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  'I pass to another objection. You have spoken of the similarity between the two crimes. Wherein does that lie, my friend?'

  I stared at him in astonishment.

  'Why, Poirot, it was you who remarked on that! The story of the masked men, the "secret" the papers!'

  Poirot smiled a little. 'Do not be so indignant, I beg of you. I repudiate nothing. The similarity of the two stories links the two cases together inevitably. But reflect now on something very curious. It is not Madame Daubreuil who tells us this tale-if it were, all would indeed be plain sailing-it is Madame Renauld. Is she then in league with the other?'

  'I can't believe that,' I said slowly. 'If she is, she must be the most consummate actress the world has ever known.'

  'Ta-ta-ta!' said Poirot impatiently. 'Again you have the sentiment and not the logic! If it is necessary for a criminal to be a consummate actress, then by all means assume her to be one. But is it necessary? I do not believe Mrs. Renauld to be in league with Madame Daubreuil for several reasons, some of which I have already presented. The others are more evident. So, having discarded this possibility, we come very close to the truth, which is extremely curious and interesting, as it always happens.'

  'What else do you know, Poirot?'

  'You must make your own deductions, mon ami. You had access to the facts! Put your grey cells to work. Think... not like Giraud, but like Hercule Poirot.'

  'But do you know?'

  'My friend, I have been a fool about many things. But, at last, I see clearly.'

  'Do you know everything?'

  'I found out what M. Renauld called me to find out.'

  'And you know who the murderer is?'

  'I know who the murderer is.'

  'How?'

  'I think we are talking about different things. There is not only one crime, but two. The first I solved. The second — eh bien, I confess I am not sure yet!'

  'But I thought you said the man in the shed died of natural causes.'

  'Ta-ta-ta!' said Poirot. 'You still don't understand. You may have one crime without a murderer, but for two crimes it is essential that you have two bodies.'

  This observation of Poirot's seemed so strange to me, that I gazed at him with some anxiety. But he seemed perfectly normal. Suddenly he stood up and went to the window, saying:

  'There he comes.'

  'Who?'

  'M. Jack Renauld. I sent him a note asking him to come here.'

  This changed entirely the course of my thoughts. I asked Poirot if he knew that Jack Renauld had been at Merlinville on the night of the crime. I had hoped to catch my astute little friend napping, but as usual he was omniscient, he, too had inquired at the station.

  'And without doubt we are not original in the idea Hastings. The excellent Giraud, he also has probably made the same inquiries.'

  'You don't think-' I said and then stopped. 'Ah no, it would be too horrible!'

  Poirot looked inquiringly at me, but I said no more. It had just occurred to me that though there were seven men, directly and indirectly connected with the case-Mrs. Renauld, Madame Daubreuil and her daughter, the mysterious visitor and the three servants-there was, with the exception of old Auguste, who could hardly count, only one man-Jack Renauld.

  I had no time to develop farther the appalling idea that had occurred to me, for Jack Renauld was ushered into the room.

  Poirot greeted him in a businesslike manner.

  'Take a seat monsieur. I regret infinitely to derange you, but you will perhaps understand that the atmosphere of the villa is not too congenial to me. Monsieur Giraud and I do not see eye to eye about everything. His politeness to me has not been striking, and you will comprehend that I do not intend any little discoveries I may make to benefit him in any way.'

  'Exactly, Monsieur Poirot,' said the lad. 'That fellow Giraud is an unconditioned brute, and I'd be delighted to see someone score at his expense.'

  'Then I may ask a little favour of you?'

  'Certainly.'

  'I will ask you to go to the railway station and take a train to the next station along the line, Abbalac. Ask at the cloakroom whether two foreigners deposited a valise there on the night of the murder, it is a small station, and they are almost certain to remember. Will you do this?'

  'Of course I will.' said the boy mystified though ready for the task.

  'I and my friend you comprehend have business elsewhere,' explained Poirot. 'There is a train in a quarter of an hour, and I will ask you not to return to the villa as I have no wish for Giraud to get an inkling of your errand.'

  'Very well, I will go straight to the station.'

  He rose to his feet. Poirot's voice stopped him: 'One moment, Monsieur Renauld there is one little matter that puzzles me. Why did you not mention to Monsieur Hautet this morning that you were in Merlinville on the night of the crime?'

  Jack Renauld's face went crimson. With an effort he controlled himself.

  'You have made a mistake. I was in Cherbourg as I told the examining magistrate this morning.'

  Poirot looked at him, his eyes narrowed cat-like until they only showed a gleam of green.

  'Then it is a singular mistake that I have made there-for it is shared by the station staff. They say you arrived by the 11.40 train.'

  For a moment Jack Renauld hesitated, then he made up his mind.

  'And if I did? I suppose you do not mean to accuse me of participating in my father's murder?' He asked the question haughtily, his head thrown back.

  'I should like an explanation of the reason that brought you here.'

  'That is simple enough. I came to see my fiancée, Mademoiselle Daubreuil. I was on the eve of a long voyage, uncertain as to when I should return. I wished to see her before I went, to assure her of my unchanging devotion.'

  'And did you see her?' Poirot's eyes never left the other's face.

  There was an appreciable pause before Renauld replied. Then he said: 'Yes.'

  'And afterwards?'

  'I found I had missed the last train. I walked to St. Beauvais, where I knocked up a garage and got a car to take me back to Cherbourg.'

  'St. Beauvais? That is fourteen kilometres. A long walk M. Renauld.'

  'I-I felt like walking.'

  Poirot bowed his head as a sign that he accepted the explanation. Jack Renauld took up his hat and cane and departed.

  In a trice Poirot jumped to his feet.

  'Quick, Hastings. We will go after him.'

  Keeping a discreet distance behind our quarry, we followed him through the streets of Merlinville. But when Poirot saw that he took the turning to the station he checked himself.

  'All is well. He has taken the bait. He will go to Abbalac, and will inquire for the mythical valise left by the mythical foreigners. Yes, mon ami, all that was a little invention of mine.'

  'You wanted him out of the way!' I exclaimed.

  'Your penetration is amazing, Hastings! Now, if you please, we will go up to the Villa Geneviève.'

  Chapter 18. Giraud Acts

  Once at the villa Poirot led the way up to the shed where the second body had been discovered. He did not, however, go in, but paused by the bench which I have mentioned before as being set some few yards away from it.

  After contemplating it for a moment or two, he paced carefully from it to the hedge which marked the boundary between the Villa Geneviève and the Villa Marguerite. Then he paced back again, nodding his head as he did so. Returning again to the hedge, he parted the bushes with his hands.

  'With good fortune,' he remarked to me over his shoulder, 'Mademoiselle Marthe may find herself in the garden. I desire to speak to her and would prefer not to call formally at the Villa Marguerite. Ah, all is well, there she is. Pst, Mademoiselle! Pst! Un moment, voila.'

  I joined him at the moment that Marthe Daubreuil, looking slightly startled, came running up to the hedge at his call.

  'A little word with you mademoiselle, if it is permitted.'

  'Certainly, Mo
nsieur Poirot.'

  Despite her acquiescence, her eyes looked troubled and afraid.

  'Mademoiselle, do you remember running after me on the road the day that I came to your house with the examining magistrate? You asked me if anyone were suspected of the crime.'

  'And you told me two Chileans.' Her voice sounded rather breathless, and her left hand stole to her breast.

  'Will you ask me the same question again, mademoiselle?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'This. If you were to ask me that question again, I should give you a different answer. Someone is suspected-but not a Chilean.'

  'Who?' The word came faintly between her parted lips.

  'Monsieur Jack Renauld.'

  'What?' It was a cry. 'Jack? Impossible. Who dares to suspect him?'

  'Giraud.'

  'Giraud!' The girl's face was ashy. 'I am afraid of that man. He is cruel. He will-he will-' She broke off. There was courage gathering in her face and determination. I realized in that moment that she was a fighter. Poirot too, watched her intently.

  'You know, of course, that he was here on the night of the murder?' he asked.

  'Yes,' she replied mechanically. 'He told me.'

  'It was unwise to have tried to conceal the fact,' ventured Poirot.

  'Yes, yes,' she replied impatiently. 'But we cannot waste time on regrets. We must find something to save him. He is innocent, of course; but that will not help him with a man like Giraud, who has his reputation to think of. He must arrest someone, and that someone will be Jack.'

  'The facts will tell against him,' said Poirot. 'You realize that?'

  She faced him squarely. 'I am not a child, monsieur. I can be brave and look facts in the face. He is innocent, and we must save him.'

  She spoke with a kind of desperate energy, then was silent, frowning as she thought.

  'Mademoiselle' said Poirot, observing her keenly, 'is there not something that you are keeping back that you could tell us?'

  She nodded perplexedly. 'Yes, there is something, but I hardly know whether you will believe it-it seems so absurd.'

  'At any rate, tell us, mademoiselle.'

  'It is this. M. Giraud sent for me, as an afterthought, to see if I could identify the man in there.' She signed with her head towards the shed. 'I could not. At least I could not at the moment. But since I have been thinking-'

  'Well?'

  'It seems so queer, and yet I am almost sure. I will tell you. On the morning of the day Monsieur Renauld was murdered, I was walking in the garden here, when I heard a sound of men's voices quarrelling. I pushed aside the bushes and looked through. One of the men was Monsieur Renauld and the other was a tramp, a dreadful-looking creature in filthy rags. He was alternately whining and threatening. I gathered he was asking for money, but at that moment maman called me from the house, and I had to go. That is all, only-I am almost sure that the tramp and the dead man in the shed are one and the same.'

  Poirot uttered an exclamation. 'But why did you not say so at the time, mademoiselle?'

  'Because at first it only struck me that the face was vaguely familiar in some way. The man was differently dressed, and apparently belonged to a superior station in life.'

  A voice called from the house.

  'Maman,' whispered Marthe: 'I must go.' And she slipped away through the trees.

  'Come,' said Poirot, and taking my arm turned in the direction of the villa.

  'What do you really think?' I asked in some curiosity.

  'Was that story true, or did the girl make it up in order to divert suspicion from her lover?'

  'It is a curious tale,' said Poirot, 'but I believe it to be the absolute truth. Unwittingly, Mademoiselle Marthe told us the truth on another point-and incidentally gave Jack Renauld the lie. Did you notice his hesitation when I asked him if he saw Marthe Daubreuil on the night of the crime?'

  He paused and then said 'Yes. I suspected that he was lying. It was necessary for me to see Mademoiselle Marthe before he could put her on her guard. Three little words gave me the information I wanted. When I asked her if she knew that Jack Renauld was here that night, she answered, "He told me". Now, Hastings, what was Jack Renauld doing here on that eventful evening, and if he did not see Mademoiselle Marthe whom did he see?'

  'Surely, Poirot,' I cried, aghast, 'you cannot believe that a boy like that would murder his own father!'

  'Mon ami,' said Poirot. 'You continue to be of a sentimentality unbelievable! I have seen mothers who murdered their little children for the sake of the insurance money! After that, one can believe anything.'

  'And the motive?'

  'Money of course. Remember that Jack Renauld thought that he would come into half his father's fortune at the father's death.'

  'But the tramp. Where does he come in?'

  Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 'Giraud would say that he was an accomplice-an apache who helped young Renauld to commit the crime, and who was conveniently put out of the way afterwards.'

  'But the hair round the dagger? The woman's hair?'

  'Ah!' said Poirot, smiling broadly. 'That is the cream of Giraud's little jest. According to it is not a woman's hair at all. Remember that the youths of today wear their hair brushed straight back from the forehead with pomade or hair wash to make it lie flat. Consequently some of the hairs are of considerable length.'

  'And you believe that too?'

  'No,' said Poirot, with a curious smile. 'For I know it to be the hair of a woman-and more, which woman!'

  'Madame Daubreuil,' I announced positively.

  'Perhaps,' said Poirot regarding me quizzically. But I refused to allow myself to get annoyed.

  'What are we going to do now?' I asked, as we entered the hall of the Villa Geneviève.

  'I wish to make a search among the effects of M. Jack Renauld. That is why I had to get him out of the way for a few hours.'

  Neatly and methodically, Poirot opened each drawer in turn, examined the contents, and returned them exactly to their places. It was a singularly dull and uninteresting proceeding.

  Poirot waded on through collars, pyjamas, and socks. A purring noise outside drew me to the window.

  Instantly I became galvanized into life.

  'Poirot!' I cried. 'A car has just driven up. Giraud is in it, and Jack Renauld, and two gendarmes.'

  'Sacre tonnerre!' growled Poirot. 'That animal of a Giraud, could he not wait? I shall not be able to replace the things in this last drawer with the proper method. Let us be quick.'

  Unceremoniously he tumbled out the things on the floor, mostly ties and handkerchiefs. Suddenly with a of triumph Poirot pounced on something, a small square of cardboard, evidently a photograph. Thrusting it into his pocket, he returned the things pell-mell to the drawer, and seizing me by the arm dragged me out of the room and down the stairs. In the hall stood Giraud, contemplating his prisoner.

  'Good afternoon, Monsieur Giraud,' said Poirot. 'What have we here?'

  Giraud nodded his head towards Jack. 'He was trying to make a getaway, but I was too sharp for him. He's under arrest for the murder of his father, Monsieur Paul Renauld.'

  Poirot wheeled round to confront the boy, who was leaning limply against the door, his face ashy pale.

  'What do you say to that, jeune homme?'

  Jack Renauld stared at him stonily. 'Nothing,' he said.

  Chapter 19. I Use my Grey Cells

  I WAS dumbfounded. Up to the last, I had not been able to bring myself to believe Jack Renauld guilty. I had expected a ringing proclamation of his innocence when Poirot challenged him. But now, watching him as he stood, white and limp against the wall, and hearing the damning admission fall from his lips, I doubted no longer.

  But Poirot had turned to Giraud.

  'What are your grounds for arresting him?'

  'Do you expect me to give them to you?'

  'As a matter of courtesy, yes.'

  Giraud looked at him doubtfully. He was torn between a desire to refuse
rudely and the pleasure of triumphing over his adversary.

  'You think I have made a mistake, I suppose?' he sneered.

  'It would not surprise me,' replied Poirot, with a scowl. One of malice.

  Giraud's face took on a deeper tinge of red.

  'Eh bien, come in here. You shall judge for yourself.'

  He flung open the door of the salon, and we passed in, leaving Jack Renauld in the care of the two other men.

  'Now, Monsieur Poirot,' said Giraud, lying his hat on the table, and speaking with the utmost sarcasm, 'I will treat you to a little lecture on detective work. I will show how we moderns work.'

  'Bien!' said Poirot, composing himself to listen. 'I will show you how admirably the Old Guard can listen.' And he leaned back and closed his eyes, opening them for a moment to remark: 'Do not fear that I shall sleep. I will attend most carefully.'

  'Of course,' began Giraud, 'I soon saw through all that Chilean tomfoolery. Two men were in it-but they were not mysterious foreigners! All that was a blind.'

  'Very creditable so far, my dear Giraud,' murmured Poirot. 'Especially after that clever trick of theirs with the match and cigarette end.'

  Giraud glared, but continued. 'A man must have been connected with the case, in order to dig the grave. There is no man who actually benefits by the crime, but there was a man who thought he would benefit. I heard of Jack Renauld's quarrel with his father, and of the threats that he had used. The motive was established. Now as to means. Jack Renauld was in Merlinville that night. He concealed the fact-which turned suspicion into certainty.'

  'Then we found a second victim-stabbed with the same dagger. We know when that dagger was stolen. Captain Hastings here can fix the time. Jack Renauld, arriving from Cherbourg, was the only person who could have taken it.'

  'I have accounted for all the other members of the household.'

  Poirot interrupted.

  'You are wrong. There is one other person who could have taken the dagger.'

  'You refer to Monsieur Stonor? He arrived at the front door, in an automobile which had brought him straight from Calais. Ah! believe me, I have looked into everything. Monsieur Jack Renauld arrived by train. An hour elapsed between his arrival and the moment when he presented himself at the house. Without doubt, he saw Captain Hastings and his companion leave the shed, slipped in himself and took the dagger, stabbed his accomplice in the shed-'