“Ah!” said Poirot. “I figure to myself that that is the room where we shall find Jack Renauld.” Madame Daubreuil opened the door to us. She explained that Jack was much the same, but perhaps we would like to see for ourselves. She led us upstairs and into the bedroom. Marthe Daubreuil was embroidering by a table with a lamp on it. She put her finger to her lips as we entered. Jack Renauld was sleeping an uneasy fitful sleep, his head turning from side to side, and his face still unduly flushed. “Is the doctor coming again?” asked Poirot in a whisper. “Not unless we send. He is sleeping—that is the great thing. _Maman___ made him a tisane.” She sat down again with her embroidery as we left the room. Madame Daubreuil accompanied us down the stairs. Since I had learned of her past history, I viewed this woman with increased interest. She stood there with her eyes cast down, the same very faint enigmatical smile that I remembered on her lips. And suddenly I felt afraid of her, as one might feel afraid of a beautiful poisonous snake. “I hope we have not deranged you, madame,” said Poirot politely as she opened the door for us to pass out. “Not at all, monsieur.” “By the way,” said Poirot, as though struck by an afterthought, “M. Stonor has not been in Merlinville today, has he?” I could not at all fathom the point of this question which I well knew to be meaningless as far as Poirot was concerned. Madame Daubreuil replied quite composedly: “Not that I know of.” “He has not had an interview with Mrs. Renauld?” “How should I know that, monsieur?” “True,” said Poirot. “I thought you might have seen him coming or going, that is all. Good night, madame.” “Why—” I began. “No ‘_whys___,’ Hastings. There will be time for that later.” We rejoined Cinderella and made our way rapidly in the direction of the Villa Geneviève. Poirot looked over his shoulder once at the lighted window and the profile of Marthe as she bent over her work. “He is being guarded at all events,” he muttered. Arrived at the Villa Geneviève, Poirot took up his stand behind some bushes to the left of the drive, where, whilst enjoying a good view ourselves, we were completely hidden from sight. The Villa itself was in total darkness, everybody was without doubt in bed and asleep. We were almost immediately under the window of Mrs. Renauld’s bedroom, which window, I noticed, was open. It seemed to me that it was upon this spot that Poirot’s eyes were fixed. “What are we going to do?” I whispered. “Watch.” “But—” “I do not expect anything to happen for at least an hour, probably two hours, but the—” But his words were interrupted by a long thin drawn cry: “Help!” A light flashed up in the second floor room on the right hand side of the house. The cry came from there. And even as we watched there came a shadow on the blind as of two people struggling. “_Mille tonnerres!___” cried Poirot. “She must have changed her room!”