We lunched heartily, but I found Poirot somewhat distracted 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,' and 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 hack, and the hair was dressed in a different style, the likeness was unmistakable.

'Madame Daubreuil!' I exclaimed.

Poirot shook his head with a smile. 'Not quite correct my friend. She did not call herself by that name in those days. That is a picture of the notorious Madame Beroldy!'

Madame Beroldy! In a flash the whole thing came back to me. The murder trial that had evoked such worldwide interest.

The Beroldy Case.