‘You have not, I presume, a description of the dead girl?’ ‘She was twenty-three years of age, engaged as a waitress at the Ginger Cat café—’ ‘Pas ça. I wondered—if she were pretty?’ ‘As to that I’ve no information,’ said Inspector Crome with a hint of withdrawal. His manner said: ‘Really—these foreigners! All the same!’ A faint look of amusement came into Poirot’s eyes. ‘It does not seem to you important, that? Yet, pour une femme, it is of the first importance. Often it decides her destiny!’
