Five Little Pigs Read Online Free PDF

was with the firm then and took a great interest in the case.”
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    Edmunds was a man of slow speech. His eyes gleamed with legal caution. He took his time in sizing up Poirot before he let himself be betrayed into speech. He said:
    â€œAy, I mind the Crale case.”
    He added severely: “It was a disgraceful business.”
    His shrewd eyes rested appraisingly on Hercule Poirot.
    He said:
    â€œIt’s a long time since to be raking things up again.”
    â€œA court verdict is not always an ending.”
    Edmunds’s square head nodded slowly.
    â€œI’d not say that you weren’t in the right of it there.”
    Hercule Poirot went on: “Mrs. Crale left a daughter.”
    â€œAy, I mind there was a child. Sent abroad to relatives, was she not?”
    Poirot went on:
    â€œThat daughter believes firmly in her mother’s innocence.”
    The huge bushy eyebrows of Mr. Edmunds rose.
    â€œThat’s the way of it, is it?”
    Poirot asked:
    â€œIs there anything you can tell me to support that belief?”
    Edmunds reflected. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
    â€œI could not conscientiously say there was. I admired Mrs. Crale. Whatever else she was, she was a lady! Not like the other. A hussy—no more, no less. Bold as brass! Jumped-up trash—that’s what she was—and showed it! Mrs. Crale was quality.”
    â€œBut none the less a murderess?”
    Edmunds frowned. He said, with more spontaneity than he had yet shown:
    â€œThat’s what I used to ask myself, day after day. Sitting there in the dock so calm and gentle. ‘I’ll not believe it,’ I used to say to myself. But, if you take my meaning, Mr. Poirot, there wasn’t anything else to believe. That hemlock didn’t get into Mr. Crale’s beer by accident. It was put there. And if Mrs. Crale didn’t put it there, who did?”
    â€œThat is the question,” said Poirot. “Who did?”
    Again those shrewd old eyes searched his face.
    â€œSo that’s your idea?” said Mr. Edmunds.
    â€œWhat do you think yourself?”
    There was a pause before the officer answered. Then he said:
    â€œThere was nothing that pointed that way—nothing at all.”
    Poirot said:
    â€œYou were in court during the hearing of the case?”
    â€œEvery day.”
    â€œYou heard the witnesses give evidence?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œDid anything strike you about them—any abnormality, any insincerity?”
    Edmunds said bluntly:
    â€œWas one of them lying, do you mean? Had one of them a reason to wish Mr. Crale dead? If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Poirot, that’s a very melodramatic idea.”
    â€œAt least consider it,” Poirot urged.
    He watched the shrewd face, the screwed-up, thoughtful eyes. Slowly, regretfully, Edmunds shook his head.
    â€œThat Miss Greer,” he said, “she was bitter enough, and vindictive! I’d say she overstepped the mark in a good deal she said, but it was Mr. Crale alive she wanted. He was no use to her dead. She wanted Mrs. Crale hanged all right—but that was because death had snatched her man away from her. Like a baulked tigress she was! But, as I say, it was Mr. Crale alive she’d wanted. Mr. Philip Blake, he was against Mrs. Crale too. Prejudiced. Got his knife into her whenever he could. But I’d say he was honest according to his lights. He’d been Mr. Crale’s great friend. His brother, Mr. Meredith Blake—a bad witness he was—vague, hesitating—never seemed sure of his answers. I’ve seen many witnesses like that. Look as though they’re lying when all the time they’re telling the truth. Didn’t want to say anything more than he could help, Mr. Meredith Blake didn’t. Counsel got all the more out of him on that account. One of these quiet gentlemen who get easily flustered. The governess now, she stood up well to them. Didn’t waste