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“
She
is
safe
?
”
demanded
Poirot
.
“
Yes
,
I
was
just
in
time
.
She
was
exhausted
.
”
Mrs
.
Renauld
was
half
sitting
,
half
lying
on
the
bed
.
She
was
gasping
for
breath
.
“
Nearly
strangled
me
,
”
she
murmured
painfully
.
The
girl
picked
up
something
from
the
floor
and
handed
it
to
Poirot
.
It
was
a
rolled
up
ladder
of
silk
rope
,
very
fine
but
quite
strong
.
“
A
getaway
,
”
said
Poirot
.
“
By
the
window
,
whilst
we
were
battering
at
the
door
.
Where
is
—
the
other
?
”
The
girl
stood
aside
a
little
and
pointed
.
On
the
ground
lay
a
figure
wrapped
in
some
dark
material
a
fold
of
which
hid
the
face
.
“
Dead
?
”
She
nodded
.
“
I
think
so
.
”
“
Head
must
have
struck
the
marble
fender
.
”
