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“
It
seems
so
queer
,
and
yet
I
am
almost
sure
.
I
will
tell
you
.
On
the
morning
of
the
day
M
.
Renauld
was
murdered
,
I
was
walking
in
the
garden
here
,
when
I
heard
a
sound
of
men
’
s
voices
quarrelling
.
I
pushed
aside
the
bushes
and
looked
through
.
One
of
the
men
was
M
.
Renauld
and
the
other
was
a
tramp
,
a
dreadful
looking
creature
in
filthy
rags
.
He
was
alternately
whining
and
threatening
.
I
gathered
he
was
asking
for
money
,
but
at
that
moment
maman
called
me
from
the
house
,
and
I
had
to
go
.
That
is
all
,
only
—
I
am
almost
sure
that
the
tramp
and
the
dead
man
in
the
shed
are
one
and
the
same
.
”
Poirot
uttered
an
exclamation
.
“
But
why
did
you
not
say
so
at
the
time
,
mademoiselle
?
”
“
Because
at
first
it
only
struck
me
that
the
face
was
vaguely
familiar
in
some
way
.
The
man
was
differently
dressed
,
and
apparently
belonged
to
a
superior
station
in
life
.
But
tell
me
,
Monsieur
Poirot
,
is
it
not
possible
that
this
tramp
might
have
attacked
and
killed
M
.
Renauld
,
and
taken
his
clothes
and
money
?
”
“
It
is
an
idea
,
mademoiselle
,
”
said
Poirot
slowly
.
“
It
leaves
a
lot
unexplained
,
but
it
is
certainly
an
idea
.
I
will
think
of
it
.
”
A
voice
called
from
the
house
.
“
Maman
,
”
whispered
Marthe
,
“
I
must
go
.
”
And
she
slipped
away
through
the
trees
.
“
Come
,
”
said
Poirot
,
and
taking
my
arm
,
turned
in
the
direction
of
the
Villa
.
“
What
do
you
really
think
?
”
I
asked
,
in
some
curiosity
.
“
Was
that
story
true
,
or
did
the
girl
make
it
up
in
order
to
divert
suspicion
from
her
lover
?
”
