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“
Ah
!
”
said
Poirot
.
“
A
woman
’
s
hair
?
What
woman
’
s
,
I
wonder
?
”
“
I
wonder
also
,
”
said
Giraud
.
Then
,
with
a
bow
,
he
left
us
“
He
was
insistent
,
the
good
Giraud
,
”
said
Poirot
thoughtfully
,
as
we
walked
towards
the
hotel
.
“
I
wonder
in
what
direction
he
hopes
to
mislead
me
?
A
woman
’
s
hair
—
h
’
m
!
”
We
lunched
heartily
,
but
I
found
Poirot
somewhat
distrait
and
inattentive
.
Afterwards
we
went
up
to
our
sitting
-
room
and
there
I
begged
him
to
tell
me
something
of
his
mysterious
journey
to
Paris
.
“
Willingly
,
my
friend
.
I
went
to
Paris
to
find
this
.
”
He
took
from
his
pocket
a
small
faded
newspaper
cutting
.
It
was
the
reproduction
of
a
woman
’
s
photograph
.
He
handed
it
to
me
.
I
uttered
an
exclamation
.
“
You
recognize
it
,
my
friend
?
”
I
nodded
.
Although
the
photo
obviously
dated
from
very
many
years
back
,
and
the
hair
was
dressed
in
a
different
style
,
the
likeness
was
unmistakable
.
“
Madame
Daubreuil
!
”
I
exclaimed
.
Poirot
shook
his
head
with
a
smile
.
