, first me and then Willum."

"What did she do with it afterwards?"

"Well, sir, she slipped it into a long envelope, and put it inside a
sort of purple box that was standing on the desk."

"What time was it when she first called you?"

"About four, I should say, sir."

"Not earlier? Couldn't it have been about half-past three?"

"No, I shouldn't say so, sir. It would be more likely to be a bit after
four--not before it."

"Thank you, Manning, that will do," said Poirot pleasantly.

The gardener glanced at his master, who nodded, whereupon Manning lifted
a finger to his forehead with a low mumble, and backed cautiously out of
the window.

We all looked at each other.

"Good heavens!" murmured John. "What an extraordinary coincidence."

"How--a coincidence?"

"That my mother should have made a will on the very day of her death!"

Mr. Wells cleared his throat and remarked drily:

"Are you so sure it is a coincidence, Cavendish?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your mother, you tell me, had a violent quarrel with--some one
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.

"Miss Howard," I explained.

"Ah, I am glad she has come. There is a woman with a head and a heart
too, Hastings. Though the good God gave her no beauty!"

I followed John's example