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.”
