Chapter 24

A Broken Finger-Nail

‘What now?’ cried Fournier. ‘You are still preoccupied¹ with this girl who inherits? Decidedly it isthe idée fixe you have there.’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Poirot. ‘But there must be in all things order and method. One mustfinish with one thing before proceeding² to the next.’

He looked round.

‘Here is Mademoiselle Jane. Suppose that you commence déjeuner. I will join you as soon as Ican.’

Fournier acquiesced³ 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 complexion⁴, a pointed⁵ 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 theyexpect you to describe a mouth?); forehead, ordinary; chin, ordinary.’

‘But not ordinary eyes,’ said Fournier.

‘Even they are grey, which is not a very exciting colour.’

‘And who has told you, Mademoiselle, that it is not an exciting colour?’ said the Frenchman,leaning across the table.

Jane laughed.

‘Your command of the English language,’ she said, ‘is highly efficient. Tell me more aboutAnne Morisot—is she pretty?’

‘Assez bien,’ said Fournier cautiously. ‘And she is not Anne Morisot. She is Anne Richards. Sheis 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 narrative⁶ to aclose, Poirot joined them.

He looked a little dejected.

‘Well, mon cher?’ inquired Fournier.

‘I spoke⁷ to the principal—to Mère Angélique herself. It is romantic, you know, the transatlantictelephone. To speak so easily to someone nearly halfway⁸ across the globe.’

‘The telegraphed photograph—that too is romantic. Science is the greatest romance there is. Butyou were saying?’

‘I talked with Mère Angélique. She confirmed exactly what Mrs Richards told us of thecircumstances of her having been brought up at the Institut de Marie. She spoke quite franklyabout the mother who left Quebec with a Frenchman interested in the wine trade. She was relievedat the time that the child would not come under her mother’s influence. From her point of viewGiselle was on the downward path. Money was sent regularly—but Giselle never suggested ameeting.’

‘In fact your conversation was a repetition of what we heard this morning.’

‘Practically—except that it was more detailed⁹. Anne Morisot left the Institut de Marie six yearsago to become a manicurist, afterwards she had a job as a lady’s maid—and finally left Quebec forEurope in that capacity. Her letters were not frequent, but Mère Angélique usually heard from herabout twice a year. When she saw an account of the inquest in the paper she realized that thisMarie 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 wasmarried, the husband might become a factor?’

‘I thought of that. It was one of the reasons for my telephone call. George Leman, Giselle’sblackguard of a husband, was killed in the early days of the war.’

He paused and then remarked abruptly¹⁰:

‘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 shookhis 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 have coffee in the lounge.

Jane agreed and stretched out her hand for her bag and gloves, which were on the table. As shepicked them up she winced¹¹ 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 haveseen her before…in the aeroplane on the day of the murder. Lady Horbury sent for her to get a nailfile. Anne Morisot was Lady Horbury’s maid.’

 

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