‘You say that Monsieur Renauld had not to let Madame Daubreuil out? Had she left, then?’
‘Yes, monsieur. I heard them come out of the study and go to the door. Monsieur said goodnight and shut the door after her.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About twenty-five minutes after ten monsieur.’
‘Do you know when Monsieur Renauld went to bed?’
‘I heard him come up about ten minutes after we did. The stair creaks so that one hears everyone who goes up and [missing].
‘And that is all? You heard no sound of disturbance during the night?’
‘Nothing whatever, monsieur.’
‘Which of the servants came down the first in the morning?’
‘I did, monsieur. At once I saw the door swinging open.’
‘What about the other downstairs windows, were they all fastened?’
‘Every one of them. There was nothing suspicious or out of place anywhere.’
‘Good. Françoise, you can go.’
The old woman shuffled towards the door. On the threshold she looked back.
‘I will tell you one thing, monsieur. That Madame Daubreuil she is a bad one! Oh, yes, one woman knows about another. She is a bad one, remember that.’ And, shaking her head sagely, Françoise left the room.
‘Léonie Oulard,’ called the magistrate.
Léonie appeared dissolved in tears, and inclined to be hysterical. M. Hautet dealt with her adroitly. Her evidence was mainly concerned with the discovery of her mistress gagged and bound, of which she gave rather an exaggerated account. She, like Françoise, had heard nothing during the night.
Her sister, Denise, succeeded her. She agreed that her master had changed greatly of late.
‘Every day he became more and more morose. He ate less. He was always depressed.’ But Denise had her own theory.
‘Without doubt it was the Mafia he had on his track! Two masked men—who else could it be? A terrible society that!’
‘It is, of course, possible,’ said the magistrate smoothly. ‘Now, my girl, was it you who admitted Madame Daubreuil to the house last night?’
‘Not that night, monsieur, the night before.’
‘But Françoise has just told us that Madame Daubreuil was here last night?’
‘No, monsieur. A lady did come to see Monsieur Renauld last night, but it was not Madame Daubreuil.’
Surprised, the magistrate insisted, but the girl held firm.
She knew Madame Daubreuil perfectly by sight. This lady was dark also, but shorter, and much younger. Nothing could shake her statement.
‘Had you ever seen this lady before?’
‘Never, monsieur.’ And then the girl added diffidently: ‘But I think she was English.’
‘English?’
‘Yes, monsieur; She asked for Monsieur Renauld in quite good French, but the accent—however slight one can always tell it. Besides, when they came out of the study they were speaking in English.’
‘Did you hear what they said? Could you understand it, I mean?’
‘I speak the English very well,’ aid Denise with pride. ‘The lady was speaking too fast for me to catch what she said, but I heard Monsieur’s last words as he opened the door for her.’ She paused, and then repeated carefully and laboriously: ‘”Yeas—yeas—but for Gaud’s saike go now!”‘
‘Yes, yes, but for God’s sake go now.’ repeated the magistrate.
He dismissed Denise and, after a moment or two for consideration, recalled Françoise. To her he repeated the question as to whether she had not made a mistake in fixing the night of Madame Daubreuil’s visit. Françoise, however, proved unexpectedly obstinate. It was last night that Madame Daubreuil had come. Without a doubt it was she. Denise wished to make herself interesting, voila tout. So she had cooked up this fine tale about a strange lady. Airing her knowledge of English, too!
Probably Monsieur had never spoken that sentence in English at all, and, even if he had, it proved nothing, for Madame Daubreuil spoke English perfectly, and generally used that language when talking to Monsieur and Madame Renauld. ‘You see, Monsieur Jack, the son of Monsieur, was usually here, and he spoke the French very badly.’
The magistrate did not insist. Instead, he inquired about the chauffeur, and learned that only yesterday Monsieur Renauld had declared that he was not likely to use the car, and that Masters might just as well take a holiday.