“Where?” I cried, leaning forward eagerly.
Poirot smiled.
“She tells you that in every line of the letter, mon ami.”
“But where am I to find her? There’s no address on the letter. There’s a French stamp, that’s all.”
“Excite yourself not! Leave it to Papa Poirot. I can find her for you as soon as I have five little minutes!”
27
Jack Renauld’s Story
“Congratulations, M. Jack,” said Poirot, wringing the lad warmly by the hand.
Young Renauld had come to us as soon as he was liberated—before starting for Merlinville to rejoin Marthe and his mother. Stonor accompanied him. His heartiness was in strong contrast to the lad’s wan looks. It was plain that the boy was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Although delivered from the immediate peril that was hanging over him, the circumstances of his release were too painful to let him feel full relief. He smiled mournfully at Poirot, and said in a low voice:
“I went through it to protect her, and now it’s all no use!”
“You could hardly expect the girl to accept the price of your life,” remarked Stonor dryly. “She was bound to come forward when she saw you heading straight for the guillotine.”