She swore solemnly that she had had nothing to do with the planning of the crimes that she had awoken on that memorable night to find Georges Conneau standing over her the with the bloodstained knife in his hand.
It was a touch-and-go affair. Madame Beroldy’s story was hardly credible. But her address to the jury was a masterpiece.
The tears streaming down her face, she spoke of her child of her woman’s honour—of her desire to keep her reputation untarnished for the child’s sake. She admitted that, Georges Conneau having been her lover, she might perhaps be held morally responsible for the crime but, before God, nothing more! She knew that she had committed a grave fault in not denouncing Conneau to the law but she declared in a broken voice that that was a thing no woman could have done. She had loved him! Could she let her hand be the one to send him to the guillotine? She had been guilty of much but she was innocent of the terrible crime imputed to her.
However that may have been, her eloquence and personality won the day. Madame Beroldy, amidst a scene of unparalleled excitement, was acquitted.
Despite the utmost endeavours of the police, Georges Conneau was never traced. As for Madame Beroldy, nothing more was heard of her. Taking the child with her, she left Paris to begin a new life.
CHAPTER 17
WE MAKE FURTHER INVESTIGATIONS
I have set down the Beroldy case in full. Of course all the details did not present themselves to my memory as I have recounted them here. Nevertheless, I recalled the case fairly accurately. It had attracted a great deal of interest at the time, and had been fully reported by the English papers, so that it did not need much effort of memory on my part to recollect the salient details.
Just for the moment, in my excitement, it seemed to clear up the whole matter. I admit that I am impulsive, and Poirot deplores my custom of jumping to conclusions, but I think I had some excuse in this instance. The remarkable way in which this discovery justified Poirot’s point of view struck me at once.
‘Poirot,’ I said ‘I congratulate you. I see everything now.’
Poirot lit one of his little cigarettes with his usual precision. Then he looked up.
‘And since you see everything now, mon ami, what exactly is it that you see?’
‘Why, that it was Madame Daubreuil—Beroldy—who murdered Mr. Renauld. The similarity of the two cases proves that beyond a doubt.’
‘Then you consider that Madame Beroldy was wrongly acquitted? That in actual fact she was guilty of connivance in her husband’s murder?’
I opened my eyes wide.
‘Of course! Don’t you?’
Poirot walked to the end of the room, absentmindedly straightened a chair, and then said thoughtfully: ‘Yes that is my opinion. But there is no “of course” about it, my friend. Technically speaking, Madame Beroldy is innocent.’
‘Of that crime, perhaps. But not of this.’
Poirot sat down again, and regarded me, his thoughtful air more marked than ever.
‘So it is definitely your opinion, Hastings, that Madame Daubreuil murdered Monsieur Renauld?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
He shot the question at me with such suddenness that I was taken aback.
‘Why?’ I stammered. ‘Why? Oh, because—’ I came to a stop.
Poirot nodded his head at me. ‘You see, you come to a stumbling-block at once. Why should Madame Daubreuil (I shall call her that for clearness’ sake) murder Monsieur Renauld? We can find no shadow of a motive. She does not benefit by his death; considered as either mistress or blackmailer she stands to lose. You cannot have a murder without motive. The first crime was different—there we had a rich lover waiting to step into her husband’s shoes.’
‘Money is not the only motive for murder,’ I objected.
‘True,’ agreed Polrot placidly. ‘There are two others, the crime passionnel is one. And there is the third rare motive, murder for an idea which implies some form of mental derangement on the part of the murderer. Homicidal mania and religious fanaticism belong to that class. We can rule it out here.’
‘But what about the passion? Can you rule that out? If Madame Daubreuil was Renauld’s mistress, if she found that his affection was cooling, or if her jealousy was aroused in any way, might she not have struck him down in a moment of anger?’