Giraud stared for a moment—then burst out laughing, tapping his head significantly with the brief remark: “Toqué!”
Poirot drew himself up. A dangerous light showed in his eyes.
“M. Giraud, throughout the case your manner to me has been deliberately insulting! You need teaching a lesson. I am prepared to wager you 500 francs that I find the murderer of M. Renauld before you do. Is it agreed?”
Giraud stared helplessly at him, and murmured again, “Toqué!”
“Come now,” urged Poirot, "is it agreed?”
“I have no wish to take your money from you.”
“Make your mind easy—you will not!”
“Oh, well then, I agree! You speak of my manner to you being insulting. Eh bien, once or twice, your manner has annoyed me.”
“I am enchanted to hear it,” said Poirot. “Good morning, M. Giraud. Come, Hastings.”
I said no word as we walked along the street. My heart was heavy. Poirot had displayed his intentions only too plainly. I doubted more than ever my powers of saving Bella from the consequences of her act. This unlucky encounter with Giraud had roused Poirot and put him on his mettle.
Suddenly I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and turned to face Gabriel Stonor. We stopped and greeted him, and he proposed strolling with us back to our hotel.
“And what are you doing here, M. Stonor?” inquired Poirot.
“One must stand by one’s friends.” replied the other dryly. “Especially when they are unjustly accused.”
“Then you do not believe that Jack Renauld committed the crime?” I asked eagerly.
“Certainly I don’t. I know the lad. I admit that there have been one or two things in this business that have staggered me completely, but none the less, in spite of his fool way of taking it, I’ll never believe that Jack Renauld is a murderer.”
My heart warmed to the secretary. His words seemed to lift a secret weight from my heart.
“I have no doubt that many people feel as you do,” I ex-
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