“_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 every one 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 Mrs. Renauld’s testimony alone, some one moved on the hands of
that wrist watch to two o’clock, and then dashed it violently to the
ground. But, as is often the case, they defeated 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—first, 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 connection.”
“And that is?”
“The last train left Merlinville at seventeen minutes past twelve.”