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Chapter V. “It Isn’t Strychnine, Is It?”
Thatwillgiveusplentyoftimeforthedoctor’sreport.Thepost-mortemistotakeplaceto-night,Ibelieve?”
“Yes.”
“Thenthatarrangementwillsuityou?”
“Perfectly.”
“Ineednottellyou,mydearCavendish,howdistressedIamatthismosttragicaffair.”
“Canyougiveusnohelpinsolvingit,monsieur?”interposedPoirot,speakingforthefirsttimesincewehadenteredtheroom.
“I?”
“Yes,weheardthatMrs.Inglethorpwrotetoyoulastnight.Youshouldhavereceivedtheletterthismorning.”
“Idid,butitcontainsnoinformation.Itismerelyanoteaskingmetocalluponherthismorning,asshewantedmyadviceonamatterofgreatimportance.”
“Shegaveyounohintastowhatthatmattermightbe?”
“Unfortunately,no.”
“Thatisapity,”saidJohn.
“Agreatpity,”agreedPoirotgravely.
Therewassilence.Poirotremainedlostinthoughtforafewminutes.Finallyheturnedtothelawyeragain.
“Mr.Wells,thereisonethingIshouldliketoaskyou—thatis,ifitisnotagainstprofessionaletiquette.IntheeventofMrs.Inglethorp’sdeath,whowouldinherithermoney?”
Thelawyerhesitatedamoment,andthenreplied:
“Theknowledgewillbepublicpropertyverysoon,soifMr.Cavendishdoesnotobject——”
“Notatall,”interpolatedJohn.
“IdonotseeanyreasonwhyIshouldnotansweryourquestion.Byherlastwill,datedAugustoflastyear,aftervariousunimportantlegaciestoservants,etc.,shegaveherentirefortunetoherstepson,Mr.JohnCavendish.