sent into the neighbouring town to get two printed will-forms.
"Two?" said Poirot sharply.
"Yes, sir, for safety like, I suppose, in case he should spoil one—and sure enough, so he did do. Us had signed one———"
"What time of day was that?"
Baker scratched his head, but his wife was quicker.
"Why, to be sure, I'd just put the milk on for the cocoa at eleven. Don't ee remember? It had all boiled over on the stove when us got back to kitchen."
"And afterwards?"
"'Twould be about an hour later. Us had to go in again. 'I've made a mistake,' says old master, 'had to tear the whole thing up. I'll trouble you to sign again,' and us did. And afterwards master give us a tidy sum of money each. 'I've left you nothing in my will,' says he, 'but each year I live you'll have this to be a nest-egg when I'm gone'; and sure enough, so he did."
Poirot reflected.
"After you had signed the second time, what did Mr. Marsh do? Do you know?"
