Death in the Clouds by Agatha Christie Page A

my friend M. Fournier asked you if you were sure there was nothing you had omitted to mention, you were troubled. You answered unconsciously, with an evasion. Again just now when I suggested that you might tell me something which you would not care to tell the police you very obviously turned the suggestion over in your mind. There is, then, something . I want to know what that something is.’
    ‘It is nothing of importance.’
    ‘Possibly not. But all the same, will you not tell me what it is? Remember,’ he went on as she hesitated, ‘I am not of the police.’
    ‘That is true,’ said Elise Grandier. She hesitated and went on, ‘Monsieur, I am in a difficulty. I do not know what Madame herself would have wanted me to do.’
    ‘There is a saying that two heads are better than one. Will you not consult me? Let us examine the question together.’
    The woman still looked at him doubtfully. He said with a smile:
    ‘You are a good watch-dog, Elise. It is a question, I see, of loyalty to your dead mistress?’
    ‘That is quite right, Monsieur. Madame trusted me.Ever since I entered her service I have carried out her instructions faithfully.’
    ‘You were grateful, were you not, for some great service she had rendered you?’
    ‘Monsieur is very quick. Yes, that is true. I do not mind admitting it. I had been deceived, Monsieur, my savings stolen—and there was a child. Madame was good to me. She arranged for the baby to be brought up by some good people on a farm—a good farm, Monsieur, and honest people. It was then, at that time, that she mentioned to me that she, too, was a mother.’
    ‘Did she tell you the age of her child, where it was, any details?’
    ‘No, Monsieur, she spoke of a part of her life that was over and done with. It was best so, she said. The little girl was well provided for and would be brought up to a trade or profession. She would also inherit her money when she died.’
    ‘She told you nothing further about this child or about its father?’
    ‘No, Monsieur, but I have an idea—’
    ‘Speak, Mademoiselle Elise.’
    ‘It is an idea only, you understand.’
    ‘Perfectly, perfectly.’
    ‘I have an idea that the father of the child was an Englishman.’
    ‘What exactly do you think gave you that impression?’
    ‘Nothing definite. It is just that there was a bitterness in Madame’s voice when she spoke of the English. I think, too, that in her business transactions she enjoyed having anyone English in her power. It is an impression only—’
    ‘Yes, but it may be a very valuable one. It opens up possibilities…Your own child, Mademoiselle Elise? Was it a girl or a boy?’
    ‘A girl, Monsieur. But she is dead—dead these five years now.’
    ‘Ah—all my sympathy.’
    There was a pause.
    ‘And now, Mademoiselle Elise,’ said Poirot, ‘what is this something that you have hitherto refrained from mentioning?’
    Elise 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. Therewere no instructions as to that.’
    ‘When did you hear of Madame’s death?’
    Elise hesitated a minute.
    ‘You heard it from the police, did you not?’ said Poirot. ‘They came here and examined Madame’s rooms. They found the safe empty and you told them that you had burnt the papers, but actually you did not burn the papers until afterwards.’
    ‘It is true, Monsieur,’ admitted Elise. ‘Whilst they were looking in the safe I removed the papers from the trunk. I said they were burnt, yes. After all, it was very nearly the truth. I burnt them at the first opportunity. I had