"That is a little hard on you, mademoiselle, seeing that you were Mr. Marsh's only blood relation."
"I do not look on it in that way. Uncle Andrew warned me fairly, and I chose my own path. Since I would not fall in with his wishes, he was at perfect liberty to leave his money to whom he pleased."
"Was the will drawn up by a lawyer?"
"No; it was written on a printed will-form and witnessed by the man and his wife who live in the house and do for my uncle."
"There might be a possibility of upsetting such a will?"
"I would not even attempt to do such a thing."
"You regard it, then, as a sporting challenge on the part of your uncle?"
"That is exactly how I look upon it."
"It bears that interpretation, certainly," said Poirot thoughtfully. "Somewhere in this rambling old manor-house your uncle has concealed either a sum of money in notes or possibly a second will, and has given you a year in which to exercise your ingenuity to find it."
"Exactly, Monsieur Poirot; and I am paying
