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“
M
.
Renauld
was
murdered
this
morning
.
”
In
a
moment
Poirot
had
leapt
from
the
car
,
his
eyes
blazing
with
excitement
.
He
caught
the
man
by
the
shoulder
.
“
What
is
that
you
say
?
Murdered
?
When
?
How
?
”
The
sergent
de
ville
drew
himself
up
.
“
I
cannot
answer
any
questions
,
monsieur
.
”
“
True
.
I
comprehend
.
”
Poirot
reflected
for
a
minute
.
“
The
Commissary
of
Police
,
he
is
without
doubt
within
?
”
“
Yes
,
monsieur
.
”
Poirot
took
out
a
card
,
and
scribbled
a
few
words
on
it
.
“
Voilà
!
Will
you
have
the
goodness
to
see
that
this
card
is
sent
in
to
the
commissary
at
once
?
”
The
man
took
it
and
,
turning
his
head
over
his
shoulder
,
whistled
.
In
a
few
seconds
a
comrade
joined
him
and
was
handed
Poirot
’
s
message
.
There
was
a
wait
of
some
minutes
,
and
then
a
short
stout
man
with
a
huge
moustache
came
bustling
down
to
the
gate
.
The
sergent
de
ville
saluted
and
stood
aside
.
