Chapter 5 Chapter V Madame Renaud's Statement

We found Monsieur Ayut waiting for us on the porch, and we went upstairs together, François leading the way.As Poirot went up the stairs, he walked here and there, which confused me until he whispered to me with a strange face: "No wonder the servants could hear the sound of M. Reynolds going up the stairs. It turns out that there is no stair board that does not creak, and even the dead will be awakened." At the top of the stairs, a small passage branched off. "That's the servants' quarters," Bex explained. We continued down a passage.At the last door on the right of the aisle, François knocked softly.

A faint voice beckons us inside.We enter a spacious, sunny room.The room faced exactly a stretch of blue, shimmering sea not a quarter of a mile away. A slender, remarkably good-looking woman was propped up on a couch, supported by Dr. Durand.She was middle-aged, and her black hair was now almost silvery white, but every aspect of her figure revealed energy and character.You immediately feel that what is in front of you is une maitresse femme, as the French say. She greeted us with a nod of the head, with a dignified air. "Sit down, gentlemen." We sat down on chairs, and the prosecutor's secretary sat down at a round table.

"Madame, I hope it won't bother you too much to describe what happened last night?" Mr. Ayut began. "Not at all, sir. I know time is precious in order to catch these two murderous rascals and give them the punishment they deserve." "Very well, ma'am. If I ask you questions and you answer them, I think it will save you some fatigue. When did you go to bed last night?" "Nine-thirty, sir, because I'm tired." "Where's your husband?" "I think about an hour later." "He looked a little restless—disturbed?"

"No, it's about the same as usual." "and after?" "We fell asleep. A hand squeezed my mouth and woke me up. I tried to scream, but I couldn't. There were two people in the room, both wearing masks." ①French: A resolute and resolute woman.Annotation one by one. "Madam, can you describe these two persons?" "One is tall, with a long black beard; the other is short, stocky, with a red beard. Both have their hats pulled down over their eyes." "Hmm!" said the prosecutor thoughtfully. "I'm afraid. Too many beards."

"You mean the beards are fake?" "Yes, ma'am. Go on, please." "It was the short man who held me. He gagged me and then tied my hands and feet with ropes. The other one stood and looked down at my husband. He had taken my dagger-like paper knife from the dresser and had the point of it pressed to my husband's heart.The short man picked me up and joined the other one, forcing my husband out of bed and accompanying them to the dressing room next door. I nearly passed out with fright, but I listened like hell. "Their voices were so low that I couldn't make out what they were saying. But I could tell it was a rough Spanish spoken in parts of South America.

It was as if they were asking my husband for something.After a while they got angry and their voices rose a little.I think it's the tall guy who's talking. 'Do you know what we want?' he said, 'Secret! Where is it?' I don't know how my husband answered. But another snapped back viciously: 'You lied! We know you're hiding.'Where are your keys?"' "Then I heard the drawer being pulled open.There is a safe on the wall in my husband's dressing room in which he often keeps a fair amount of cash.Leoni later told me the safe was robbed and the money was taken.It was clear, however, that they hadn't found what they were looking for; for presently I heard the tall man swear, and order my husband to put his clothes on.After a while I thought some noise in the house must have alarmed them, for they hurried my half-dressed husband into my room. "

"Pardon," put in Poirot, "is there no other exit from the dressing room?" "No, sir, there is only one door leading to my room. They drove my husband through my room. The short one followed me with the dagger in his hand. Paul tried to get away and walk up to me Here. I saw his pained eyes. He turned to the two guys who grabbed him and said: 'I have to talk to her. ’ Then he came to me by the bed and said, ‘It’s all right, Eloise.Bieber, I'll be back before dawn. ' Although he tried to sound confident, I could see the fear in his eyes.Then they pushed him out of the room, and the tall man said, "If you make a sound, it will kill you, remember." ’, ‘After this,’ continued Madame Reynolds, ‘I must have passed out.

I remember waking up with Leonie massaging my wrists and offering me a brandy. " "Madame Renaud," said the prosecutor, "what do you think they are looking for?" "I can't say anything, sir." "Do you know what fears your husband has?" "Yes. I sense a change in him." "How long ago was that?" Madame Reynolds thought. "Perhaps ten days ago." "Wouldn't it be earlier?" "It's possible, but I noticed it then." "Have you ever asked your husband why?" ①French: Excuse me. ——Annotation.

"Ask once. He avoided it. However, I am sure he was suffering from some intense anxiety. However, since he obviously did not want me to know the truth, I pretended not to notice anything." .” "Did you know that he had asked the detective for help?" "Detective?" Madame Reynolds exclaimed in astonishment. "Yes, this is the gentleman—Hercule Poirot." Poirot bowed. "At your husband's request, he just arrived today." Poirot took out the letter written by Mr. Renault from his pocket and handed it to Madame. Madame Reynolds read the letter with a look of great astonishment.

"I know nothing of it. It is evident that he is fully aware of the danger." "Now, I would like to ask my lady to be frank with me. Your husband lived in South America. Is there anything there that might give some indication of his murder?" Madame Reynolds mused, but finally shook her head. "I can't think of it. Of course my husband had quite a few enemies, for example, people he got the upper hand in one way or another, but I can't think of a clear instance. I can't say there haven't been such incidents, it's just that I I just don't know."

The prosecutor held on to his beard uneasily. "Can you tell when the atrocities took place?" "Yes. I distinctly remember that the clock on the mantelpiece struck twice." She looked up at the watch which stood in a leather case in the middle of the mantelpiece. It was a travel watch which lasted eight days. Poirot rose from his seat.He looked at the watch carefully, then nodded.Show a very satisfied look. "Here is a watch," exclaimed Mr. Bakers, "which was no doubt thrown from the dressing-table by the murderer, and smashed to pieces. They did not know that it would be evidence against them. .” He gently picked up the shards of broken glass, his face suddenly changed. "Mon Dieu!" he cried. "What's up?" "The hour hand of the watch is pointing to seven o'clock." "What?" the prosecutor shouted in astonishment. But Poirot, with his usual quickness, took the damaged watch from the astonished chief, and pressed it to his ear.He smiled. "The glass is broken, yes, but the watch is still running." The prosecutor smiled relievedly at Poirot's explanation, but asked him another question. "But it's certainly not seven o'clock." "Yes," said Poirot softly, "it is only a few minutes past five, and perhaps the watch is fast, is it not, Madame?" Madame Reynolds frowned in confusion. "The watch is fast," she admitted, "but I never knew it was so fast." The prosecutor made an impatient gesture, put aside the question of the watch and continued the questioning. "Ma'am, the front door is ajar. It seems probable that the murderer entered there, but not by force. Can you offer any explanation?" ①French: My God.Annotation one by one. "Or my husband ends up going for a walk and forgets to close the door when he comes back." "Is this possible?" "Probably. My husband is the most absent-minded man." Madame Reynolds frowned slightly as she said this, as if this feature of her husband's character sometimes troubled her. "I think one can draw a conclusion," said the Commissioner suddenly, "since these two thugs insisted that Mr. Reynolds get dressed, it seems that the place where they are going to take him, that is, the place where the 'secret' is hidden is not far from here." Some distance." The prosecutor nodded. "Yes, a little far, but not too far; for he said he'd be back before daylight." "What time does the last train leave the station at Meranville?" asked Poirot. "It's eleven-fifty one way, twelve-seventeen the other. But it's likely they have a car waiting." "Of course." Poirot agreed, looking a little despondent. "To be honest, that's also a way to track them down," said the prosecutor, his face brightened. "A car with two foreigners in it is enough to attract attention. That's a good point, Mr. Bakers." He thought he was very proud of himself, and then said to Madame Renault, his face became serious again: "One more question. Do you know a guy named Duveen?" "Duveen?" Mrs. Reynolds repeated the name thoughtfully. "No, I'm not sure for the time being." "Have you never heard your husband mention that name?" "No." "Did you know someone whose real name was 'Bella'?" When the prosecutor said this, he carefully observed Mrs. Renault's expression, trying to catch signs that she was angry or knew this person by surprise, but she just shook her head with a calm attitude.He went on to ask: "Your husband received a guest last night, did you know about that?" Now he saw a blush rise to her cheeks, but she answered calmly: "I don't know. Who is that?" "A lady." "real?" But at this moment the prosecutor was unwilling to say anything more.Mrs. Dobler did not seem to have anything to do with the crime, and he did not want to upset Mrs. Reynolds unless necessary. He signaled to the chief, who nodded in reply.Then he got up and went across the room, and came back with the glass jar we had seen in the shed.He took the dagger out of the vat. "Ma'am," he said softly, "do you recognize this thing?" She cried out softly. "Yes. It's one of my little daggers." Then she recoiled, looking at the stained point, her eyes wide with terror. "Is that... blood?" "Yes, ma'am. Your husband was stabbed to death with this knife." He hastily moved the dagger away. "Are you quite sure that this is the dagger that was on your dressing table last night?" ?” "Ah, yes. It was a gift from my son. He was in the Air Force during the Great War. He lied about his age." There was maternal pride in her voice. "It's made of sheet metal from a streamlined airplane, and my son gave it to me as a war memento." "So it is, ma'am. That brings us to another question. Where is your son now? A telegram must be sent to him without delay. " "Jack? He's on his way to Buenos Aires." "what?" "Yes. My husband telegraphed him yesterday. He had sent him to Paris on errands, but yesterday he found it necessary to send Jack to South America at once. There was a ship last night from Cherbourg to Buenos Venlis, He telegraphed him to take this boat." "Do you know what he's going to do in Buenos Aires?" "No, sir, I don't know what it is. But Buenos Venlis is not my son's final destination, and he will go overland to Santiago there." The prosecutor and the director shouted in unison: "Santiago: It's San Diego again:" While we were all dumbfounded at the mention of the place, Poirot approached Madame Reynolds.He had been standing by the window, bewildered as if in a dream.I still have some doubts about whether he has fully noticed what happened just now.He stopped beside his wife and saluted. "Pardon①, ma'am, may I have a look at your wrists?" Mrs. Reynolds was a little embarrassed by the request, but she stretched out her hand. There are deep marks around both wrists, which are red in color , indicating that the binding rope had sunk into the flesh. As he looked closely, I felt the fleeting flash of excitement I had seen in his eyes disappear. "It must have hurt you a lot," he said, again looking bewildered. But the prosecutor said excitedly: "Mr. Reynolds Jr. must be telegraphed immediately. It is of the utmost importance that we know everything he has said about his trip to Santiago." He hesitated. Can ease your pain, ma'am." He paused. "You mean to identify my husband's body?" she whispered. The prosecutor bowed his head. "Sir, I am a strong man. I can take anything that is asked of me. I am ready . . . come." "Well, it's not too late tomorrow, I assure you..." "Better identify it," she said in a low voice, a spasm of pain passing across her face. "Doctor, please help me." The doctor hurried forward.The maid put a cloak on Madame Reynolds, and the party walked slowly down the stairs.Mr. Bakers was the first to open the shed door.After a while, Mrs. Renault appeared at the door.She was pale, but resolute and resolute.She raised her hands to her face. ①French.please forgive. ——Annotation. "Wait a minute, sir, let me calm down." She removed her hand and looked down at the corpse.Then suddenly the amazing self-control which had sustained her so far disappeared. "Paul," she cried, "Dear ones! O God." Fell forward, and she fell to the ground, unconscious. Poirot ran to her at once, opened the lid of one of her eyes, and felt for her pulse.When he felt that she had indeed passed out, he stepped aside in satisfaction. He grabbed my arm. "What a fool I am, my friend! I have heard the truest love and sorrow in a woman's voice just now. My little opinion is all wrong. Eh bien! I must Start from scratch!" ①French: All right.Annotation