‘Chauffeur, Masters, sent off on a holiday.’
‘Visit of a lady that evening. As he is seeing her out, words are “Yes, yes, but for God’s sake go now . . . .”‘
Poirot paused.
‘There, Hastings, take each of those facts one by one, consider them carefully by themselves and in relation to the whole, and see if you do not get new light on the matter.’
I endeavoured conscientiously to do as he had said. After a moment or two, I said rather doubtfully: ‘As to the first points, the question seems to be whether we adopt the theory of blackmail, or of an infatuation for this woman.’
‘Blackmail, decidedly. You heard what Stonor said as to his character and habits.’
‘Mrs. Renauld did not confirm his view,’ I argued.
‘We have already seen that Madame Renauld’s testimony cannot be relied upon in any way. We must trust to Stonor on that point.’
‘Still, if Renauld had an affair with a woman called Bella, there seems no inherent improbability in his having another with Madame Daubreuil.’
‘None whatever, I grant you, Hastings. But did he?’
‘The letter, Poirot. You forget the letter.’
‘No, I do not forget. But what makes you think that letter was written to Monsieur Renauld?’
‘Why, it was found in his pocket, and—and—’
‘And that is all!’ cut in Poirot. ‘There was no mention of any name to show to whom the letter was addressed. We assumed it was to the dead man because it was in the pocket of his overcoat. Now, mon ami, something about that overcoat struck me as unusual. I measured it and made the remark that he wore his overcoat very long. That remark should have given you to think.’
‘I thought you were just saying it for the sake of saying something,’ I confessed.
‘Ah, quelle idée! Later you observed me measuring the overcoat of Monsieur Jack Renauld. Eh bien, Monsieur Jack Renauld wears his overcoat [garbled] short. Put those two facts together with a thirds namely, that Monsieur Jack Renauld flung out of the house in a hurry on his departure for Paris, and tell me what you make of it!’
‘I see,’ I said slowly, as the meaning of Poirot’s remarks bore in upon me. ‘That letter was written to Jack Renauld—not to his father. He caught up the wrong overcoat in his haste and agitation.’
Poirot nodded. ‘Precisement! We can return to this point later. For the moment let us content ourselves with accepting the letter as having nothing to do with Monsieur Renauld pere, and pass to the next chronological event.’
‘”23rd May.”‘ I read: ‘”M. Renauld quarrels with his son over latter’s wish to marry Marthe Daubreuil. Son leaves for Paris.” I don’t see anything much to remark upon there, and the altering of the will the following day seems straightforward enough. It was the direct result of the quarrel.’
‘We agree, mon ami at least as to the cause. But what exact motive underlay this procedure of Monsieur Renauld’s?’
I opened my eyes in surprise.
‘Anger against his son of course.’
‘Yet he wrote him affectionate letters to Paris?’
‘So Jack Renauld says, but he cannot produce them.’
‘Well, let us pass from that.’
‘Now we come to the day of the tragedy. You have placed the event of the morning in a certain order. Have you any justification for that?’
‘I have ascertained that the letter to me was posted at the same time as the telegram was dispatched. Masters was informed he could take a holiday shortly afterwards. In my opinion the quarrel with the tramp took place anterior to these happenings.’
‘I do not see that you can fix that definitely unless you question Mademoiselle Daubreuil again.’
‘There is no need. I am sure of it. And if you do not see that, you see nothing, Hastings?’
I looked at him for a moment. ‘Of course! I am an idiot. If the tramp was Georges Conneau, it was after the stormy interview with him that Mr. Renauld apprehended danger. He sent away the chauffeur, Masters, whom he suspected of being in the other’s pay, he wired to his son, and sent for you.’