“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 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?”