Five
AFTERMATH
In the silence that followed—a horrified, appalled silence, the sunset slowly flickered away, the
last gleam left the window where it had rested on the dark head and pale furs of the woman sitting
there.
Elsa Dittisham moved and spoke. She said:
“Take them away, Meredith. Leave me with Mr. Poirot.”
She sat there motionless until the door shut behind them. Then she said: “You are very clever,
aren’t you?”
Poirot did not answer.
She said: “What do you expect me to do? Confess?”
He shook his head.
Elsa said:
“Because I shall do nothing of the kind! And I shall admit nothing. But what we say here,
together, does not matter. Because it is only a question of your word against mine.”
“Exactly.”
“I want to know what you are going to do?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“I shall do everything I can to induce the authorities to grant a posthumous free pardon to
Caroline Crale.”
Elsa laughed. She said: “How absurd! To be given a free pardon for something you didn’t do.”
Then she said: “What about me?”
“I shall lay my conclusion before the necessary people. If they decide there is the possibility of
making out a case against you then they may act. I will tell you in my opinion there is not
sufficient evidence—there are only inferences, not facts. Moreover, they will not be anxious to
proceed against anyone in your position unless there is ample justification for such a course.”
Elsa said:
“I shouldn’t care. If I were standing in the dock, fighting for my life—there might be something
in that—something alive—exciting. I might—enjoy it.”
“Your husband would not.”
She stared at him.
“Do you think I care in the least what my husband would feel?”
“No, I do not. I do not think you have ever in your life cared about what any other person would
feel. If you had, you might be happier.”
She said sharply:
“Why are you sorry for me?”
“Because, my child, you have so much to learn.”
“What have I got to learn?”
“All the grown-up emotions—pity, sympathy, understanding. The only things you know—have
ever known—are love and hate.”
Elsa said:
“I saw Caroline take the coniine. I thought she meant to kill herself. That would have simplified
things. And then, the next morning, I found out. He told her that he didn’t care a button about me
—he had cared, but it was all over. Once he’d finished the picture he’d send me packing. She’d
nothing to worry about, he said.
“And she—was sorry for me…Do you understand what that did to me? I found the stuff and I
gave it to him and I sat there watching him die. I’ve never felt so alive, so exultant, so full of
power. I watched him die….”
She flung out her hands.
“I didn’t understand that I was killing myself—not him. Afterwards I saw her caught in a trap—
and that was no good either. I couldn’t hurt her—she didn’t care—she escaped from it all—half
the time she wasn’t there. She and Amyas both escaped—they went somewhere where I couldn’t
get at them. But they didn’t die. I died.”
Elsa Dittisham got up. She went across to the door. She said again:
“I died….”
In the hall she passed two young people whose life together was just beginning.
The chauffeur held open the door of the car. Lady Dittisham got in and the chauffeur wrapped
the fur rug round her knees.
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