the world. The train was late, and I decided to take the short cut across the golf links. I could easily get into the grounds of the Villa Marguerite from there. I had nearly reached the place when—”
He paused and swallowed.
“Yes?”
“I heard a terrible cry. It wasn’t loud—a sort of choke and gasp—but it frightened me. For a moment I stood rooted to the spot. Then I came round the corner of a bush. There was moonlight. I saw the grave, and a figure lying face downward with a dagger sticking in the back. And then—and then—I looked up and saw her. She was looking at me as though she saw a ghost—it’s what she must have thought me at first—all expression seemed frozen out of her face by horror. And then she gave a cry, and turned and ran.”
He stopped, trying to master his emotion.
“And afterward?” asked Poirot gently.
“I really don’t know. I staved there for a time, dazed. And then I realized I’d better get away as fast as I could. It didn’t occur to me that they would suspect me, but I was afraid of being called upon to give evidence against her. I walked to St. Beauvais as I told you, and got a car from there back to Cherbourg.”
A knock came at the door, and a page entered with a telegram which he delivered to Stonor. He tore it open.
“Mrs. Renauld has regained consciousness,” he said.
“Ah!" Poirot sprang to his feet. “Let us all go to Merlinville at once!”
A hurried departure was made forthwith. Stonor, at Jack’s insistance, agreed to stay behind and do all that could be done for Bella Duveen. Poirot, Jack Renauld, and I set off in the Renauld car.
The run took just over forty minutes. As we approached the doorway of the Villa Marguerite, Jack Renauld shot a questioning glance at Poirot.
“How would it be if you went on first—to break the news to my mother that I am free—”
“While you break it in person to Mademoiselle Marthe,
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