“I tell you what, though,” said Miss Monro suddenly. “I’ve got a photograph if that would be any good?”

“You have a photograph?”

Poirot almost sprang from his seat with excitement.

“It’s quite an old one⁠—eight years old at least.”

“ Ça ne fait rien! No matter how old and faded! Ah, ma foi , but what stupendous luck! You will permit me to inspect that photograph, mademoiselle?”

“Why, of course.”

“Perhaps you will even permit me to have a copy made? It would not take long.”

“Certainly if you like.”

Miss Monro rose.