Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

Poirot rose.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us see this maid—this highly confidential maid.’

Elise Grandier was a short stout woman of middle age with a florid face and small shrewd eyes that darted quickly from Fournier’s face to that of his companion and then back again.

‘Sit down, Mademoiselle Grandier,’ said Fournier.

‘Thank you, Monsieur.’

She sat down composedly.

‘M. Poirot and I have returned today from London. The inquest—the inquiry, that is, into the death of Madame—took place yesterday. There is no doubt whatsoever. Madame was poisoned.’

The Frenchwoman shook her head gravely.

‘It is terrible what you say there, Monsieur. Madame poisoned? Who would ever have dreamt of such a thing?’

‘That is perhaps where you can help us, Mademoiselle.’

‘Certainly, Monsieur, I will naturally do all I can to aid the police. But I know nothing—nothing at all.’

‘You know that Madame had enemies?’ said Fournier sharply.

‘That is not true. Why should Madame have enemies?’

‘Come, come, Mademoiselle Grandier,’ said Fournier dryly. ‘The profession of a moneylender—it entails certain unpleasantnesses.’

‘It is true that sometimes the clients of Madame were not very reasonable,’ agreed Elise.

‘They made scenes, eh? They threatened her?’

The maid shook her head.

‘No, no, you are wrong there. It was not they who threatened. They whined—they complained—they protested they could not pay—all that, yes.’ Her voice held a very lively contempt.

‘Sometimes, perhaps, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot, ‘they could not pay.’

Elise Grandier shrugged her shoulders.

‘Possibly. That is their affair! They usually paid in the end.’

Her tone held a certain amount of satisfaction.

‘Madame Giselle was a hard woman,’ said Fournier.

‘Madame was justified.’

‘You have no pity for the victims?’

‘Victims—victims…’ Elise spoke with impatience. ‘You do not understand. Is it necessary to run into debt, to live beyond your means, to run and borrow, and then expect to keep the money as a gift? It is not reasonable, that! Madame was always fair and just. She lent—and she expected repayment. That is only fair. She herself had no debts. Always she paid honourably what she owed. Never, never were there any bills outstanding. And when you say that Madame was a hard woman it is not the truth! Madame was kind. She gave to the Little Sisters of the Poor when they came. She gave money to charitable institutions. When the wife of Georges, the concierge, was ill, Madame paid for her to go to a hospital in the country.’

She stopped, her face flushed and angry.

She repeated, ‘You do not understand. No, you do not understand Madame at all.’

Fournier waited a moment for her indignation to subside and then said:

‘You made the observation that Madame’s clients usually managed to pay in the end. Were you aware of the means Madame used to compel them?’