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. “Ah! no,” as I was

about to speak. “_Inutile!_ You would not tell me your real thought.”

 

“Every one 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.