died a natural death— or—or must we prepare ourselves for the worst?”

“I think, Mr. Cavendish,” said Poirot gravely, “that you would do well not to buoy yourself up with any false hopes. Can you tell me the views of the other members of the family?”

“My brother Lawrence is convinced that we are making a fuss over nothing. He says that everything points to its being a simple case of heart failure.”

“He does, does he? That is very interesting—very interesting,” murmured Poirot softly. “And Mrs. Cavendish?”

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