“I guess that’s right,” said Stonor quietly. “I transmitted him those sums at his request. But it wasn’t an intrigue.” “Eh! _mon Dieu!___ What else could it be?” “_Blackmail___,” said Stonor sharply, bringing down his hand with a slam on the table. “That’s what it was.” “Ah! Voilà une idée!” cried the magistrate, shaken in spite of himself. “Blackmail,” repeated Stonor. “The old man was being bled—and at a good rate too. Four thousand in a couple of months. Whew! I told you just now there was a mystery about Renauld. Evidently this Madame Daubreuil knew enough of it to put the screws on.” “It is possible,” the commissary cried excitedly. “Decidedly, it is possible.” “Possible?” roared Stonor. “It’s certain! Tell me, have you asked Mrs. Renauld about this love affair stunt of yours?” “No, monsieur. We did not wish to occasion her any distress if it could reasonably be avoided.” “Distress? Why, she’d laugh in your face. I tell you, she and Renauld were a couple in a hundred.” “Ah, that reminds me of another point,” said M. Hautet. “Did M. Renauld take you into his confidence at all as to the dispositions of his will?” “I know all about it—took it to the lawyer for him after he’d drawn it out. I can give you the name of his solicitors if you want to see it. They’ve got it there. Quite simple. Half in trust to his wife for her lifetime, the other half to his son. A few legacies. I rather think he left me a thousand.” “When was this will drawn up?” “Oh, about a year and a half ago.” “Would it surprise you very much, M. Stonor, to hear that M. Renauld had made another will, less than a fortnight ago?” Stonor was obviously very much surprised. “I’d no idea of it. What’s it like?” “The whole of his vast fortune is left unreservedly to his wife. There is no mention of his son.” Mr. Stonor gave vent to a prolonged whistle. “I call that rather rough on the lad. His mother adores him, of course, but to the world at large it looks rather like a want of confidence on his father’s part. It will be rather galling to his pride. Still, it all goes to prove what I told you, that Renauld and his wife were on first rate terms.” “Quite so, quite so,” said M. Hautet. “It is possible we shall have to revise our ideas on several points. We have, of course, cabled to Santiago, and are expecting a reply from there any minute. In all possibility, everything will then be perfectly clear and straightforward. On the other hand, if your suggestion of blackmail is true, Madame Daubreuil ought to be able to give us valuable information.” Poirot interjected a remark: “M. Stonor, the English chauffeur, Masters, had he been long with M. Renauld?” “Over a year?” “Have you any idea whether he has ever been in South America?” “I’m quite sure he hasn’t. Before coming to Mr. Renauld, he had been for many years with some people in Gloucestershire whom I know well.” “In fact, you can answer for him as being above suspicion?” “Absolutely.”