Bex opened a door to the left of the hall, and we passed in. M. Hautet and his clerk were sitting at a big round table.
They looked up as we entered. The commissary introduced us, and explained our presence.
M. Hautet, the Juge d’Instruction, was a tall gaunt man, with piercing dark eyes, and a neatly cut grey beard, which he had a habit of caressing as he talked. Standing by the mantelpiece was an elderly man, with slightly stooping shoulders, who was introduced to us as Dr. Durand.
‘Most extraordinary,’ remarked M. Hautet as the commissary finished speaking. ‘You have the letter here, monsieur?’
Poirot handed it to him, and the magistrate read it.
‘Hm! He speaks of a secret. What a pity he was not more explicit. We are much indebted to you, Monsieur Poirot. I hope you will do us the honour of assisting us in our investigations. Or are you obliged to return to London?’
‘Monsieur le juge, I propose to remain. I did not arrive in time to prevent my client’s death, but I feel myself bound in honour to discover the assassin.’
The magistrate bowed.
‘These sentiments do you honour. Also, without doubt, Madame Renauld will wish to retain your services. We are expecting M. Giraud from the Sureté in Paris any moment, and I am sure that you and he will be able to give each other mutual assistance in your investigations. In the meantime, I hope that you will do me the honour to be present at my interrogations, and I need hardly say that if there is any assistance you require it is at your disposal.’
‘I thank you, monsieur. You will comprehend that at present I am completely in the dark. I know nothing whatever.’
M. Hautet nodded to the commissary, and the latter took up the tale:
‘This morning, the old servant Françoise, on descending to start her work, found the front door ajar. Feeling a momentary alarm as to burglars, she looked into the dining room, but seeing the silver was safe she thought no more about it, concluding that her master had, without doubt, risen early, and gone for a stroll.’
‘Pardon, monsieur, for interrupting, but was that a common practice of his?’
‘No, it was not, but old Françoise has the common idea as regards the English—that they are mad, and liable to do the most unaccountable things at any moment! Going to call her mistress as usual, a young maid, Léonie, was horrified to discover her gagged and bound, and almost at the same moment news was brought that Monsieur Renauld’s body had been discovered, stone-dead, stabbed in the back.’
‘Where?’
‘That is one of the most extraordinary features of the case. Monsieur Poirot, the body was lying face downwards, in an [unclear].’
‘What?’
‘Yes. The pit was freshly dug—just a few yards outside the boundary of the villa.’
‘And it had been dead how long?’
Dr. Durand answered him.
‘I examined the body this morning at ten o’clock. Death must have taken place at least seven and possibly ten hours previously.’
‘Hm! That fixes it at between midnight and 3 A.M..’
‘Exactly, and Mrs. Renauld’s evidence places it at after 2 A.M., which narrows the field still farther. Death must have been instantaneous, and naturally could not have been self-inflicted.’
Poirot nodded, and the commissary resumed:
‘Madame Renauld was hastily freed from the cords that bound her by the horrified servants. She was in a terrible condition of weakness, almost unconscious from the pain of her bonds. It appears that two masked men entered the bedroom, gagged and bound her, while forcibly abducting her husband. This we know at second hand from the servants.’
‘On hearing the tragic news she fell at once into an alarming state of agitation. On arrival, Dr. Durand immediately prescribed a sedative, and we have not yet been able to question her. But without doubt she will awake more calm, and be equal to bearing the strain of the interrogation.’
The commissary paused.
‘And the inmates of the home, monsieur?’
‘There is old Françoise, the housekeeper, she lived for many years with the former owners of the Villa Genevieve. Then there are two young girls, sisters, Denise and Léonie Oulard. Their home is in Merlinville, and they come of most respectable parents. Then there is the chauffeur whom Monsieur Renauld brought over from England with him, but he is away on a holiday. Finally there are Madame Renauld and her son, Monsieur Jack Renauld. He, too, is away from home at present.’