Page:Agatha Christie-The Murder on the Links.djvu/153

 the question haughtily, his head thrown back.

“I should like an explanation of the reason that brought you here.”

“That is simple enough. I came to see my fiancée, Mademoiselle Daubreuil. I was on the eve of a long voyage, uncertain as to when I should return. I wished to see her before I went, to assure her of my unchanging devotion.”

“And you did see her?” Poirot’s eyes never left the other’s face.

There was an appreciable pause before Renauld replied. Then he said:

“Yes.”

“And afterwards?”

“I found I had missed the last train. I walked to St. Beauvais where I knocked up a garage and got a car to take me back to Cherbourg.”

“St. Beauvais? That is fifteen kilometres. A long walk, M. Renauld.”

“I—I felt like walking.”

Poirot bowed his head as a sign that he accepted the explanation. Jack Renauld took up his hat and cane and departed. In a trice Poirot jumped to his feet.

“Quick, Hastings. We will go after him.”

Keeping a discreet distance behind our quarry, we followed him through the streets of Merlinville. But when Poirot saw that he took the turning to the station, he checked himself.

“All is well. He has taken the bait. He will go to Abbalac, and will inquire for the mythical valise left by the mythical foreigners. Yes, mon ami, all that was a little invention of my own.”

“You wanted him out of the way!” I exclaimed.

“Your penetration is amazing, Hastings! Now, if you please, we will go up to the Villa Geneviève.”