"Young or old?"
"He had white hair. It may have been a wig, it may not. It fitted very well. But I do not think he was old. His walk was young, and so was his voice."
"His voice?" said Poirot thoughtfully. "Ah, his voice! Would you know it again, Mademoiselle Zia?"
"I might," said the girl.
"You were interested in him, eh? It was that that took you to the keyhole."
Zia nodded.
"Yes, yes. I was curious. One had heard so much—he is not the ordinary thief—he is more like a figure of history or romance."
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "yes; perhaps so."
"But it is not this that I meant to tell you," said Zia. "It was just one other little fact that I thought might be—well—useful to you."
"Yes?" said Poirot encouragingly.