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He
made
another
dart
and
picked
up
a
small
quill
–
a
goose
quill
by
the
look
of
it
.
"
And
that
?
"
he
cried
triumphantly
.
"
What
do
you
make
of
that
?
"
I
only
stared
.
He
slipped
the
quill
into
his
pocket
,
and
looked
again
at
the
scrap
of
white
stuff
.
"
A
fragment
of
a
handkerchief
?
"
he
mused
.
"
Perhaps
you
are
right
But
remember
this
–
a
good
laundry
does
not
starch
a
handkerchief
.
"
He
nodded
at
me
triumphantly
,
then
he
put
away
the
scrap
carefully
in
his
pocketbook
.
We
walked
back
to
the
house
together
.
There
was
no
sign
of
the
inspector
.
Poirot
paused
on
the
terrace
and
stood
with
his
back
to
the
house
,
slowly
turning
his
head
from
side
to
side
.
"
Une
belle
proprietor
"
he
said
at
last
appreciatively
.
"
Who
inherits
it
?
"
His
words
gave
me
almost
a
shock
.
It
is
an
odd
thing
,
but
until
that
moment
the
question
of
inheritance
had
never
come
into
my
head
.
Poirot
watched
me
keenly
.
"
It
is
a
new
idea
to
you
,
that
,
"
he
said
at
last
.
"
You
had
not
thought
of
it
before
–
eh
?
"
"
No
,
"
I
said
truthfully
.
"
I
wish
I
had
.
"
He
looked
at
me
again
curiously
.
"
I
wonder
just
what
you
mean
by
that
,
"
he
said
thoughtfully
.
"
Oh
!
no
,
"
as
I
was
about
to
speak
.
"
Inutile
!
You
would
not
tell
me
your
real
thought
.
"
"
Everyone
has
something
to
hide
,
"
I
quoted
,
smiling
.
"
Exactly
.
"
"
You
still
believe
that
?
"
"
More
than
ever
,
my
friend
.
But
it
is
not
easy
to
hide
things
from
Hercule
Poirot
.
He
has
a
knack
of
finding
out
.
"
He
descended
the
steps
of
the
Dutch
garden
as
he
spoke
.
