“Whom she was on the point of divorcing,” murmured Poirot. “Ah, yes— précisément .”
The Commissary turned and looked sharply at him.
“Do you mean—?” he began.
“I mean nothing,” said Poirot. “I arrange the facts, that is all.”
Van Aldin stared at him with awakening interest.
The little man rose to his feet.
“I do not think I can be of any further service to you, M. le Juge,” he said politely, bowing to M. Carrège. “You will keep me informed of the course of events? It will be a kindness.”
“But certainly—most certainly.”
Van Aldin rose also.
“You don’t want me any more at present?”
“No, Monsieur; we have all the information we need for the moment.”
“Then I will walk a little way with M. Poirot. That is, if he does not object?”
“Enchanted, Monsieur,” said the little man, with a bow.
Van Aldin lighted a large cigar, having first offered one to Poirot, who declined it and lit one of his own tiny cigarettes. A man of great strength of character, Van Aldin already appeared to be his everyday, normal self once more. After strolling along for a minute or two in silence, the millionaire spoke:
“I take it, M. Poirot, that you no longer exercise your profession?”