The same gentle acolyte opened the door to us.
"Can you tell me," said Poirot, "the name of the lady, the widow lady, who came in just now?"
"Madame Veroneau? Madame's secretary?"
"That is the lady. Would you be so kind as to ask her to speak to us for a moment."
The youth disappeared. He soon reappeared.
"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—"