‘That’s so.’
‘Monsieur Stonor, have you ever heard the name of Duveen in connexion with Monsieur Renauld?’
‘Duveen. Duveen.’ He tried the name over thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think I have. And yet it seems familiar.’
‘Do you know a lady, a friend of Monsieur Renauld’s whose Christian name is Bella?’
Again Mr. Stonor shook his head. ‘Bella Duveen? Is that the full name? It’s curious. I’m sure I know it. But for the moment I can’t remember in what connexion.’
The magistrate coughed. ‘You understand, Monsieur Stonor—the case is like this. There must be no reservations. You might, perhaps, through a feeling of consideration for Madame Renauld—for whom, I gather, you have a great esteem and affection—you might—in fact!’ said M. Hautet, getting rather tied up in his sentence ‘there must absolutely be no reservations.’
Stonor stared at him, a dawning light of comprehension in his eyes.
‘I don’t quite get you’ he said gently. ‘Where does Mrs. Renauld come in? I’ve an immense respect and affection for that lady; she’s a very wonderful and unusual type, but I don’t quite see how my reservations or otherwise, could affect her?’
‘But if this Bella Duveen should prove to have been something more than a friend to her husband?’
‘Ah!’ said Stonor. ‘I get you now. But I’ll bet my bottom dollar that you’re wrong. The old man never so much as looked at a petticoat. He just adored his own wife. They were the most devoted couple I know.’
M. Hautet shook his head gently. ‘Monsieur Stonor, we hold absolute proof—a love-letter written by this Bella to Monsieur Renauld, accusing him of having tired of her. Moreover, we have further proof that, at the time of his death, he was carrying on an intrigue with a Frenchwoman, a Madame Daubreuil, who rents the adjoining villa.’
The secretary’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hold on sir. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I knew Paul Renauld. What you’ve just been saying is plumb impossible. There’s some other explanation.’
The magistrate shrugged his shoulders. ‘What other explanation could there be?’
‘What leads you to think it was a love affair?’
‘Madame Daubreuil was in the habit of visiting him here in the evenings. Also, since Monsieur Renauld came to the Villa Genevieve, Madame Daubreuil has paid large sums of money into the bank in notes. In all, the amount totals four thousand pounds of your English money.’
‘I guess that’s right,’ said Stonor quietly. ‘I transmitted him those sums in notes at his request. But it wasn’t an [missing].
‘What else could it be?’
‘Blackmail,’ said Stonor sharply, bringing down his hand with a slam on the table. ‘That’s what it was.’
‘Ah!’ cried the magistrate, shaken in spite of himself.
‘Blackmail,’ repeated Stonor. ‘The old man was being bled—and at a good rate too. Four thousand in a couple of months. I told you just now there was a mystery about Renauld. Evidently this Madame Daubreuil knew enough of it to put the screw on.’
‘It is possible,’ the commissary cried exaltedly. ‘Decidedly it is possible.’
‘Possible?’ roared Stonor. ‘It’s certain. Tell me, have you asked Mrs. Renauld about this love-affair stunt of yours?’
‘No, monsieur. We did not wish to occasion her any distress if it could reasonably be avoided.’
‘Distress? Why, she’d laugh in your face. I tell you, she and Renauld were a couple in a hundred.’
‘Ah, that reminds me of another point,’ said M. Hautet. ‘Did Monsieur Renauld take you into his confidence at all as to the dispositions of his will?’
‘I know all about it—took it to the lawyers for him after he’d drawn it out. I can give you the name of his solicitors if you want to see it. They’ve got it there. Quite simple. Half in trust to his wife for her lifetime, the other half to his son. A few legacies. I rather think he left me a thousand.’
‘When was this will drawn up?’
‘Oh, about a year and a half ago.’
‘World it surprise you very much Monsieur Stonor, to hear that Monsieur Renauld had made another will, less than a fortnight ago?’
Stonor was obviously very much surprised. ‘I’d no idea of it. What’s it like?’