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“
A
woman
?
”
“
Yes
.
”
“
But
if
the
tracks
are
obliterated
,
how
do
you
know
?
”
“
Because
,
blurred
as
they
are
,
the
prints
of
the
woman
’
s
shoe
are
unmistakable
.
Also
,
by
this
—
”
And
,
leaning
forward
,
he
drew
something
from
the
handle
of
the
dagger
and
held
it
up
for
me
to
see
.
It
was
a
woman
’
s
long
black
hair
—
similar
to
the
one
Poirot
had
taken
from
the
arm
-
chair
in
the
library
.
With
a
slightly
ironic
smile
he
wound
it
round
the
dagger
again
.
“
We
will
leave
things
as
they
are
as
much
as
possible
,
”
he
explained
.
“
It
pleases
the
examining
magistrate
.
Eh
bien
,
do
you
notice
anything
else
?
”
I
was
forced
to
shake
my
head
.
“
Look
at
his
hands
.
”
I
did
.
The
nails
were
broken
and
discoloured
,
and
the
skin
was
hard
.
It
hardly
enlightened
me
as
much
as
I
should
have
liked
it
to
have
done
.
I
looked
up
at
Giraud
.
“
They
are
not
the
hands
of
a
gentleman
,
”
he
said
,
answering
my
look
.
“
On
the
contrary
his
clothes
are
those
of
a
well
-
to
-
do
man
.
That
is
curious
,
is
it
not
?
”
