Chapter 9

Elise Grandier

The weather on the following day was of so perfect a nature that even Hercule Poirot had to admitthat his estomac was perfectly¹ peaceful.

On this occasion they were travelling by the 8.45 Air Service to Paris.

There were seven or eight travellers beside Poirot and Fournier in the compartment², and theFrenchman utilized³ the journey to make some experiments. He took from his pocket a small pieceof bamboo and three times during the journey he raised this to his lips, pointing it in a certaindirection. Once he did it bending himself round the corner of his seat, once with his head slightlyturned sideways, once when he was returning from the toilet compartment; and on each occasionhe caught the eye of some passenger or other eyeing him with mild astonishment⁴. On the lastoccasion, indeed, every eye in the car seemed to be fixed⁵ upon him.

Fournier sank in his seat discouraged, and was but little cheered by observing Poirot’s openamusement.

‘You are amused, my friend? But you agree one must try experiments?’

‘Evidemment! In truth I admire your thoroughness. There is nothing like ocular demonstration⁷.

You play the part of the murderer with blowpipe. The result is perfectly clear. Everybody seesyou!’

‘Not everybody.’

‘In a sense, no. On each occasion there is somebody who does not see you; but for a successfulmurder that is not enough. You must be reasonably sure that nobody will see you.’

‘And that is impossible given ordinary conditions,’ said Fournier. ‘I hold then to my theory thatthere must have been extraordinary conditions—the psychological moment! There must have beena psychological moment when everyone’s attention was mathematically centred elsewhere.’

‘Our friend Inspector⁸ Japp is going to make minute inquiries⁹ on that point.’

‘Do you not agree with me, M. Poirot?’

Poirot hesitated a minute, then he said slowly:

‘I agree that there was—that there must have been a psychological reason why nobody saw themurderer…But my ideas are running in a slightly different channel from yours. I feel that in thiscase mere¹⁰ ocular facts may be deceptive¹¹. Close your eyes, my friend, instead of opening themwide. Use the eyes of the brain, not of the body. Let the little grey cells of the mind function…Letit be their task to show you what actually happened.’

Fournier stared at him curiously¹².

‘I do not follow you, M. Poirot.’

‘Because you are deducing from things that you have seen. Nothing can be so misleading asobservation.’

Fournier shook his head again and spread out his hands. ‘I give up. I cannot catch yourmeaning.’

‘Our friend Giraud would urge you to pay no attention to my vagaries¹³. “Be up and doing,” hewould say. “To sit still in an armchair and think, that is the method of an old man past his prime.”

But I say that a young hound is often so eager upon the scent¹⁴ that he overruns it…For him is thetrail of the red herring. There, it is a very good hint I have given you there…’

And, leaning back, Poirot closed his eyes, it may have been to think, but it is quite certain thatfive minutes later he was fast asleep.

On arrival in Paris they went straight to No. 3 Rue¹⁵ Joliette.

The Rue Joliette is on the south side of the Seine. There was nothing to distinguish No. 3 fromthe other houses. An aged⁶ concierge¹⁶ admitted them and greeted Fournier in a surly fashion.

‘So we have the police here again! Nothing but trouble. This will give the house a bad name.’

He retreated grumbling¹⁷ into his apartment.

‘We will go to Giselle’s office,’ said Fournier. ‘It is on the first floor.’

He drew a key from his pocket as he spoke¹⁸ and explained that the French police had taken theprecaution of locking and sealing the door whilst awaiting the result of the English inquest.

‘Not, I fear,’ said Fournier, ‘that there is anything here to help us.’

He detached the seals, unlocked the door, and they entered. Madame Giselle’s office was asmall, stuffy¹⁹ apartment. It had a somewhat old-fashioned type of safe in a corner, a writing desk ofbusiness-like appearance and several shabbily upholstered chairs. The one window was dirty and itseemed highly probable that it had never been opened.

Fournier shrugged²⁰ his shoulders as he looked round.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

Poirot passed round behind the desk. He sat down in the chair and looked across the desk atFournier. He passed his hand gently across the surface of the wood, then down underneath²¹ it.

‘There is a bell here,’ he said.

‘Yes, it rings down to the concierge.’

‘Ah, a wise precaution. Madame’s clients might sometimes become obstreperous²².’

He opened one or two of the drawers. They contained stationery²³, a calendar, pens and pencils,but no papers and nothing of a personal nature.

Poirot merely glanced into them in a cursory²⁴ manner.

‘I will not insult you, my friend, by a close search. If there were anything to find you wouldhave found it, I am sure.’ He looked across at the safe. ‘Not a very efficacious pattern, that?’

‘Somewhat out of date,’ agreed Fournier.

‘It was empty?’

‘Yes. That cursed maid had destroyed everything.’

‘Ah, yes, the maid. The confidential²⁵ maid. We must see her. This room, as you say, has nothingto tell us. It is significant that, do you not think so?’

‘What do you mean by significant, M. Poirot?’

‘I mean that there is in this room no personal touch…I find that interesting.’

‘She was hardly a woman of sentiment,’ said Fournier dryly.

Poirot rose.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us see this maid—this highly confidential maid.’

Elise Grandier was a short stout²⁶ woman of middle age with a florid face and small shrewd eyesthat darted²⁷ quickly from Fournier’s face to that of his companion and then back again.

‘Sit down, Mademoiselle Grandier,’ said Fournier.

‘Thank you, Monsieur.’

She sat down composedly.

‘M. Poirot and I have returned today from London. The inquest—the inquiry²⁸, that is, into thedeath of Madame—took place yesterday. There is no doubt whatsoever²⁹. Madame was poisoned.’

The Frenchwoman shook her head gravely.

‘It is terrible what you say there, Monsieur. Madame poisoned? Who would ever have dreamt ofsuch a thing?’

‘That is perhaps where you can help us, Mademoiselle.’

‘Certainly, Monsieur, I will naturally do all I can to aid the police. But I know nothing—nothingat all.’

‘You know that Madame had enemies?’ said Fournier sharply.

‘That is not true. Why should Madame have enemies?’

‘Come, come, Mademoiselle Grandier,’ said Fournier dryly. ‘The profession of a moneylender—it entails³⁰ certain unpleasantnesses.’

‘It is true that sometimes the clients of Madame were not very reasonable,’ agreed Elise.

‘They made scenes, eh? They threatened her?’

The maid shook her head.

‘No, no, you are wrong there. It was not they who threatened. They whined—they complained—they protested they could not pay—all that, yes.’ Her voice held a very lively contempt.

‘Sometimes, perhaps, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot, ‘they could not pay.’

Elise Grandier shrugged her shoulders.

‘Possibly. That is their affair! They usually paid in the end.’

Her tone held a certain amount of satisfaction.

‘Madame Giselle was a hard woman,’ said Fournier.

‘Madame was justified³¹.’

‘You have no pity for the victims?’

‘Victims—victims…’ Elise spoke with impatience³². ‘You do not understand. Is it necessary torun into debt, to live beyond your means, to run and borrow, and then expect to keep the money asa gift? It is not reasonable, that! Madame was always fair and just. She lent—and she expectedrepayment. That is only fair. She herself had no debts. Always she paid honourably³³ what sheowed. Never, never were there any bills outstanding. And when you say that Madame was a hardwoman it is not the truth! Madame was kind. She gave to the Little Sisters of the Poor when theycame. She gave money to charitable institutions. When the wife of Georges, the concierge, was ill,Madame paid for her to go to a hospital in the country.’

She stopped, her face flushed and angry.

She repeated, ‘You do not understand. No, you do not understand Madame at all.’

Fournier waited a moment for her indignation to subside³⁴ and then said:

‘You made the observation that Madame’s clients usually managed to pay in the end. Were youaware of the means Madame used to compel them?’

She shrugged her shoulders.

‘I know nothing, Monsieur—nothing at all.’

‘You knew enough to burn Madame’s papers.’

‘I was following her instructions. If ever, she said, she were to meet with an accident, or if shewere taken ill and died somewhere away from home, I was to destroy her business papers.’

‘The papers in the safe downstairs?’ asked Poirot.

‘That is right. Her business papers.’

‘And they were in the safe downstairs?’

His persistence³⁵ 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 werekept 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 inreality 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 ofornate 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 silkunderskirt. 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 toldyou 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 nothave been burnt.’

‘I obeyed Madame’s orders,’ said Elise sullenly³⁶.

‘You acted, I know, for the best,’ said Fournier soothingly³⁷. ‘Now I want you to listen to mevery closely, Mademoiselle: Madame was murdered. It is possible that she was murdered by aperson or persons about whom she held certain damaging knowledge. That knowledge was inthose papers you burnt. I am going to ask you a question, Mademoiselle, and do not reply tooquickly without reflection. It is possible — indeed in my view it is probable and quiteunderstandable—that you glanced through those papers before committing them to the flames. Ifthat is the case, no blame will be attached to you for so doing. On the contrary, any informationyou have acquired may be of the greatest service to the police, and may be of material service inbringing 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 leant forward and spoke emphatically.

‘No, Monsieur,’ she said. ‘I looked at nothing. I read nothing. I burnt the envelope withoutundoing the seal.’

 

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