Whereas she had never even touched it. Without doubt it was Jeannette – always nosing round where she had no business tobe- I calmed the flow of words, and took my leave. I knew now all that I wanted to know. It remained for me to prove my case. That, I felt, would not be easy. I might be sure that Saint Alard had removed the bottle of trinitrine from John Wilson’s washstand, but to convince others, I would have to produce evidence. And I had none to producei Never mind. I kneo – that was the great thing. You remember our difficulty in the Styles case, Hastings? There again, I knew but it took me a long time to find the last link which made my chain of evidence against the murderer complete.
I asked for an interview with Mademoiselle Mesnard. She came at once. I demanded of her the address of M. de Saint Alard. A look of trouble came over her face.
‘Why do you want it, monsieur?’ ‘Mademoiselle, it is necessary.’
She seemed doubtful – troubled.
‘He can tell you nothing. He is a man whose thoughts are not in this world. He hardly notices what goes on around him.’ ‘Possibly, mademoiselle. Nevertheless, he was an old friend of M. D6roulard’s. There may be things he can tell me – things of the past – old grudges – old love-affairs.’ The girl flushed and bit her lip. ‘As you please – but – but – I feel sure now that I have been mistaken. It was good of you to accede to my demand, but I was upset – almost distraught at the time. I see now that there is no mystery to solve. Leave it, I beg of you, monsieur.’ I eyed her closely.
‘Mademoiselle,’ I said, ‘it is sometimes difficult for a dog to find a scent, but once he has found it, nothing on earth will make him leave it! That is if he is a good dogl And I, mademoiselle, I, Hercule Poirot, am a very good dog.’ Without a word she turned away. A few minutes later she returned with the address written on a sheet of paper. I left the house. Francois was waiting for me outside. He looked at me anxiously.
‘There is no news, monsieur?’ ‘None as yet, my friend.’ ‘Ahl Pauvre Monsieur D6roulard!’ he sighed. ‘I too was of his way of thinking. I do not care for priests. Not that I would say so in the house. The women are all devout – a good thing perhaps. Madame est trds pieuse – et Mademoiselle Virginie aussi.’ Mademoiselle Virginie? Was she ‘trds pieuse?’ Thinking of the tear-stained passionate face I had seen that first day, I wondered.
Having obtained the address of M. de Saint Alard, I wasted no time. I arrived in the neighbourhood of his chfiteau in the Ardennes but it was some days before I could find a pretext for gaining admission to the house. In the end I did – how do you think – as a plumber, mon ami! It was the affair of a moment to arrange a neat little gas leak in his bedroom. I departed for my tools, and took care to return with them at an hour when I knew I should have the field pretty well to myself. What I was searching for, I hardly knew. The one thing needful, I could not believe there was any chance of finding. He would never have run the risk of keeping it.
Still when I found a little cupboard above the washstand locked, I could not resist the temptation of seeing what was inside it.
The lock was quite a simple one to pick. The door swung open.
It was full of old bottles. I took them up one by one with a trembling hand. Suddenly, I uttered a cry. Figure to yourself, my friend, I held in my hand a little phial with an English chemist’s label. On it were the words: ‘Trinitrine Tablets. One to be taken olen required. Mr Jol:n Wilson.’
I controlled my emotion, closed the little cupboard, slipped the bottle into my pocket, and continued to repair the gas leak! One must be methodical. Then I left the chateau, and took train for my own country as soon as possible. I arrived in Brussels late that night. I was writing out a report for the prfet in the morning, when a note was brought to me. It was from old Madame Ddrou-lard, and it summoned me to the house in the Avenue Louise without delay.