'No,' I replied with some ill burnout. 'I neither see nor comprehend. You make all these confounded mysteries and it's useless asking you to explain. You always like keeping something up your sleeve to the last minute.'
'Do not enrage yourself, my friend,' said Poirot, with a smile. I will explain if you wish. But not a word to Giraud, c'est entendu? He treats me as an old one of no importance! We shall see! In common fairness I gave him a hint. If he does not choose to act upon it, that is his own lookout.'
I assured Poirot that he could rely upon my discretion. 'C'est bien! Let us then employ our little grey cells. Tell me, my friend, at what time, according to you, did the tragedy take place?'
'Why, at two o'clock or thereabouts,' I said, astonished.
'You remember, Mrs. Renauld told us that she heard the clock strike while the men were in the room.'
'Exactly, and on the strength of that, you, the examining magistrate, Bex, and everyone else, accept the time without further question. But I, Hercule Poirot, say that Madame Renauld lied. The crime took place at least two hours earlier.'
'But the doctors-'
'They declared, after examination of the body, that death had taken place between ten and seven hours previously. Mon ami, for some reason it was imperative that the crime should seem to have taken place later than it actually did. You have read of a smashed watch or clock recording the exact hour of a crime? So that the time should not rest on Madame Renauld's testimony alone, someone moved on the hands of that wristwatch to two o'clock, and then dashed it violently to the ground. But, as is often the case, they cheated their own object. The glass was smashed, but the mechanism of the watch was uninjured. It was a most disastrous manoeuvre on their part, for it at once drew my attention to two points-firstly, that Madame Renauld was lying; secondly, that there must be some vital reason for the postponement of the time.'
'But what reason could there be?'
'Ah, that is the question! There we have the whole mystery. As yet, I cannot explain it. There is only one idea that presents itself to me as having a possible connexion.'
'And that is?'
'The last train left Merlinville at seventeen minutes past twelve.'
I followed it out slowly. 'So that, the crime apparently taking place some two hours later, anyone leaving by that train would have an unimpeachable alibi!'
'Perfect, Hastings! You have it!'
I sprang up. 'But we must inquire at the station! Surely they cannot have failed to notice two foreigners who left by that train! We must go there at once!'
'You think so, Hastings?'
'Of course. Let us go there now.'
Poirot restrained my ardour with a light touch upon the arm.
'Go by all means if you wish, mon ami-but if you go, I should not ask for particulars of two foreigners.'
I stared and he said rather impatiently: 'La, you do not believe all that rigmarole, do you? The masked men and all the rest of cette histoire?'
His words took me so much aback, that I hardly knew how to respond. He went on serenely: 'You heard me say to Giraud, did you not, that all the details of this crime were familiar to me? Eh bien, that presupposes one of two things, either the brain that planned the first crime also planned this one, or else an account read or a cause célèbre unconsciously remained in our assassin's memory and prompted the details. I shall be able to pronounce definitely on that after-' He broke off.
I was revolving sundry matters in my mind.
'But Mr. Renauld's letter? It distinctly mentions a secret and Santiago!'
'Undoubtedly there was a secret in Monsieur Renauld's life-there can be no doubt of that. On the other hand, the word Santiago, to my mind, is a red herring, dragged in to put us off the scent, it is possible that it was used in the same way on Monsieur Renauld, to keep him from directing his suspicions to a quarter nearer at hand. Oh be assured Hastings the danger that threatened him was not in Santiago, it was near at hand, in France.'
He spoke so gravely, and with such assurance, that I could not fail to be convinced. But I essayed one objection: 'And the match and cigarette end found near the body? What of them?'
A light of pure enjoyment lit up Poirot's face.
'Planted! Deliberately planted there for Giraud or one of his tribe to find! Ah, he is smart, Giraud, he can do his tricks! So can a good retriever dog. He comes in so pleased with himself. For hours he has crawled on his stomach. 'See what I have found,' he says. And then again to me: 'What do you see here?' Me, I answer with profound and deep truth, 'Nothing.' And Giraud, the great Giraud, he laughs, he thinks to himself 'Oh, he is imbecile, this old one!' But we shall see…'
But my mind had reverted to the main facts.
'Then all this story of the masked men-'
'Is false.'
'What really happened?'
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 'One person could tell us-Madame Renauld. But she will not speak. Threats and entreaties would not move her. A remarkable woman that, Hastings. I recognized as soon as I saw her that I had to deal with a woman of unusual character. At first, as I told you, I was inclined to suspect her of being concerned in the crime. Afterwards I altered my opinion.'
'What made you do that?'
'Her spontaneous and genuine grief at the sight of her husband's body. I could swear that the agony in that cry of hers was genuine.'
'Yes,' I said thoughtfully, 'one cannot mistake these things.'
'I beg your pardon, my friend-one can always be mistaken. Regard a great actress, does not her acting of grief carry you away and impress you with its reality? No, however strong my own impression and belief, I needed other evidence before I allowed myself to be satisfied. The great criminal can be a great actor. I base my certainty in this case not upon my own impression, but upon the undeniable fact that Madame Renauld actually fainted. I turned up her eyelids and felt her pulse. There was no deception-the swoon was genuine. Therefore I was satisfied that her anguish was real and not assumed. Besides, a small additional point without interest, it was unnecessary for Madame Renauld to exhibit unrestrained grief. She had had one paroxysm on learning of her husband's death, and there would be no need for her to emulate another such a violent one on beholding his body. No, Madame Renauld was not her husband's murderess.'
'But why has she lied? She lied about the wristwatch, she lied about the masked men, she lied about a third thing. Tell me, Hastings, what is your explanation of the open door?'
'Well,' I said, rather embarrassed, 'I suppose it was an oversight. They forgot to shut it.'
Poirot shook his head, and sighed. 'That is the explanation of Giraud. It does not satisfy me. There is a meaning behind that open door which for the moment I cannot fathom. One thing I am fairly sure of-they did not leave through the door. They left by the window.'
'What?'
'Precisely.'
'But there were no footmarks in the flowerbed underneath.'
''No-and there ought to have been. Listen, Hastings. The gardener, Auguste as you heard him say, planted both those beds the preceding afternoon. In the one the are plenty of impressions of his big hobnailed boots-in the other, none! You see? Someone had passed that way, someone who, to obliterate their footprints, smoothed over the surface of the bed with a rake.'
'Where did they get a rake?'
'Where they got the spade and the gardening gloves,' said Poirot impatiently. 'There is no difficulty about that.'
'What makes you think that they left that way though? Surely it is more probable that they entered by the window, and left by the door?'
'That is possible of course. Yet I have a strong idea that they left by the window.'
'I think you are wrong.'
'Perhaps, mon ami.'
I mused, thinking over the new field of conjecture that Poirot's deductions had opened up to me. I recalled
