“_Your___ theory,” I remarked acidly, “is doubtless correct as to all
the details?”
“My theory is the truth,” said Poirot quietly. “And the truth is
necessarily correct. In your theory you made a fundamental error. You
permitted your imagination to lead you astray with midnight
assignations and passionate love scenes. But in investigating crime we
must take our stand upon the commonplace. Shall I demonstrate my
methods to you?”
“Oh, by all means let us have a demonstration!”
Poirot sat very upright and began, wagging his forefinger emphatically
to emphasize his points.
“I will start as you started from the basic fact of Georges Conneau.
Now the story told by Madame Beroldy in court as to the ‘Russians’ was
admittedly a fabrication. If she was innocent of connivance in the
crime, it was concocted by her, and by her only as she stated. If, on
the other hand, she was not innocent, it might have been invented by
either her or Georges Conneau.
“Now in this case we are investigating, we meet the same tale. As I
pointed out to you, the facts render it very unlikely that Madame
Daubreuil inspired it. So we turn to the hypothesis that the story had
its origin in the brain of Georges Conneau. Very good. Georges Conneau,
therefore, planned the crime with Madame Renauld as his accomplice. She
is in the limelight, and behind her is a shadowy figure whose alias is
unknown to us.
“Now let us go carefully over the Renauld Case from the beginning,
setting down each significant point in its chronological order. You
have a notebook and pencil? Good. Now what is the earliest point to
note down?”
“The letter to you?”
“That was the first we knew of it, but it is not the proper beginning
of the case. The first point of any significance, I should say, is the
change that came over M. Renauld shortly after arriving in Merlinville,
and which is attested to by several witnesses. We have also to consider
his friendship with Madame Daubreuil, and the large sums of money paid
over to her. From thence we can come directly to the 23rd May.”
Poirot paused, cleared his throat, and signed to me to write.
“_23rd May.___ M. Renauld quarrels with his son over latter’s wish to
marry Marthe Daubreuil. Son leaves for Paris.
“_24th May.___ M. Renauld alters his will, leaving entire control of
his fortune in his wife’s hands.
“_7th June.___ Quarrel with tramp in garden, witnessed by Marthe
Daubreuil.
“Letter written to M. Hercule Poirot, imploring assistance.
“Telegram sent to Jack Renauld, bidding him proceed by the _Anzora___
to Buenos Ayres.
“Chauffeur, Masters, sent off on a holiday.
“Visit of a lady, that evening. As he is seeing her out, his words are
‘Yes, yes—but for God’s sake go now.…’”
Poirot paused.
“There, Hastings, take each of those facts one by one, consider them
carefully by themselves and in relation to the whole, and see if you do
not get new light on the matter.”
I endeavoured conscientiously to do as he had said. After a moment or
two, I said rather doubtfully:
“As to the first points, the question seems to be whether we adopt the
theory of blackmail, or of an infatuation for this woman.”
“Blackmail, decidedly. You heard what Stonor said as to his character
and habits.”
“Mrs. Renauld did not confirm his view,” I argued.
“We have already seen that Madame Renauld’s testimony cannot be relied
upon in any way. We must trust to Stonor on that point.”
“Still, if Renauld had an affair with a woman called Bella, there seems
no inherent improbability in his having another with Madame Daubreuil.”
“None whatever, I grant you, Hastings. But did he?”
“The letter, Poirot. You forget the letter.”
“No, I do not forget. But what makes you think that letter was written
to M. Renauld?”
“Why it was found in his pocket and—and—”
“And that is all!” cut in Poirot. “There was no mention of any name to
show to whom the letter was addressed. We assumed it was to the dead
man because it was in the pocket of his overcoat. Now, _mon ami___,
something about that overcoat struck me as unusual. I measured it, and
made the remark that he wore his overcoat very long. That remark should
have given you to think.”
“I thought you were just saying it for the sake of saying something,” I
confessed.
“Ah, _quelle idée!___ Later you observed me measuring the overcoat of
M. Jack Renauld. _Eh bien___, M. Jack Renauld wears his overcoat very
short. Put those two facts together with a third, namely that M. Jack
Renauld flung out of the house in a hurry on his departure for Paris,
and tell me what you make of it!”
“I see,” I said slowly, as the meaning of Poirot’s remarks bore in upon
me. “That letter was written to Jack Renauld—not to his father. He
caught up the wrong overcoat in his haste and agitation.”
Poirot nodded.
“_Précisement!___ We can return to this point later. For the moment let
us content ourselves with accepting the letter as having nothing to do
with M. Renauld _père___, and pass to the next chronological event.”
“May 23rd,” I read, “M. Renauld quarrels with his son over latter’s
wish to marry Marthe Daubreuil. Son leaves for Paris. I don’t see
anything much to remark upon there, and the altering of the will the
following day seems straightforward enough. It was the direct result of
the quarrel.”
“We agree, _mon ami___—at least as to the cause. But what exact motive
underlay this procedure of M. Renauld’s?”