“They declared, after examination of the body, that death had taken place between ten and seven hours previously. _Mon ami___, for some reason, it was imperative that the crime should seem to have taken place later than it actually did. You have read of a smashed watch or clock recording the exact hour of a crime? So that the time should not rest on Mrs. Renauld’s testimony alone, some one moved on the hands of that wrist watch to two o’clock, and then dashed it violently to the ground. But, as is often the case, they defeated their own object. The glass was smashed, but the mechanism of the watch was uninjured. It was a most disastrous manoeuvre on their part, for it at once drew my attention to two points—first, that Madame Renauld was lying: secondly, that there must be some vital reason for the postponement of the time.” “But what reason could there be?” “Ah, that is the question! There we have the whole mystery. As yet, I cannot explain it. There is only one idea that presents itself to me as having a possible connection.” “And that is?” “The last train left Merlinville at seventeen minutes past twelve.” I followed it out slowly. “So that, the crime apparently taking place some two hours later, any one leaving by that train would have an unimpeachable alibi!” “Perfect, Hastings! You have it!” I sprang up. “But we must inquire at the station. Surely they cannot have failed to notice two foreigners who left by that train! We must go there at once!” “You think so, Hastings?” “Of course. Let us go there now.” Poirot restrained my ardour with a light touch upon the arm. “Go by all means if you wish, _mon ami___—but if you go, I should not ask for particulars of two foreigners.” I stared, and he said rather impatiently: “Là, là, you do not believe all that rigmarole, do you? The masked men and all the rest of _cette histoire-là!___” His words took me so much aback that I hardly knew how to respond. He went on serenely: “You heard me say to Giraud, did you not, that all the details of this crime were familiar to me? _Eh bien___, that presupposes one of two things, either the brain that planned the first crime also planned this one, or else an account read of a _cause célèbre___ unconsciously remained in our assassin’s memory and prompted the details. I shall be able to pronounce definitely on that after—” he broke off. I was revolving sundry matters in my mind. “But Mr. Renauld’s letter? It distinctly mentions a secret and Santiago?” “Undoubtedly there was a secret in M. Renauld’s life—there can be no doubt of that. On the other hand, the word Santiago, to my mind, is a red herring, dragged continually across the track to put us off the scent. It is possible that it was used in the same way on M. Renauld, to keep him from directing his suspicions into a quarter nearer at hand. Oh, be assured, Hastings, the danger that threatened him was not in Santiago, it was near at hand, in France.”