‘Very well, I will go straight to the station.’
He rose to his feet. Poirot’s voice stopped him: ‘One moment, Monsieur Renauld there is one little matter that puzzles me. Why did you not mention to Monsieur Hautet this morning that you were in Merlinville on the night of the crime?’
Jack Renauld’s face went crimson. With an effort he controlled himself.
‘You have made a mistake. I was in Cherbourg as I told the examining magistrate this morning.’
Poirot looked at him, his eyes narrowed cat-like until they only showed a gleam of green.
‘Then it is a singular mistake that I have made there—for it is shared by the station staff. They say you arrived by the [????] train.’
For a moment Jack Renauld hesitated, then he made up his mind.
‘And if I did? I suppose you do not mean to accuse me of participating in my father’s murder?’ He asked the question haughtily, his head thrown back.
‘I should like an explanation of the reason that brought you here.’
‘That is simple enough. I came to see my fiancée, Mademoiselle Daubreuil. I was on the eve of a long voyage, uncertain as to when I should return. I wished to see her before I went, to assure her of my unchanging devotion.’
‘And did you see her?’ Poirot’s eyes never left the other’s face.
There was an appreciable pause before Renauld replied. Then he said: ‘Yes.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘I found I had missed the last train. I walked to St. Beauvais, where I knocked up a garage and got a car to take me back to Cherbourg.’
‘St. Beauvais? That is fourteen kilometres. A long walk M. Renauld.’
‘I—I felt like walking.’
Poirot bowed his head as a sign that he accepted the explanation. Jack Renauld took up his hat and cane and departed.
In a trice Poirot jumped to his feet.
‘Quick, Hastings. We will go after him.’
Keeping a discreet distance behind our quarry, we followed him through the streets of Merlinville. But when Poirot saw that he took the turning to the station he checked himself.
‘All is well. He has taken the bait. He will go to Abbalac, and will inquire for the mythical valise left by the mythical foreigners. Yes, mon ami, all that was a little invention of mine.’
‘You wanted him out of the way!’ I exclaimed.
‘Your penetration is amazing, Hastings! Now, if you please, we will go up to the Villa Genevieve.’
CHAPTER 18
GIRAUD ACTS
Once at the villa Poirot led the way up to the shed where the second body had been discovered. He did not, however, go in, but paused by the bench which I have mentioned before as being set some few yards away from it.
After contemplating it for a moment or two, he paced carefully from it to the hedge which marked the boundary between the Villa Genevieve and the Villa Marguerite. Then he paced back again, nodding his head as he did so. Returning again to the hedge, he parted the bushes with his hands.
‘With good fortune,’ he remarked to me over his shoulder, ‘Mademoiselle Marthe may find herself in the garden. I desire to speak to her and would prefer not to call formally at the Villa Marguerite. Ah, all is well, there she is. Pst, Mademoiselle! Pst! Un moment, voila.’
I joined him at the moment that Marthe Daubreuil, looking slightly startled, came running up to the hedge at his [missing].
‘A little word with you mademoiselle, if it is permitted.’
‘Certainly, Monsieur Poirot.’
Despite her acquiescence, her eyes looked troubled and afraid.
‘Mademoiselle, do you remember running after me on the road the day that I came to your house with the examining magistrate? You asked me if anyone were suspected of the crime.’
‘And you told me two Chileans.’ Her voice sounded rather breathless, and her left hand stole to her breast.
‘Will you ask me the same question again, mademoiselle?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This. If you were to ask me that question again, I should give you a different answer. Someone is suspected—but not a Chilean.’
‘Who?’ The word came faintly between her parted lips.