Hercule Poirot 3-Book Collection 1: The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Murder on the Links, Poirot Investigates

Mr Wells bowed his head.

‘As I was about to proceed, Monsieur Poirot, that document is now null and void.’

‘Hein!’ said Poirot. He reflected for a moment, and then asked: ‘Was Mrs Inglethorp herself aware of that fact?’

‘I do not know. She may have been.’

‘She was,’ said John unexpectedly. ‘We were discussing the matter of wills being revoked by marriage only yesterday.’

‘Ah! One more question, Mr Wells. You say “her last will”. Had Mrs Inglethorp, then, made several former wills?’

‘On an average, she made a new will at least once a year,’ said Mr Wells imperturbably. ‘She was given to changing her mind as to her testamentary dispositions, now benefiting one, now another member of her family.’

‘Suppose,’ suggested Poirot, ‘that, unknown to you, she had made a new will in favour of someone who was not, in any sense of the word, a member of the family—we will say Miss Howard, for instance—would you be surprised?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘Ah!’ Poirot seemed to have exhausted his questions.

I drew close to him, while John and the lawyer were debating the question of going through Mrs Inglethorp’s papers.

‘Do you think Mrs Inglethorp made a will leaving all her money to Miss Howard?’ I asked in a low voice, with some curiosity.

Poirot smiled.

‘No.’

‘Then why did you ask?’

‘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.

‘If you will allow me to send for your gardener, I will prove it to you.’

‘Oh, of course—but I don’t see –’

Poirot raised his hand.

‘Do as I ask you. Afterwards you shall question as much as you please.’

‘Very well.’ He rang the bell.

Dorcas answered it in due course.

‘Dorcas, will you tell Manning to come round and speak to me here.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Dorcas withdrew.

We waited in a tense silence. Poirot alone seemed perfectly at his ease, and dusted a forgotten corner of the bookcase.

The clumping of hobnailed boots on the gravel outside proclaimed the approach of Manning. John looked questioningly at Poirot. The latter nodded.

‘Come inside, Manning,’ said John, ‘I want to speak to you.’

Manning came slowly and hesitatingly through the french window, and stood as near it as he could. He held his cap in his hands, twisting it very carefully round and round. His back was much bent, though he was probably not as old as he looked, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent, and belied his slow and rather cautious speech.

‘Manning,’ said John, ‘this gentleman will put some questions to you which I want you to answer.’

‘Yessir,’ mumbled Manning.

Poirot stepped forward briskly. Manning’s eye swept over him with a faint contempt.

‘You were planting a bed of begonias round by the south side of the house yesterday afternoon, were you not, Manning?’

‘Yes, sir, me and Willum.’