“Suicide. She said, very definitely from the first, that it must be suicide.”
“Did she say the same when she was talking to you privately, or did she put forward any other theory.”
“No. She—she—took pains to impress upon me that it must be suicide.”
Miss Williams sounded embarrassed.
“And what did you say to that?”
“Really, Mr. Poirot, does it matter what I said?”
“Yes, I think it does.”
“I don’t see why—”
But as though his expectant silence hypnotized her, she said reluctantly:
“I think I said: ‘Certainly, Mrs. Crale. It must have been suicide.’”
“Did you believe your own words?”
Miss Williams raised her head. She said firmly:
“No, I did not. But please understand, Mr. Poirot, that I was entirely on Mrs. Crale’s side, if you like to put it that way. My sympathies were with her, not with the police.”
“You would have liked to have seen her acquitted?”
Miss Williams said defiantly:
“Yes, I would.”
Poirot said:
“Then you are in sympathy with her daughter’s feelings?”
“I have every sympathy with Carla.”
“Would you have any objection to writing out for me a detailed account of the tragedy?”
“You mean for her to read?”
“Yes.”
Miss Williams said slowly:
“No, I have no objection. She is quite determined to go into the matter, is she?”
“Yes. I dare say it would have been preferable if the truth had been kept from her—”
Miss Williams interrupted him:
“No. It is always better to face the truth. It is no use evading unhappiness by tampering with facts. Carla has had a shock learning the truth—now she wants to know exactly how the tragedy came about. That seems to me the right attitude for a brave young woman to take. Once she knows all about it she will be able to forget it again and go on with the business of living her own life.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Poirot.
“I’m quite sure I’m right.”
“But you see, there is more to it than that. She not only wants to know—she wants to prove her mother innocent.”