you the compliment of assuming that your ingenuity will be greater than mine."
"Eh, eh! but that is very charming of you. My grey cells are at your disposal. You have made no search yourself?"
"Only a cursory one; but I have too much respect for my uncle's undoubted abilities to fancy that the task will be an easy one."
"Have you the will or a copy of it with you?"
Miss Marsh handed a document across the table. Poirot ran through it, nodding to himself.
"Made three years ago. Dated March 25; and the time is given also—11 a.m.—that is very suggestive. It narrows the field of search. Assuredly it is another will we have to seek for. A will made even half-an-hour later would upset this. Eh bien, mademoiselle, it is a problem charming and ingenious that you have presented to me here. I shall have all the pleasure in the world in solving it for you. Granted that your uncle was a man of ability, his grey cells cannot have been of the quality of Hercule Poirot's!"
(Really, Poirot's vanity is blatant!)
"Fortunately, I have nothing of moment on
