'Yes, yes, but for God's sake go now.' repeated the magistrate.

He dismissed Denise and, after a moment or two for consideration, recalled Francoise. To her he repeated the question as to whether she had not made a mistake in fixing the night of Madame Daubreuil's visit. Francoise, however, proved unexpectedly obstinate. It was last night that Madame Daubreuil had come. Without a doubt it was she. Denise wished to make herself interesting, voila tout. So she had cooked up this fine tale about a strange lady. Airing her knowledge of English, too!

Probably Monsieur had never spoken that sentence in English at all, and, even if he had, it proved nothing, for Madame Daubreuil spoke English perfectly, and generally used that language when talking to Monsieur and Madame Renauld. 'You see, Monsieur Jack, the son of Monsieur, was usually here, and he spoke the French very badly.'

The magistrate did not insist. Instead, he inquired about the chauffeur, and learned that only yesterday Monsieur Renauld had declared that he was not likely to use the car, and that Masters might just as well take a holiday.

A perplexed frown was beginning to gather between Poirot's eyes.

'What is it?' I whispered.

He shook his head impatiently, and asked a question: 'Pardon, Monsieur Bex, but without doubt Monsieur Renauld could drive the car himself?'

The commissary looked over at Francoise, and the old woman replied promptly: 'No, Monsieur did not drive himself.'

Poirot's frown deepened.

'I wish you would tell me what is worrying you,' I said impatiently.

'See you not? In his letter Monsieur Renauld speaks of sending the car for me to Calais.'

'Perhaps he meant a hired car,' I suggested.

'Doubtless, that is so. But why hire a car when you have one of your own? Why choose yesterday to send away the chauffeur on a holiday-suddenly, at a moment's notice? Was it that for some reason he wanted him out of the way before we arrived?'