‘His father’s murderer is dead—let them do their best to hush it up. Jack Renauld consents—goes to the house and has an interview with his mother, winning her over to his point of view. Primed with the story that Madame Daubreuil has suggested to him, she permits herself to be gagged and bound. There, Poirot, what do you think of that?’ I leaned back, flushed with the pride of successful reconstruction.
Poirot looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I think that you should write for the Cinema mon ami,’ he remarked at last.
‘You mean—’
‘It would mean a good film, the story that you have recounted to me there—but it bears no sort of resemblance to everyday life.’
‘I admit that I haven’t gone into all the details, but—’
‘You have gone farther—you have ignored them magnificently. What about the way the two men were dressed? Do you suggest that after stabbing his victim, Conneau removed his suit of clothes, donned it himself, and replaced the dagger?’
‘I don’t see that that matters,’ I objected rather huffily. ‘He may have obtained clothes and money from Madame Daubreuil by threats earlier in the day.’
‘By threats—eh? You seriously advance that supposition?’
‘Certainly. He could have threatened to reveal her identity to the Renaulds, which would probably have put an end to all hopes of her daughter’s marriage.’
‘You are wrong, Hastings. He could not blackmail her, for she had the whip-hand. Georges Conneau, remember, is still wanted for murder. A word from her and he is in danger of the guillotine.’
I was forced, rather reluctantly, to admit the truth of this. ‘Your theory,’ I remarked acidly, ‘is doubtless correct as to all the details?’
‘My theory is the truth,’ said Poirot quietly. ‘And the truth is necessarily correct. In your theory you made a fundamental error. You permitted your imagination to lead you astray with midnight assignations and passionate love scenes. But in investigating crime we must take our stand upon the commonplace. Shall I demonstrate my methods to you?’
‘Oh, by all means let us have a demonstration!’
Poirot sat very upright and began wagging his forefinger emphatically to emphasize his points: ‘I will start as you started from the basic fact of Georges Conneau. Now the story told by Madame Beroldy in court as to the “Russians” was admittedly a fabrication. If she was innocent of connivance in the crime, it was concocted by her, and by her only, as she stated. If, on the other hand, she was not innocent, it might have been invented by either her or Georges Conneau.’
‘Now, in this case we are investigating, we meet the same tale. As I pointed out to you, the facts render it very unlikely that Madame Daubreuil inspired it. So we turn to the hypothesis that the story had its origin in the brain of Georges Conneau. Very good. Georges Conneau, therefore, planned the crime, with Mrs. Renauld as his accomplice. She is in the limelight, and behind her is a shadowy figure whose present alias is unknown to us.’
‘Now let us go carefully over the Renauld Case from the beginning, setting down each significant point in its chronological order. You have a notebook and pencil? Good. Now what is the earliest point to note down?’
‘The letter to you?’
‘That was the first we knew of it, but it is not the proper beginning of the case. The first point of any significance, I should say, is the change that came over Monsieur Renauld shortly after arriving in Merlinville, and which is attested to by several witnesses. We have also to consider his friendship with Madame Daubreuil, and the large sums of pound money paid over to her. From thence we can come directly to the 23rd May.’
Poirot paused, cleared his throat, and signed to me to write: ’23rd May. M. Renauld quarrels with his son over latter’s wish to marry Marthe Daubreuil. Son leaves for Paris.’
’24th May. M. Renauld alters his will leaving entire control of his fortune in his wife’s hands.’
‘?th June. Quarrel with tramp in garden, witnessed by Marthe Daubreuil. Letter written to M. Hercule Poirot, imploring assistance.’
‘Telegram sent to M. Jack Renauld, bidding him proceed by the Aurora to Buenos Aires.’