had used it to kill himself,

but, if he had, his fingerprints would be on it as well.

And how did she give it to him, this poison?

She used a pipet to spike his beer.

Pardon, Monsieur. "Spike"?

Uh- tempered. She took him a bottle while he was painting.

The police found the pipet crashed near the scene of the crime.

The prosecution had a filled day.

So,

she put the conium into the bottle before taking it to him?

No, there was no conium in the bottle at all, only in the glass.

I see!

- Was that you beeing inscrutable, Mr Poirot? - Non, non. Pardon.

But were there, I'd believe, other people present, at the time?

Oh, yes, there were. Let me think. Five, if memory serves.

Philip Blake, a stock broker, one of Crale's best friends;

Meredith, his older brother.

He lives across the estuary, from the house where the murder took place ;

Elsa Greer, of course, currently Lady Dittisham,

though now she spends most of her time

in the gossip columns in the divorce Courts;

and the governess, Miss... Wilson? Williams! That's it!

Very capable, but not exactly a bottle of laughs.

Then, of course, there was Angela, Caroline's half-sister.

Oh, she'd been off back to school, by the time of the trial. Poor thing.

- She had perhaps a problem? - There was a rather unfortunate incident,

when she was a toddler.

Caroline Crale, as a young girl, threw a bit of a tantrum.

I did argue that she was not in her sain mind, but...

Fascinanting creature! I'll never forget her, you know?

She had a quality one couldn't help but admire.

Somehow, she was, above it all.

What people would do, in the name of love!

It makes fools of us all, n'est-ce pas?

Eh bien, I thank you, Sir Montague. You have been most helpful.

Pleasure meeting you, Poirot.

Tell to me, if you please... If, as her daughter hopes,

Caroline Crale did not kill her husband... - But she did, old boy. Take my word for it.

... but then it makes the logic that one of these 5 people must have done it.

There's no reason why any of them should.

No, but all the same, I think I shall pay each of them a visit.

And hear five different versions of the same event?

- Thank you, Hollinghurst. - A pleasure, mr. Blake.

A fairly good aid, old Hollinghurst, even though he does bat for the other side.

Telly-o!

Telly-o...

Well, who'd have thought it? Raising a glass with the famous Hercule Porrow.

Poirot, Monsieur. Hercule Poirot.

Poirot, Porrow... Could never get my tongue around French.

Let's keep the old entente cordiale, eh?

But I am Belgium, Monsieur, not French.

So, what can I do for you?

It is the Crale case, Monsieur. It is that which I wish to discuss with you.

What the hell for?

Because I have accepted the commission Monsieur to review the case.

- From whom? - Lucy Crale.

- Lucy Crale? - Oui, Monsieur.

Nothing to discuss.

Five minutes of your time, Mr Blake, it is all that I ask.

What the hell is she poking her nose in, now?

- Because she wishes to know the truth. - Everyone knows the truth!

But all she wishes is to access for herself the facts.

- It's over! Dead, buried. - As are her parents, Monsieur.

Amyas Crale was the best friend a chap could have.

We knew each other since we're children. We all: myself, my brother, Caroline.

Neighbors, you see. By the seaside, in Devon.

Amyas was a great play. And all that talent, that...

... lust for life, wiped out because of her.

You did not like her?

Rotten... through and through. Amyas could never see it.

But he was also something of a rotten, was he not?

That's what she'd have you believe.

Oh, she liked playing the injured part, and did it very well,

but.... underneath it all, she was cold and calculating.

Had a devil of a temper!

Tried to kill her baby sister, for God's sake!

- Is it true? - Damn right.

Chucked a paperweight at her and blinded the little blight in one eye.

Disfigured for life.

Do you know the reason for this fit of temper?

Sibling's jealousy, simple as that.

And were jealously that made her kill Amyas.

I tell you, that woman was trouble.

Even as a girl... the way she played us boys along.

Gave us all the one say, but finally settled on Amyas.

Not surprisingly.

He was in line to inherit Alderbury and showing talent as an artist.

A rich genius, what could be better?

It is surprising, is it not, how soon in life the dice is cast?

Yes, I suppose it is.

Anyway, after the marriage, I kept my distance,

for a while, at least. But I soon succumbed to temptation.

Temptation, Monsieur?

Alderbury.

A place I couldn't resist.

I spent some of the happiest times of my life in that house.

That September, like the Summers of childhood,

I was hoping for a peaceful few weeks.

- Uncle Phil! - But I should've known better.

- Good morning, mr. Blake. - Good morning, mrs. Spriggs.

- It's good to see you again. - Good to see you.

- Amyas, please! - They've been at it for hours.

- Hello, uncle Phil. - Hello!

My, you grown! Angela's looking after you, is she?

- No? No? - Com'on, Lucy!

- Catch me if you can! - Give her a chance.

Wait for me, Angela.

- Why won't you listen to me, Amyas? - Caroline, for God's sake!

- That's right, run away like ya always do. - There goes the jardinere.

There was something up in the atmosphere...

But this time, you could cut it with a knife.

And I soon saw why.

Amyas, old chap! How the hell are ya?

Lovely, isn't she?

Sometimes I wish I'd never met her.

Thank God you turned up.

Living in a house full of women is enough to send any men out to his chump.