But at that moment we drew up at a big green gate, and, simultaneously, we both uttered an exclamation. Before it stood an imposing sergent de ville. He held up his hand to bar our way.
“You cannot pass, monsieurs.”
“But we wish to see Mr. Renauld,” I cried. “We have an appointment. This is his Villa, isn’t it?”
“Yes, monsieur, but—”
Poirot leaned forward.
“But what?”
“M. Renauld was murdered this morning.”
3
At the Villa Geneviève
In a moment Poirot had leapt from the car, his eyes blazing with excitement. He caught the man by the shoulder.
“What is that you say? Murdered? When? How?”