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this great patch, for you perceive that this is white grease; whereas
Monsieur Lawrence's candle, which is still on the dressing-table, is pink. On
the other hand, Mrs. Inglethorp had no candlestick in the room, only a
reading-lamp."
"Then," I said, "what do you deduce?"
To which my friend only made a rather irritating reply, urging me to use my
own natural faculties.
"And the sixth point?" I asked. "I suppose it is the sample of coco."
"No," said Poirot thoughtfully. "I might have included that in the six, but I
did not. No, the sixth point I will keep to myself for the present."
He looked quickly round the room. "There is nothing more to be done here, I
think, unless"--he stared earnestly and long at the dead ashes in the grate.
"The fire burns--and it destroys. But by chance--there might be--let us see!"
Deftly, on hands and knees, he began to sort the ashes from the grate into
the fender, handling them with the greatest caution. Suddenly, he gave a
faint exclamation.
"
The forceps, Hastings!"
I quickly handed them to him, and with skill he extracted a small piece of
half charred paper.
"There, mon ami!" he cried. "What do you think of that?"
I scrutinized the fragment. This is an exact reproduction of it:--
I was puzzled. It was unusually thick, quite unlike ordinary notepaper.
Suddenly an idea struck me.
"
Poirot!" I cried. "This is a fragment of a will!"
Exactly."
"
I looked up at him sharply.
You are not surprised?"
"
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