There was a pause.

"And now, Mademoiselle Élise," said Poirot, "what is this something that you have hitherto refrained from mentioning?"

Élise rose and left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a small shabby black notebook in her hand.

"This little book was madame's. It went with her everywhere. When she was about to depart for England, she could not find it. It was mislaid. After she had gone, I found it. It had dropped down behind the head of the bed. I put it in my room to keep until madame should return. I burned the papers as soon as I heard of madame's death, but I did not burn the book. There were no instructions as to that."

"When did you hear of madame's death?"

Élise hesitated a minute.

"You heard it from the police, did you not?" said Poirot. "They came here and examined madame's papers. They found the safe empty and you told them that you had burned the papers, but actually you did not burn the papers until afterwards."

"It is true, monsieur," admitted Élise. "Whilst they were looking in the safe, I removed the papers from the trunk. I said they were burned, yes. After all, it was very nearly the truth. I burned them at the first opportunity. I had to carry out madame's orders. You see my difficulty, monsieur? You will not inform the police? It might be a very serious matter for me."

"I believe, Mademoiselle Élise, that you acted with the best intentions. All the same, you understand, it is a pity - a great pity. But it does no good to regret what is done and I see no necessity for communicating the exact hour of the destruction to the excellent M. Fournier. Now let me see if there is anything in this little book to aid us."

"I do not think there will be, monsieur," said Élise, shaking her head.

"It is madame's private memorandums, yes, but there are numbers only. Without the documents and files, these entries are meaningless."

Unwillingly, she held out the book to Poirot. He took it and turned the pages. There were penciled entries in a sloping foreign writing. They seemed to be all of the same kind.

A number followed by a few descriptive details such as:

CX 265. Colonel's wife. Stationed Syria. Regimental funds.

GF 342. French Deputy, Stavisky connection.

There were perhaps twenty entries in all. At the end of the book were penciled memoranda of dates or places such as:

Le Pinet, Monday. Casino, 10:30. Savoy Hotel, 5 o'clock. A.B.C. Fleet Street 11 o'clock.

None of these were complete in themselves, and seemed to have been put down less as actual appointments than as aids to Giselle's memory.

Élise was watching Poirot anxiously.

"It means nothing, monsieur, or so it seems to me. It was comprehensible to madame, but not to a mere reader."

Poirot closed the book and put it in his pocket.

"This may be very valuable, mademoiselle. You did wisely to give it to me. And your conscience may be quite at rest. Madame never asked you to burn this book."