Giraud. Since it was to Jack Renauld’s advantage that the body should be found without delay, why dig a grave at all?”
Giraud did not reply. The question found him unprepared. He shrugged his shoulders as though to intimate that it was of no importance.
Poirot moved towards the door. I followed him.
“There is one more thing that you have failed to take into account,” he said over his shoulder.
“What is that?”
“The piece of lead piping,” said Poirot, and left the room.
Jack Renauld still stood in the hall, with a white dumb face, but as we came out of the salon, he looked up sharply. At the same moment there was the sound of a footfall on the staircase. Mrs. Renauld was descending it. At the sight of her son, standing between the two myrmidons of the law, she stopped as though petrified.
“Jack,” she faltered. “Jack, what is this?”
He looked up at her, his face set.
“They have arrested me, mother.”
“What?”
She uttered a piercing cry, and before any one could get to her swayed and fell heavily. We both ran to her and lifted her up. In a minute Poirot stood up again.
“She has cut her head badly, on the corner of the stairs. I fancy there is a slight concussion also. If Giraud wants a statement from her, he will have to wait. She will probably be unconscious for at least a week.”
Denise and Françoise had run to their mistress, and leaving her in their charge Poirot left the house. He walked with his head bent down, frowning thoughtfully at the ground. For some time I did not speak, but at last I ventured to put a question to him.
“Do you believe then, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, that Jack Renauld may not be guilty?”
Poirot did not answer at once, but after a long wait he said gravely:
