“Why is Madame Renauld not here? I sent for her a quarter of an hour ago?”
“She is coming up the path now, monsieur, and her son with her.”
“Good. I only want one at a time, though.”
Marchaud saluted and disappeared again. A moment later he reappeared with Mrs. Renauld.
“Here is Madame.”
Giraud came forward with a curt bow.
“This way, madame.” He led her across, and then, standing suddenly aside. “Here is the man. Do you know him?”
And as he spoke, his eyes, gimlet-like, bored into her face, seeking to read her mind, noting every indication of her manner.
But Mrs. Renauld remained perfectly calm—too calm, I felt. She looked down at the corpse almost without interest, certainly without any sign of agitation or recognition.
“No,” she said. “I have never seen him in my life. He is quite a stranger to me.”