“Well, I must run away,” she declared archly. “Very glad to have met you and your friend, Mr. Poirot.”

“And the photograph? When may I have it?”

“I’ll look it out tonight. I think I know where to lay my hands upon it. And I’ll send it to you right away.”

“A thousand thanks, mademoiselle. You are all that is of the most amiable. I hope that we shall soon be able to arrange another little lunch together.”

“As soon as you like,” said Miss Monro. “I’m willing.”

“Let me see, I do not think that I have your address?”

With a grand air. Miss Monro drew a card from her handbag, and handed it to him. It was a somewhat dirty card, and the original address had been scratched out and another substituted in pencil.