“You mock yourself at me. But I will give you one last irrefutable proof. Madame Renauld’s story was false—a fabrication from beginning to end. We believe Madame Renauld to have loved her husband—_yet she lied to shield his murderer___. For whom will a woman lie? Sometimes for herself, usually for the man she loves, _always___ for her children. That is the last—the irrefutable proof. You cannot get round it.” Giraud paused, flushed and triumphant. Poirot regarded him steadily. “That is my case,” said Giraud. “What have you to say to it?” “Only that there is one thing you have failed to take into account.” “What is that?” “Jack Renauld was presumably acquainted with the planning out of the golf course. He knew that the body would be discovered almost at once, when they started to dig the bunker.” Giraud laughed out loud. “But it is idiotic what you say there! He wanted the body to be found! Until it was found, he could not presume death, and would have been unable to enter into his inheritance.” I saw a quick flash of green in Poirot’s eyes as he rose to his feet. “Then why bury it?” he asked softly. “Reflect, Giraud. Since it was to Jack Renauld’s advantage that the body should be found without delay, _why dig a grave at all?___” Giraud did not reply. The question found him unprepared. He shrugged his shoulders as though to intimate that it was of no importance. Poirot moved towards the door. I followed him. “There is one more thing that you have failed to take into account,” he said over his shoulder. “What is that?” “The piece of lead piping,” said Poirot, and left the room. Jack Renauld still stood in the hall, with a white dumb face, but as we came out of the _salon___, he looked up sharply. At the same moment there was the sound of a footfall on the staircase. Mrs. Renauld was descending it. At the sight of her son, standing between the two myrmidons of the law, she stopped as though petrified. “Jack,” she faltered. “Jack, what is this?” He looked up at her, his face set. “They have arrested me, mother.” “What?” She uttered a piercing cry, and before any one could get to her swayed and fell heavily. We both ran to her and lifted her up. In a minute Poirot stood up again. “She has cut her head badly, on the corner of the stairs. I fancy there is a slight concussion also. If Giraud wants a statement from her, he will have to wait. She will probably be unconscious for at least a week.” Denise and Françoise had run to their mistress, and leaving her in their charge Poirot left the house. He walked with his head bent down, frowning thoughtfully at the ground. For some time I did not speak, but at last I ventured to put a question to him. “Do you believe then, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, that Jack Renauld may not be guilty?” Poirot did not answer at once, but after a long wait he said gravely: