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"
Hush!"
John Cavendish had turned to Poirot.
Will you come with us, Monsieur Poirot? We are going through my mother's
"
papers. Mr. Inglethorp is quite willing to leave it entirely to Mr. Wells and
myself."
"
Which simplifies matters very much," murmured the lawyer. "As
technically, of course, he was entitled----" He did not finish the sentence.
"
We will look through the desk in the boudoir first," explained John, "and go
up to her bedroom afterwards. She kept her most important papers in a
purple despatch-case, which we must look through carefully."
"Yes," said the lawyer, "it is quite possible that there may be a later will than
the one in my possession."
"
"
"
"
"
"
"
There is a later will." It was Poirot who spoke.
What?" John and the lawyer looked at him startled.
Or, rather," pursued my friend imperturbably, "there was one."
What do you mean--there was one? Where is it now?"
Burnt!"
Burnt?"
Yes. See here." He took out the charred fragment we had found in the grate
in Mrs. Inglethorp's room, and handed it to the lawyer with a brief
explanation of when and where he had found it.
"But possibly this is an old will?"
"I do not think so. In fact I am almost certain that it was made no earlier
than yesterday afternoon."
What?" "Impossible!" broke simultaneously from both men.
Poirot turned to John.
"
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