The Murder on the Links Read Online Free Page A

retired some time before. Denise and Léonie went up with me. Monsieur was still in his study.”
    â€œThen, if anyone unfastened the door afterwards, it must have been Monsieur Renauld himself?”
    Françoise shrugged her broad shoulders.
    â€œWhat should he do that for? With robbers and assassins passing every minute! A nice idea! Monsieur was not an imbecile. It is not as though he had had to let the lady out—”
    The magistrate interrupted sharply:
    â€œThe lady? What lady do you mean?”
    â€œWhy, the lady who came to see him.”
    â€œHad a lady been to see him that evening?”
    â€œBut yes, monsieur—and many other evenings as well.”
    â€œWho was she? Did you know her?”
    A rather cunning look spread over the woman’s face.
    â€œHow should I know who it was?” she grumbled. “I did not let her in last night.”
    â€œAha!” roared the examining magistrate, bringing his hand down with a bang on the table. “You would trifle with the police, would you? I demand that you tell me at once the name of this woman who came to visit Monsieur Renauld in the evenings.”
    â€œThe police—the police,” grumbled Françoise. “Never did I think that I should be mixed-up with the police. But I know well enough who she was. It was Madame Daubreuil.”
    The commissary uttered an exclamation, and leaned forward as though in utter astonishment.
    â€œMadame Daubreuil—from the Villa Marguerite just down the road?”
    â€œThat is what I said, monsieur. Oh, she is a pretty one.”
    The old woman tossed her head scornfully.
    â€œMadame Daubreuil,” murmured the commissary. “Impossible.”
    â€œ Voilà, ” grumbled Françoise. “That is all you get for telling the truth.”
    â€œNot at all,” said the examining magistrate soothingly. “Wewere surprised, that is all. Madame Daubreuil then, and Monsieur Renauld, they were—?” He paused delicately. “Eh? It was that without doubt?”
    â€œHow should I know? But what will you? Monsieur, he was milord anglais—très riche —and Madame Daubreuil, she was poor, that one—and très chic, for all that she lives so quietly with her daughter. Not a doubt of it, she has had her history! She is no longer young, but ma foi! I who speak to you have seen the men’s heads turn after her as she goes down the street. Besides lately, she had had more money to spend—all the town knows it. The little economies, they are at an end.” And Françoise shook her head with an air of unalterable certainty.
    M. Hautet stroked his beard reflectively.
    â€œAnd Madame Renauld?” he asked at length. “How did she take this—friendship?”
    Françoise shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œShe was always most amiable—most polite. One would say that she suspected nothing. But all the same, is it not so, the heart suffers, monsieur? Day by day, I have watched Madame grow paler and thinner. She was not the same woman who arrived here a month ago. Monsieur, too, has changed. He also has had his worries. One could see that he was on the brink of a crisis of the nerves. And who could wonder, with an affair conducted in such a fashion? No reticence, no discretion. Style anglais, without doubt!”
    I bounded indignantly in my seat, but the examining magistrate was continuing his questions, undistracted by side issues.
    â€œYou say that Monsieur Renauld had not to let Madame Daubreuil out? Had she left, then?”
    â€œYes, monsieur. I heard them come out of the study and go to the door. Monsieur said goodnight, and shut the door after her.”
    â€œWhat time was that?”
    â€œAbout twenty-five minutes after ten, monsieur.”
    â€œDo you know when Monsieur Renauld went to bed?”
    â€œI heard him come up about ten minutes after we did. The stair creaks so that one hears everyone who goes up