A hurried departure was made forthwith. Stonor, at Jack’s instance, agreed to stay behind and do all that could be done for Bella Duveen. Poirot, Jack Renauld and I set off in the Renauld car.
The run took just over forty minutes. As we approached the doorway of the Villa Marguerite, Jack Renauld shot a questioning glance at Poirot.
“How would it be if you went on first—to break the news to my mother that I am free—”
“While you break it in person to Mademoiselle Marthe, eh?” finished Poirot, with a twinkle. “But yes, by all means, I was about to propose such an arrangement myself.”
Jack Renauld did not wait for more. Stopping the car, he swung himself out, and ran up the path to the front door. We went on in the car to the Villa Geneviève.
“Poirot,” I said, “do you remember how we arrived here that first day? And were met by the news of M. Renauld’s murder?”
“Ah! yes, truly. Not so long ago, either. But what a lot of things have happened since then—especially for you, mon ami!”
“Poirot, what have you done about finding Bel—I mean Dulcie?”
“Calm yourself, Hastings. I arrange everything.”
“You’re being a precious long time about it,” I grumbled.