boast “I know everything” had been no idle one. Jack Renauld was clearly disconcerted by the question.
“We—we did have an argument,” he admitted.
“Ah, an argument! In the course of that argument did you use this phrase: ‘When you are dead, I can do as I please?’ ”
“I may have done,” muttered the other. “I don’t know.”
“In response to that, did your father say: ‘But I am not dead yet!’ To which you responded: ‘I wish you were!’ ”
The boy made no answer. His hands fiddled nervously with the things on the table in front of him.
“I must request an answer, please, M. Renauld,” said Giraud sharply.
With an angry exclamation, the boy swept a heavy paper-knife on to the floor.
“What does it matter? You might as well know. Yes, I did quarrel with my father. I dare say I said all those things—I was so angry I cannot even remember what I said! I was furious—I could almost have killed him at that moment—there, make the most of that!” He leant back in his chair, flushed and defiant.
Giraud smiled, then, moving his chair back a little, said:
“That is all. You would, without doubt, prefer to continue the interrogatory, M. le juge.”
“Ah, yes, exactly,” said M. Hautet. “And what was the subject of your quarrel?”
“I decline to state.”
M. Hautet sat up in his chair.
“M. Renauld, it is not permitted to trifle with the law!” he thundered. “What was the subject of the quarrel?”
Young Renauld remained silent, his boyish face sullen and overcast. But another voice spoke, imperturbable and calm, the voice of Hercule Poirot.
“I will inform you, if you like, M. le juge.”
“You know?”
