chapter 24 a broken finger-nail

"what now?" cried fournier. "you are still preoccupied with this girl who inherits? decidedly, it is the id閑 fixe you have there."

"not at all - not at all," said poirot. "but there must be in all things order and method. one must finish with one thing before proceeding to the next."

he looked round.

"here is mademoiselle jane. suppose that you commence dejeuner. i will join you as soon as i can."

fournier acquiesced and he and jane went into the dining room.

"well?" said jane with curiosity. "what is she like?"

"she is a little over medium height, dark with a matte complexion, a pointed chin -"

"you're talking exactly like a passport," said jane. "my passport description is simply insulting, i think. it's composed of mediums and ordinary. nose, medium; mouth, ordinary. how do they expect you to describe a mouth? forehead, ordinary, chin, ordinary."

"but not ordinary eyes," said fournier.

"even they are gray, which is not a very exciting color."

"and who has told you, mademoiselle, that it is not an exciting color?" said the frenchman, leaning across the table.

jane laughed. "your command of the english language," she said, "is highly efficient. tell me more about anne morisot. is she pretty?"

"assez bien," said fournier cautiously. "and she is not anne morisot. she is anne richards. she is married."

"was the husband there too?"

"no."

"why not, i wonder?"

"because he is in canada or america."

he explained some of the circumstances of anne's life. just as he was drawing his narrative to a close, poirot joined them.

he looked a little dejected.

"well, mon cher?" inquired fournier.

"i spoke to the principal - to mkre ang閘ique herself. it is romantic, you know, the transatlantic telephone. to speak so easily to someone nearly halfway across the globe."

"the telegraphed photograph - that, too, is romantic. science is the greatest romance there is. but you were saying?"

"i talked with mkre ang閘ique. she confirmed exactly what mrs richards told us of the circumstances of her having been brought up at the institut de marie. she spoke quite frankly about the mother who left quebec with a frenchman interested in the wine trade. she was relieved at the time that the child would not come under her mother's influence. from her point of view, giselle was on the downward path. money was sent regularly, but giselle never suggested a meeting."

"in fact, your conversation was a repetition of what we heard this morning."

"practically, except that it was more detailed. anne morisot left the institut de marie six years ago to become a manicurist, afterwards she had a job as a lady's maid, and finally left quebec for europe in that capacity. her letters were not frequent, but mkre ang閘ique usually heard from her about twice a year. when she saw an account of the inquest in the paper, she realized that this marie morisot was in all probability the marie morisot who had lived in quebec."

"what about the husband?" asked fournier. "now that we know definitely that giselle was married, the husband might become a factor?"

"i thought of that. it was one of the reasons for my telephone call. george leman, giselle's blackguard of a husband, was killed in the early days of the war."

he paused and then remarked abruptly:

"what was it that i just said - not my last remark, the one before? i have an idea that, without knowing it, i said something of significance."

fournier repeated as well as he could the substance of poirot's remarks, but the little man shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

"no, no, it was not that. well, no matter."

he turned to jane and engaged her in conversation.

at the close of the meal he suggested that they should have coffee in the lounge.

jane agreed and stretched out her hand for her bag and gloves, which were on the table. as she picked them up she winced slightly.

"what is it, mademoiselle?"

"oh, it's nothing," laughed jane. "it's only a jagged nail. i must file it."

poirot sat down again very suddenly.

"nom d'un nom d'un nom," he said quietly.

the other two stared at him in surprise.

"m. poirot!" cried jane. "what is it?"

"it is," said poirot, "that i remember now why the face of anne morisot is familiar to me. i have seen her before. in the aeroplane on the day of the murder. lady horbury sent for her to get a nail file. anne morisot was lady horbury's maid."