supposed possible. His mother’s devotion helped him to live through those difficult days. The mother and son were inseparable now.
There was a further revelation to come. Poirot had acquainted Mrs. Renauld with the fact that he knew her secret, and had represented to her that Jack should not be left in ignorance of his father’s past.
“To hide the truth, never does it avail, madame! Be brave and tell him everything.”
With a heavy heart Mrs. Renauld consented, and her son learned that the father he had loved had been in actual fact a fugitive from justice. A halting question was promptly answered by Poirot.
“Reassure yourself, M. Jack. The world knows nothing. As far as I can see, there is no obligation for me to take the police into my confidence. Throughout the case I have acted, not for them, but for your father. Justice overtook him at last, but no one need ever know that he and Georges Conneau were one and the same.”
There were, of course, various points in the case that remained puzzling to the police, but Poirot explained things in so plausible a fashion that all query about them was gradually stilled.
Shortly after we got back to London, I noticed a magnificent model of a foxhound adorning Poirot’s mantelpiece. In answer to my inquiring glance, Poirot nodded.
“Mais oui! I got my 500 francs! Is he not a splendid fellow? I call him Giraud!”
A few days later Jack Renauld came to see us with a resolute expression on his face.
“M. Poirot, I've come to say good-by. I'm sailing for South America almost immediately. My father had large interests over the continent, and I mean to start a new life out there.”
“You go alone, M. Jack?”
“My mother comes with me—and I shall keep Stonor on as my secretary. He likes out-of-the-way parts of the world.”
“No one else goes with you?”
Jack flushed. “You mean—?”
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