five. Possibly the watch gains, is that so, madame?”
Mrs. Renauld was frowning perplexedly.
“It does gain,” she admitted, “but I’ve never known it to gain quite so much as that.”
With a gesture of impatience, the magistrate left the matter of the watch and proceeded with his interrogatory.
“Madame, the front door was found ajar. It seems almost certain that the murderers entered that way, yet it has not been forced at all. Can you suggest any explanation?”
“Possibly my husband went out for a stroll the last thing, and forgot to latch it when he came in.”
“Is that a likely thing to happen?”
“Very. My husband was the most absent-minded of men.”
There was a slight frown on her brow as she spoke, as though this trait in the dead man’s character had at times vexed her.
“There is one inference I think we might draw,” remarked the commissary suddenly. “Since the men insisted on M. Renauld dressing himself, it looks as though the place they were taking him to, the place where ‘the secret’ was concealed, lay some distance away.”
The magistrate nodded.
“Yes, far, and yet not too far, since he spoke of being back by morning.”
“What times does the last train leave the station of Merlinville?” asked Poirot.
“Eleven-fifty one way, and 12:17 the other, but it is more probable that they had a motor waiting.”
“Of course,” agreed Poirot, looking somewhat crestfallen.
“Indeed, that might be one way of tracing them,” continued the magistrate, brightening. “A motor containing two foreigners is quite likely to have been noticed. That is an excellent point, M. Bex.”
He smiled to himself, and then, becoming grave once
