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.