And because she knew that, she put up with a lot. He was a very fine painter, you know. She realized that, and respected it. He chased off on his amorous pursuits and came back again - usually with a picture to show for it.
"It might have gone on like that if it hadn't come to Elsa Greer. Elsa Greer -" Mr Johnathan shook his head.
Poirot said, "What of Elsa Greer?"
"She was, I believe, a crude young woman - with a crude outlook on life. Not, I think, an interesting character. 'Rose-white youth, passionate, pale, etc.' Take that away and what remains?
Only a somewhat mediocre young woman seeking for another life-sized hero to put on an empty pedestal."
Poirot said,
"If Amyas Crale had not been a famous painter -"
Mr Johnathan agreed quickly:
"Quite - quite.
You have taken the point admirably.
The Elsas of this world are hero worshipers.
A man must have done something, must be somebody. Caroline Crale, now, could have recognized quality in a bank clerk or an insurance agent!
Caroline loved Amyas Crale the man, not Amyas Crale the painter.
Caroline Crale was not crude - Elsa Greer was." He added, "But she was young and beautiful and to my mind infinitely pathetic."
Ex-Superintendent Hale pulled thoughtfully at his pipe. He said,
"This is a funny fancy of yours, M. Poirot."
"It is, perhaps, a little unusual," Poirot agreed cautiously.
"You see," said Hale, "it's all such a long time ago."
Hercule Poirot foresaw that he was going to get a little tired of that particular phrase.
He said mildly,
"That adds to the difficulty, of course."
"Raking up the past," mused the other. "If there were an object in it, now..."
"There is an object."
"What is it?"
"One can enjoy the pursuit of truth for its own sake.
I do.
And you must not forget the young lady."
Hale nodded. "Yes, I see her side of it. But - you'll excuse me, M. Poirot - you're an ingenious man.
You could cook her up a tale."
Poirot replied, "You do not know the young lady."
"Oh, come, now - a man of your experience!"
Poirot drew himself up.
"I may be, mon cher, an artistic and competent liar - you seem to think so.
But it is not my idea of ethical conduct.
I have my standards."
"Sorry, M. Poirot. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.
But it would be all in a good cause, so to speak."
"Oh, I wonder, would it really?"
Hale said slowly:
"It's tough luck on a happy, innocent girl who's just going to get married to find that her mother was a murderess.
If I were you I'd go to her and say that, after all, suicide was what it was. Say the case was mishandled by Depleach.
Say that there's no doubt in your mind that Crale killed himself."
"But there is every doubt in my mind!
I do not believe for one minute that Crale killed himself.
Do you consider it even reasonably possible yourself?"
Slowly Hale shook his head.
"You see?
No, it is the truth I must have - not a plausible or not very plausible lie."
Hale turned and looked at Poirot.
He said, "You talk about the truth.