Page:Murder on the Links - 1985.djvu/145

 hour, and I will ask you not to return to the villa, as I have no wish for Giraud to get an inkling of your errand.”

“Very well, I will go straight to the station.”

He rose to his feet. Poirot’s voice stopped him.

“One moment, M. Renauld, there is one little matter that puzzles me. Why did you not mention to M. Hautet this morning that you were in Merlinville on the night of the crime?”

Jack Renauld’s face went crimson. With an effort he controlled himself.

“You have made a mistake. I was in Cherbourg, as I told the examining magistrate this morning.”

Poirot looked at him, his eyes narrowed, cat-like, until they only showed a gleam of green.

“Then it is a singular mistake that I have made therefor it is shared by the station staff. They say you arrived by the eleven-forty train.”

For a moment Jack Renauld hesitated, then he made up his mind.

“And if I did? I suppose you do not mean to accuse me of participating in my father’s murder?” He asked 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 afterward?”

“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 kilometers. A long walk, M. Renauld.”