“He says so—but who knows?” “Mademoiselle,” said Poirot quietly, “if we are to work together, you and I, we must have things clear. First, I will ask you a question.” “Yes, monsieur?” “Are you aware of your mother’s real name?” Marthe looked at him for a minute, then, letting her head fall forward on her arms, she burst into tears. “There, there,” said Poirot, patting her on the shoulder. “Calm yourself, _petite___, I see that you know. Now a second question, did you know who M. Renauld was?” “M. Renauld,” she raised her head from her hands and gazed at him wonderingly. “Ah, I see you do not know that. Now listen to me carefully.” Step by step, he went over the case, much as he had done to me on the day of our departure for England. Marthe listened spellbound. When he had finished, she drew a long breath. “But you are wonderful—magnificent! You are the greatest detective in the world.” With a swift gesture she slipped off her chair and knelt before him with an abandonment that was wholly French. “Save him, monsieur,” she cried. “I love him so. Oh, save him, save him—save him!” 25 An Unexpected Dénouement We were present the following morning at the examination of Jack Renauld. Short as the time had been, I was shocked at the change that had taken place in the young prisoner. His cheeks had fallen in, there were deep black circles round his eyes, and he looked haggard and distraught, as one who had wooed sleep in vain for several nights. He betrayed no emotion at seeing us. The prisoner and his counsel, Maître Grosíer, were accommodated with chairs. A formidable guard with resplendent sabre stood before the door. The patient _greffier___ sat at his desk. The examination began. “Renauld,” began the magistrate, “do you deny that you were in Merlinville on the night of the crime?” Jack did not reply at once, then he said with a hesitancy of manner which was piteous: “I—I—told you that I was in Cherbourg.” Maître Grosíer frowned and sighed. I realized at once that Jack Renauld was obstinately bent on conducting his own case as he wished, to the despair of his legal representative. The magistrate turned sharply. “Send in the station witnesses.” In a moment or two the door opened to admit a man whom I recognized as being a porter at Merlinville station. “You were on duty on the night of June 7th?” “Yes, monsieur.” “You witnessed the arrival of the 11:40 train?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Look at the prisoner. Do you recognize him as having been one of the passengers to alight?” “Yes, Monsieur le juge.” “There is no possibility of your being mistaken?” “No, monsieur. I knew M. Jack Renauld well.” “Nor of your being mistaken as to the date?” “No, monsieur. Because it was the following morning, June 8th, that we heard of the murder.” Another railway official was brought in, and confirmed the first one’s evidence. The magistrate looked at Jack Renauld. “These men have identified you positively. What have you to say?”