familiar to me by name, and I was extremely interested to sec him in the flesh. He was very tall, perhaps about thirty years of age, with auburn hair and mustache, and a military carriage. There was a trace of arrogance in his manner which showed that he was fully alive to his own importance. Bex introduced us, presenting Poirot as a colleague. A flicker of interest came into the detective’s eye.
“I know you by name, M. Poirot,” he said. You cut quite a figure in the old days, didn’t you? But methods are very different now.”
“Crimes, though, are very much the same,” remarked Poirot gently.
I saw at once that Giraud was prepared to be hostile. He resented the other being associated with him, and I felt that if he came across any clue of importance he would be more than likely to keep it to himself.
“The examining magistrate—” began Bex again. But Giraud interrupted him rudely:
“A fig for the examining magistrate! The light is the important thing. For all practical purposes it will be gone in another half hour or so. I know all about the case, and the people at the house will do very well until tomorrow, but, if we’re going to find a clue to the murderers, here is the spot we shall find it. Is it your police who have been trampling all over the place? I thought they knew better nowadays.”
“Assuredly they do. The marks you complain of were made by the workmen who discovered the body.”
The other grunted disgustedly.
“I can see the tracks where the three of them came through the hedge—but they were cunning. You can just recognize the center footmarks as those of M. Renauld, but those on either side have been carefully obliterated. Not that there would really be much to see anyway on this hard ground, but they weren't taking any chances.”
“The external sign,” said Poirot. “That is what you seek, eh?”
The other detective stared.
“Of course.”
45
