“Come now, don’t rub it in. You’ve been so confoundedly mysterious all
along with your hints and your insignificant details that any one might
fail to see what you were driving at.”
Poirot lit one of his little cigarettes with his usual precision. Then
he looked up.
“And since you see everything now, _mon ami___, what exactly is it that
you see?”
“Why, that it was Madame Daubreuil—Beroldy, who murdered Mr. Renauld.
The similarity of the two cases proves that beyond a doubt.”
“Then you consider that Madame Beroldy was wrongly acquitted? That in
actual fact she was guilty of connivance in her husband’s murder?”