Wretched people, governesses, one never does remember them.
I do remember her dimly though.
Middle-aged, plain, competent.
I suppose a psychologist would say that she had a guilty passion for Crale and therefore killed him.
The repressed spinster!
It's no good - I just don't believe it.
As far as my dim remembrance goes she wasn't the neurotic type."
"It is a long time ago."
"Fifteen or sixteen years, I suppose. Yes, quite that. You can't expect my memories of the case to be very acute."
Hercule Poirot said,
"But on the contrary, you remember it amazingly well.
That astounds me. You can see it, can you not?
When you talk, the picture is there before your eyes."
"Yes, you're right," Fogg said slowly.
"I do see it - quite plainly."
Poirot said, "It would interest me very much if you would tell me why?"
"Why?"
Fogg considered the question.
His thin, intelectual face was alert and interested.
"Yes, now, why?" Poirot asked,
"What do you see so plainly?
The witnesses?
The counsel?
The judge?
The accused standing in they dock?"
Fogg said quietly, "That's the reason, of course!
You've put your finger on it.
I shall always see her...
Funny thing, romance.
She had the quality of it.
I don't know if she was really beautiful...
She wasn't very young - tired-looking - circles under her eyes.
But it all centered round her.
This interest, the drama.
And yet, half the time, she wasn't there.
She'd gone away somewhere, quite far away - just left her body there, quiescent, attentive, with the little polite smile on her lips.
She was all half-tones - you know lights and shades.
And yet, with it all, she was more there than the other - that girl with the perfect body and this beautiful face and the crude young strength.
"I admired Elsa Greer because she had guts, because she could fight, because she stood up to her tormentors and never quailed!
But I admired Caroline Crale because she didn't fight, because she retreated into her world of half-lights and shadows.
She was never defeated because she never gave battle."
He paused.
"I'm only sure of one thing. She loved the man she killed.
Loved him so much that half of her died with him..."
Mr Fogg, K.C., paused again and polished his glasses.
"Dear me," he said. "I seem to be saying some very strange things!
I was quite a young man at the time, you know.
Just an ambitious youngster.
These things make an impression.
But all the same I'm sure that Caroline Crale was a very remarkable woman.