Agatha Christie - Murder on the Links

He stopped, trying to master his emotion.

'And afterwards?' asked Poirot gently.

'I really don't know. I stayed 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 hack to Cherbourg.'

A knock came at the door, and a page entered with a telegram which he delivered to Stonor. He tore it open. Then he got up from his seat.

'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 instance, 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, eh?' finished Poirot, with a twinkle. 'But yes, by all means, I was about to propose such an arrangement myself.'

Jack Renauld did not wait for more. Stopping the car, he swung himself out, and ran up the path to the front door.

We went on in the car to the Villa Geneviève.

'Poirot,' I said, 'do you remember how we arrived here that first day? And were met by the news of Mr. Renauld's murder?'

'Ah, yes, truly. Not so long ago either. But what a lot of things have happened since then-especially for you.'

'Yes, indeed,' I sighed.

'You are regarding it from the sentimental standpoint, Hastings. That was not my meaning. We will hope that Mademoiselle Bella will be dealt with leniently, and after all Jack Renauld cannot marry both the girls! I spoke from a professional standpoint. This is not a crime well ordered and regular, such as a detective delights in. The mise en scéne was designed by Georges Conneau, that indeed is perfect, but the denouement-ah, no! A man killed by accident in a girl's fit of anger-ah, indeed, what order or method is there in that?'

And in the midst of a fit of laughter on my part at Poirot's peculiarities, the door was opened by Françoise.

Poirot explained that he must see Mrs. Renauld at once, and the old woman conducted him upstairs. I remained in the salon. It was some time before Poirot reappeared. He was looking unusually grave.

'Vous voilà, Hastings! Sacré tonnerre! But there are squalls ahead!'

'What do you mean?' I cried.

'I would hardly have credited it,' said Poirot thoughtfully, 'but women are very unexpected.'

'Here are Jack and Marthe Daubreuil,' I exclaimed, looking out of the window.

Poirot bounded out of the room, and met the young couple on the steps outside.

'Do not enter. It is better not. Your mother is very upset.'

'I know, I know,' said Jack Renauld. 'I must go up to her at once.'

'But no, I tell you. It is better not.'

'But Marthe and I-'

'In any case, do not take Mademoiselle with you. Mount, if you must, but you would be wise to be guided by me.'

A voice on the stairs behind made us all start.

'I thank you for your good offices, Monsieur Poirot but I will make my own wishes clear.'

We stared in astonishment. Descending the stairs, leaning on Léonie's arm, was Mrs. Renauld, her head still bandaged.

The French girl was weeping, and imploring her mistress to return to bed.

'Madame will kill herself. It is contrary to all the doctor's orders!'

But Mrs. Renauld came on.

'Mother,' cried Jack, starting forward.

But with a gesture she drove him back.

'I am no mother of yours! You are no son of mine! From this day and hour I renounce you.'

'Mother!' cried the lad, stupefied.

For a moment she seemed to waver, to falter before the anguish in his voice. Poirot made a mediating gesture. But instantly she regained command of herself.

'Your father's blood is on your head. You are morally guilty of his death. You thwarted and defied him over this girl, and by your heartless treatment of another girl, you brought about his death. Go out from my house. Tomorrow I intend to take such steps as shall make it certain that you shall never touch a penny of his money. Make your way in the world as best you can with the help of the girl who is the daughter of your father's bitterest enemy!'

And slowly painfully she retraced her way upstairs.

We were all dumbfounded-totally unprepared for such a demonstration. Jack Renauld, worn out with all he had already gone through, swayed and nearly fell. Poirot and I went quickly to his assistance.

'He is overdone,' murmured Poirot to Marthe. 'Where can we take him?'

'But home! To the Villa Marguerite. We will nurse him my mother and I. My poor Jack!'

We got the lad to the Villa where he dropped limply onto a chair in a semi-dazed condition. Poirot felt his head and hands.

'He has fever. The long strain begins to tell. And now this shock on top of it. Get him to bed and Hastings and I will summon a doctor.'

A doctor was soon procured. After examining the patient, he gave it as his opinion that it was simply a case of nerve strain. With perfect rest and quiet the lad might be almost restored by the next day, but, if excited, there was a chance of brain fever. It would be advisable for someone to sit up all night with him.

Finally, having done all we could we left him in the charge of Marthe and her mother, and set out for the town.

It was past our usual hour of dining, and we were both famished.

The first restaurant we came to assuaged the pangs of hunger with an excellent omelette and an equally excellent entree to follow.

'And now for quarters for the night.' Said Poirot, when at length café noir had completed the meal. 'Shall we try our old friend, the Hôtel des Bains?'

We traced our steps there without more ado. Yes, Messieurs could be accommodated with two good rooms overlooking the sea. Then Poirot asked a question which surprised me: 'Has an English lady, Miss Robinson, arrived?'

'Yes, monsieur. She is in the little salon.'

'Ah!'

'Poirot,' I cried, keeping pace with him, as he walked along the corridor, 'who on earth is Miss Robinson?'

Poirot beamed kindly on me. 'It is that I have arranged you a marriage, Hastings.'

'But I say-'

'Bah!' said Poirot, giving me a friendly push over the threshold of the door. 'Do you think I wish to trumpet aloud in Merlinville the name of Duveen?'

It was indeed Cinderella who rose to greet us. I took her hand in both of mine. My eyes said the rest.

Poirot cleared his throat.

'Mes enfants,' he said, 'for the moment we have no time for sentiment. There is work ahead of us. Mademoiselle, were you able to do what I asked you?'

In response, Cinderella took from her bag an object wrapped up in paper, and handed it silently to Poirot. The latter unwrapped it. I gave a start-for it was the aeroplane dagger which I understood she had cast into the sea. Strange, how reluctant women always are to destroy the most compromising of objects and documents!

'Tres bien, mon enfant,' said Poirot. 'I am pleased with you. Go now and rest yourself. Hastings here and I have work to do. You shall see him tomorrow.'

'Where are you going?' asked the girl, her eyes widening.

'You shall hear all about it tomorrow.'

'Because wherever you're going, I'm coming too.'

'But, mademoiselle-'

'I'm coming too, I tell you.'

Poirot realized that it was futile to argue. He gave in. 'Come then, mademoiselle. But it will not be amusing. In all probability nothing will happen.'