I have confused memories of the further events of that night. Poirot
seemed deaf to my repeated questions. He was engaged in overwhelming
Françoise with reproaches for not having told him of Mrs. Renauld’s
change of sleeping quarters.
I caught him by the shoulder, determined to attract his attention, and
make myself heard.
“But you _must___ have known,” I expostulated. “You were taken up to
see her this afternoon.”
Poirot deigned to attend to me for a brief moment.
“She had been wheeled on a sofa into the middle room—her boudoir,” he
explained.
“But, monsieur,” cried Françoise, “Madame changed her room almost
immediately after the crime! The associations—they were too
distressing!”
“Then why was I not told,” vociferated Poirot, striking the table, and
working himself into a first-class passion. “I demand
you—why—was—I—not—told? You are an old woman completely imbecile! And
Léonie and Denise are no better. All of you are triple idiots! Your
stupidity has nearly caused the death of your mistress. But for this
courageous child—”
He broke off, and, darting across the room to where the girl was
bending over ministering to Mrs. Renauld, he embraced her with Gallic
fervour—slightly to my annoyance.
I was aroused from my condition of mental fog by a sharp command from
Poirot to fetch the doctor immediately on Mrs. Renauld’s behalf. After
that, I might summon the police. And he added, to complete my dudgeon:
“It will hardly be worth your while to return here. I shall be too busy
to attend to you, and of Mademoiselle here I make a _garde-malad___.”
I retired with what dignity I could command. Having done my errands, I
returned to the hotel. I understood next to nothing of what had
occurred. The events of the night seemed fantastic and impossible.
Nobody would answer my questions. Nobody had seemed to hear them.
Angrily, I flung myself into bed, and slept the sleep of the bewildered
and utterly exhausted.
I awoke to find the sun pouring in through the open windows and Poirot,
neat and smiling, sitting beside the bed.
“_Enfin___ you wake! But it is that you are a famous sleeper, Hastings!
Do you know that it is nearly eleven o’clock?”