Gently he picked away the fragments of broken glass. Suddenly his face changed to one of utter stupefaction.
“Mon Dieu!” he ejaculated.
“What is it?”
“The hands of the watch point to seven o’clock!”
“What?” cried the examining magistrate, astonished.
But Poirot, deft as ever, took the broken trinket from the startled commissary, and held it to his ear. Then he smiled.
“The glass is broken, yes, but the watch itself is still going.”
The explanation of the mystery was greeted with a relieved smile. But the magistrate bethought him of another point.
“But surely it is not seven o’clock now?”
“No,” said Poirot gently, “it is a few minutes after five. Possibly the watch gains, is that so, madame?"
Mrs. Renauld was frowning perplexedly.
“It does gain,” she admitted, “but I’ve never known it to gain quite so much as that.”
With a gesture of impatience, the magistrate left the matter of the watch and proceeded with his interrogatory.
“Madame, the front door was found ajar. It seems almost certain that the murderers entered that way, vet it has not been forced at all. Can you suggest any explanation?”
“Possibly my husband went out for a stroll the last thing, and forgot to latch it when he came in.”
“Is that a likely thing to happen?"
“Very. My husband was the most absent-minded of men.”
There was a slight frown on her brow as she spoke, as though this trait in the dead man’s character had at times vexed her.
“There is one inference I think we might draw.,” remarked the commissary suddenly. “Since the men insisted on M. Renauld dressing himself, it looks as though the place they were taking him to, the place where ‘the secret’ was concealed, lay some distance away.”
The magistrate nodded. “Yes, far, and yet not too far, since he spoke of being back by morning.”
“What time does the last train leave the station of Merlinville?" asked Poirot.
38
