"Let me see. Three years ago. And she has been a loss—let me tell you that."
"She was clever?"
"Clever as a cartload of monkeys."
"You don't know the name of the man she became friends with in Paris?"
"He was a swell, I know that. A Count—or was it a Marquis? Now I come to think of it, I believe it was a Marquis."
"And you know nothing about her since?"
"Nothing. Never even run across her accidentally like. I bet she is tooling it round some of these foreign resorts. Being a Marquise to the life. You couldn't put one over on Kitty. She would give as good as she got any day."
"I see," said Poirot thoughtfully.
"I am sorry I can't tell you more, Monsieur Poirot," said the other. "I would like to be of use to you if I could. You did me a good turn once."
"Ah, but we are quits on that; you, too, did me a good turn."