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."

Élise 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 justified."

"You have no pity for the victims?"

"Victims - victims." Élise spoke with impatience. "You do not understand. Is it necessary to run into debt? To live beyond your means? To run and borrow, and then expect to keep the money as a gift? It is not reasonable, that! Madame was always fair and just. She lent, and she expected repayment. That is only fair. She herself had no debts. Always she paid honorably what she owed. Never, never were there any bills outstanding. And when you say that madame was a hard woman, it is not the truth! Madame was kind. She gave to the Little Sisters of the Poor when they came. 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 subside, and then said:

"You made the observation that madame's clients usually managed to pay in the end. Were you aware 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 she were 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 persistence brought the red up in Élise'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?"

Élise 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?"

Élise 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. Élise 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.