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“
Your
mother
,
you
tell
me
,
had
a
violent
quarrel
with
—
someone
yesterday
afternoon
—
—
”
“
What
do
you
mean
?
”
cried
John
again
.
There
was
a
tremor
in
his
voice
,
and
he
had
gone
very
pale
.
“
In
consequence
of
that
quarrel
,
your
mother
very
suddenly
and
hurriedly
makes
a
new
will
.
The
contents
of
that
will
we
shall
never
know
.
She
told
no
one
of
its
provisions
.
This
morning
,
no
doubt
,
she
would
have
consulted
me
on
the
subject
—
but
she
had
no
chance
.
The
will
disappears
,
and
she
takes
its
secret
with
her
to
her
grave
.
Cavendish
,
I
much
fear
there
is
no
coincidence
there
.
Monsieur
Poirot
,
I
am
sure
you
agree
with
me
that
the
facts
are
very
suggestive
.
”
“
Suggestive
,
or
not
,
”
interrupted
John
,
“
we
are
most
grateful
to
Monsieur
Poirot
for
elucidating
the
matter
.
But
for
him
,
we
should
never
have
known
of
this
will
.
I
suppose
,
I
may
not
ask
you
,
monsieur
,
what
first
led
you
to
suspect
the
fact
?
”
Poirot
smiled
and
answered
:
“
A
scribbled
over
old
envelope
,
and
a
freshly
planted
bed
of
begonias
.
”
John
,
I
think
,
would
have
pressed
his
questions
further
,
but
at
that
moment
the
loud
purr
of
a
motor
was
audible
,
and
we
all
turned
to
the
window
as
it
swept
past
.
“
Evie
!
”
cried
John
.
“
Excuse
me
,
Wells
.
”
He
went
hurriedly
out
into
the
hall
.
Poirot
looked
inquiringly
at
me
.
