“But I see no footprints?” “No,” said Poirot, straightening a little pile of books on a table. “There are none.” For a moment an almost murderous rage obscured Giraud’s face. He took two strides towards his tormentor, but at that moment the _salon___ door was opened, and Marchaud announced. “M. Stonor, the secretary, has just arrived from England. May he enter?” 10 Gabriel Stonor The man who entered the room was a striking figure. Very tall, with a well knit athletic frame, and a deeply bronzed face and neck, he dominated the assembly. Even Giraud seemed anaemic beside him. When I knew him better I realized that Gabriel Stonor was quite an unusual personality. English by birth, he had knocked about all over the world. He had shot big game in Africa, travelled in Korea, ranched in California, and traded in the South Sea Islands. He had been secretary to a New York railway magnate, and had spent a year encamped in the desert with a friendly tribe of Arabs. His unerring eye picked out M. Hautet. “The examining magistrate in charge of the case? Pleased to meet you, M. le juge. This is a terrible business. How’s Mrs. Renauld? Is she bearing up fairly well? It must have been an awful shock to her.” “Terrible, terrible,” said M. Hautet. “Permit me to introduce M. Bex—our commissary of police, M. Giraud of the Sûreté. This gentleman is M. Hercule Poirot. M. Renauld sent for him, but he arrived too late to do anything to avert the tragedy. A friend of M. Poirot’s, Captain Hastings.” Stonor looked at Poirot with some interest. “Sent for you, did he?” “You did not know, then, that M. Renauld contemplated calling in a detective?” interposed M. Bex. “No, I didn’t. But it doesn’t surprise me a bit.” “Why?” “Because the old man was rattled! I don’t know what it was all about. He didn’t confide in me. We weren’t on those terms. But rattled he was—and badly!” “H’m!” said M. Hautet. “But you have no notion of the cause?” “That’s what I said, sir.” “You will pardon me, M. Stonor, but we must begin with a few formalities. Your name?” “Gabriel Stonor.” “How long ago was it that you became secretary to M. Renauld?” “About two years ago, when he first arrived from South America. I met him through a mutual friend, and he offered me the post. A thundering good boss he was too.” “Did he talk to you much about his life in South America?” “Yes, a good bit.” “Do you know if he was ever in Santiago?” “Several times, I believe.” “He never mentioned any special incident that occurred there—anything that might have provoked some vendetta against him?” “Never.” “Did he speak of any secret that he had acquired whilst sojourning there?” “No.” “Did he ever say anything at all about a secret?”