7
The Mysterious
Madame Daubreuil
As we retraced our steps to the house, M. Bex excused himself for leaving us, explaining that he must immediately acquaint the examining magistrate with the fact of Giraud’s arrival. Giraud himself had been obviously delighted when Poirot declared that he had seen all he wanted. The last thing we observed, as we left the spot, was Giraud, crawling about on all fours, with a thoroughness in his search that I could not but admire. Poirot guessed my thoughts, for as soon as we were alone he remarked ironically:
“At last you have seen the detective you admire—the human foxhound! Is it not so, my friend?”
“At any rate, he’s doing something,” I said, with asperity. “If there’s anything to find, he’ll find it. Now you—”
“Eh bien! I also have found something! A piece of lead-piping.”
“Nonsense, Poirot. You know very well that’s got nothing to do with it. I meant little things—traces that may lead us infallibly to the murderers.”
“Mon ami, a clue of two feet long is every bit as valuable as one measuring two millimetres! But it is the
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