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Rh “I am sorry. Madame Veroneau must have gone out again.”

“I think not," said Poirot quietly. “Will you give her my name, M. Hercule Poirot, and say that it is important I should see her at once, as I am just going to the Prefecture.”

Again our messenger departed. This time the lady descended. She walked into the salon. We followed her. She turned and raised her veil. To my astonishment I recognised our old antagonist, the Countess Rossakoff, a Russian countess, who had engineered a particularly smart jewel robbery in London.

“As soon as I caught sight of you in the hall, I feared the worst,” she observed plaintively.

“My dear Countess Rossakoff”

She shook her head.

“Inez Veroneau now,” she murmured. “A Spaniard, married to a Frenchman. What do you want of me, M. Poirot? You are a terrible man. You hunted me from London. Now, I suppose, you will tell our wonderful Madame Olivier about me, and hunt me from Paris? We poor Russians, we must live, you know.”

“It is more serious than that, madame,” said Poirot, watching her. “I propose to enter the villa next door, and release M. Halliday, if he is still alive. I know everything, you see.”