claimed. “There is really absurdly little evidence against him. I should say that there was no doubt of his acquittal—no doubt whatever.”
But Stonor hardly responded as I could have wished. “I’d give a lot to think as you do,” he said gravely. He turned to Poirot. “What’s your opinion, monsieur?”
“I think that things look very black against him,” said Poirot quietly.
"You believe him guilty?” said Stonor sharply.
“No. But I think he will find it hard to prove his innocence.”
"He’s behaving so damned queerly,” muttered Stonor. “Of course I realize that there’s a lot more in this affair than meets the eve. Giraud’s not wise to that because he’s an outsider, but the whole thing has been damned odd. As to that, least said soonest mended. If Mrs. Renauld wants to hush anything up, I’ll take my cue from her. It’s her show, and I’ve too much respect for her judgment to shove my oar in, but I can’t get behind this attitude of Jack’s. Anyone would think he wanted to be thought guilty.”
“But it’s absurd,” I cried, bursting in. “For one thing, the dagger—” I paused, uncertain as to how much Poirot would wish me to reveal. I continued, choosing my words carefully: “We know that the dagger could not have been in Jack Renauld’s possession that evening. Mrs. Renauld knows that.”
“True,” said Stonor. “When she recovers, she will doubtless say all this and more. Well, I must be leaving you.”
“One moment.” Poirot’s hand arrested his departure. “Can you arrange for word to be sent to me at once should Madame Renauld recover consciousness?”
“Certainly. That’s easily done.”
“That point about the dagger is good, Poirot,” I urged as we went upstairs. “I couldn’t speak very plainly before Stonor.”
“That was quite right of you. We might as well keep the knowledge to ourselves as long as we can. As to the dagger, your point hardly helps Jack Renauld. You remember that I was absent for an hour this morning, before we started from London?”
“Yes?”
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