'That is right. Her business papers.'
'And they were in the safe downstairs?'
His persistence brought the red up in Elise's cheeks.
'I obeyed madame's instructions,' she said.
'I know that,' said Poirot, smiling. 'But the papers were not in the safe. That is so, is it not? That safe, it is far too old-fashioned; quite an amateur might have opened it. The papers were kept elsewhere. In madame's bedroom, perhaps?'
Elise paused a moment, and then answered:
'Yes, that is so. Madame always pretended to clients that papers were kept in the safe, but in reality the safe was a blind. Everything was in madame's bedroom.'
'Will you show us where?'
Elise rose and the two men followed her. The bedroom was a fair-sized room, but was so full of ornate heavy furniture that it was hard to move about freely in it. In one corner was a large old-fashioned trunk. Elise lifted the lid and took out an old-fashioned alpaca dress with a silk underskirt. On the inside of the dress was a deep pocket.
'The papers were in this, monsieur,' she said. 'They were kept in a large sealed envelope.'
'You told me nothing of this,' said Fournier sharply, 'when I questioned you three days ago?'
'I ask pardon, monsieur. You asked me where were the papers that should be in the safe? I told you I had burned them. That was true. Exactly where the papers were kept seemed unimportant.'
'True,' said Fournier. 'You understand, Mademoiselle Grandier, that those papers should not have been burned.'
'I obeyed madame's orders,' said Elise sullenly.
'You acted, I know, for the best,' said Fournier soothingly. 'Now I want you to listen to me very closely, mademoiselle. Madame was murdered. It is possible that she was murdered by a person or persons about whom she held certain damaging knowledge. That knowledge was in those papers you burned. I am going to ask you a question, mademoiselle, and do not reply too quickly without reflection. It is possible – indeed, in my view, it is probable and quite understandable – that you glanced through those papers before committing them to the flames. If that is the case, no blame will be attached to you for so doing. On the contrary, any information you have acquired may be of the greatest service to the police, and may be of material service in bringing the murderer to justice. Therefore, mademoiselle, have no fear in answering truthfully. Did you, before burning the papers, glance over them?'
Elise breathed hard. She leaned forward and spoke emphatically.
'No, monsieur,' she said, 'I looked at nothing. I read nothing. I burned the envelope without undoing the seal.'
Chapter 10
Fournier stared hard at her for a moment or two. Then, satisfied that she was speaking the truth, he turned away with a gesture of discouragement.
'It is a pity,' he said. 'You acted honorably, mademoiselle, but it is a pity.'
'I cannot help it, monsieur. I am sorry.'
Fournier sat down and drew a notebook from his pocket.
'When I questioned you before, you told me, mademoiselle, that you did not know the names of madame's clients. Yet, just now, you speak of them whining and asking for mercy. You did, therefore, know something about these clients of Madame Giselle's?'
'Let me explain, monsieur. Madame never mentioned a name. She never discussed her business. But all the same, one is human, is one not? There are ejaculations, comments. Madame spoke to me sometimes as she would to herself.'
Poirot leaned forward.
'If you would give us an instance, mademoiselle -' he said.
'Let me see – ah, yes – say a letter comes. Madame opens it. She laughs – a short dry laugh. She says, 'You whine and you snivel, my fine lady. All the same, you must pay.' Or she would say to me, 'What fools! What fools! To think I would lend large sums without proper security. Knowledge is security, Elise. Knowledge is power.' Something like that she would say.'
'Madame's clients who came to the house – did you ever see any of them?'
'No, monsieur – at least hardly ever. They came to the first floor only, you understand. And very often they came after dark.'
'Had Madame Giselle been in Paris before her journey to England?'
'She returned to Paris only the afternoon before.'
'Where had she been?'
'She had been away for a fortnight – to Deauville, Le Pinet, Paris – Plage and Wimereaux – her usual September round.'
'Now think, mademoiselle. Did she say anything – anything at all – that might be of use?'
Elise considered for some moments. Then she shook her head.
'No, monsieur,' she said, 'I cannot remember anything. Madame was in good spirits. Business was going well, she said. Her tour had been profitable. Then she directed me to ring up Universal Air Lines and book a passage to England for the following day. The early-morning service was booked, but she obtained a seat on the twelve-o'clock service.'
'Did she say what took her to England? Was there any urgency about it?'
'Oh, no, monsieur. Madame journeyed to England fairly frequently. She usually told me the day before.'
'Did any clients come to see madame that evening?'
'I believe there was one client, monsieur, but I am not sure. Georges, perhaps, would know. Madame said nothing to me.'
Fournier took from his pockets various photographs – mostly snapshots, taken by reporters, of various witnesses leaving the coroner's court.
'Can you recognize any of these, mademoiselle?'
Elise took them and gazed at each in turn. Then she shook her head.
'No, monsieur.'
'We must try Georges then.'
'Yes, monsieur. Unfortunately, Georges has not very good eyesight. It is a pity.'
Fournier rose.
'Well, mademoiselle, we will take our leave. That is, if you are quite sure that there is nothing – nothing at all – that you have omitted to mention?'
'I? What – what could there be?'
Elise looked distressed.
'It is understood then… Come, M. Poirot… I beg your pardon. You are looking for something?'
Poirot was indeed wandering round the room in a vague searching way.
'It is true,' said Poirot. 'I am looking for something I do not see.'
'What is that?'
'Photographs. Photographs of Madame Giselle's relations – of her family.'
Elise shook her head.
'She had no family, madame. She was alone in the world.'
'She had a daughter,' said Poirot sharply.
'Yes, that is so. Yes, she had a daughter.'
Elise sighed.
'But there is no picture of that daughter?' Poirot persisted.
'Oh, monsieur does not understand. It is true that madame had a daughter, but that was long ago, you
