“Why, that it was Madame Daubreuil-Beroldy who murdered Mr. Renauld. The similarity of the two cases proves that beyond a doubt.”
“Then you consider that Madame Beroldy was wrongly acquitted? That in actual fact she was guilty of connivance in her husband's murder?"
I opened my eyes wide.
“But of course! Don't you?"
Poirot walked to the end of the room, absent-mindedly straightened a chair, and then said thoughtfully, “Yes, that is my opinion. But there is no ‘of course' about it, my friend. Technically speaking, Madame Beroldy is innocent.”
“Of that crime, perhaps. But not of this.”
Poirot sat down again, and regarded me, his thoughtful air more marked than ever.
“So it is definitely your opinion, Hastings, that Madame Daubreuil murdered M. Renauld?"
“Yes.”
“Why?"
He shot the question at me with such suddenness that I was taken aback.
“Why?" I stammered. “Why? Oh, because—" I came to a stop.
Poirot nodded his head at me.
“You see, you come to a stumbling-block at once. Why should Madame Daubreuil murder M. Renauld? We can find no shadow of a motive. She does not benefit by his death; considered as either mistress or blackmailer she stands to lose. You cannot have a murder without a motive. The first crime was different. There we had a rich lover waiting to step into her husband’s shoes.”
“Money is not the only motive for murder,” I objected.
“True,” agreed Poirot placidly. “There are two others. The crime passionnel is one. And there is the third rare motive, murder for an idea which implies some form of mental derangement on the part of the murderer. Homicidal mania and religious fanaticism belong to that class. We can rule it out here.”
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