I handed it back, moved.
‘You will go?’
‘At once. We will command an auto.’
Half an hour later saw us at the Villa Marguerite. Marthe was at the door to meet us, and let Poirot in, clinging with both hands to one of his.
‘Ah, you have come—it is good of you. I have been in despair, not knowing what to do. They will not let me go to see him in prison even. I suffer horribly. I am nearly mad. Is it true what they say, that he does not deny the crime?’
‘But that is madness. It is impossible that he should have done it! Never for one minute will I believe it.’
‘Neither do I believe it, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot gently.
‘But then why does he not speak? I do not understand.’
‘Perhaps because he is screening someone,’ suggested Poirot, watching her.
Marthe frowned.
‘Screening someone? Do you mean his mother? Ah, from the beginning I have suspected her. Who inherits all that vast fortune? She does. It is easy to wear widow’s weeds and play the hypocrite. And they say that when he was arrested she fell down like that!’ She made a dramatic gesture. ‘And without doubt, Monsieur Stonor, the secretary, he helped her. They are thick as thieves, those two. It is true she is older than he—but what do men care—if a woman is rich?’
There was a hint of bitterness in her tone.
‘Stonor was in England,’ I put in.
‘He says so—but who knows?’
‘Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot quietly, ‘if we are to work together, you and I, we must have things clear. First, I will ask you a question.’
‘Yes, monsieur?’
‘Are you aware of your mother’s real name?’
Marthe looked at him for a minute, then, letting her head fall forward on her arms, she burst into tears.
‘There, there,’ said Poirot, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Calm yourself. I see that you know. Now a second question—did you know who Monsieur Renauld was?’
‘Monsieur Renauld,’ she raised her head from her hands and looked at him wonderingly.
‘Ah, I see you do not know that. Now listen to me carefully.’
Step by step, he went over the case, much as he had done to me on the day of our departure for England. Marthe listen spellbound. When he had finished, she drew a long breath.
‘But you are wonderful—magnificent! You are the greatest detective in the world.’
With a swift gesture she slipped off her chair and knelt before him with an abandonment that was wholly French.
‘Save him, monsieur,’ she cried. ‘I love him so. Oh, save him: save him—save him!’
CHAPTER 25
AN UNEXPECTED DENOUEMENT
WE were present the following morning at the examination of Jack Renauld. Short as the time had been, I was shocked at the change that had taken place in the young prisoner.
His cheeks had fallen in, there were deep black circles round his eyes, and he looked haggard and distraught, as one who had wooed sleep in vain for several nights. He betrayed no emotion at seeing us.
‘Renauld,’ began the magistrate ‘do you deny that you were in Merlinville on the night of the crime?’
Jack did not reply at once, then he said with a hesitancy of manner which was piteous: ‘I—I—told you that I was in Cherbourg.’
The magistrate turned sharply. ‘Send in the station witnesses.’
In a moment or two the door opened to admit a man whom I recognized as being a porter at Merlinville station.
‘You were on duty on the night of 7th June?’
‘Yes monsieur.’
‘You witnessed the arrival of the [?]1.40 train?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
‘Look at the prisoner. Do you recognize him as having been one of the passengers to alight?’
‘Yes monsieur.’
‘There is no possibility of your being mistaken?’
‘No, monsieur. I know Monsieur Jack Renauld well.’
‘Nor of your being misled as to the date?’
‘No, monsieur. Because it was the following morning, 8th June, that we heard of the murder.’
Another railway man was brought in, and confirmed the first one’s evidence. The magistrate looked at Jack Renauld.
‘These men have identified you positively. What have you to say?’