himself, his eyes not looking at Harbord now, but staring straight in front of him at a map of Old London pasted on the wall opposite.
Harbord waited.
âWeldon & Furnival were Sir Johnâs lawyers,â Stoddart continued. âWeldon transacted most of the business. I went to get the paper Lady Burslem said Sir John signed when they came home, which he told her to take care of and which she had given to Mr. Weldon. Well, I had some trouble in persuading Mr. Weldon even to let me see it. He utterly declined to let me bring it away.â
âBut could he refuse?â Harbord questioned doubtfully.
âNot ultimately, of course. Still, he can put a good many difficulties in our way, as he did. But the point of the whole matter is thisâ â the inspector paused a moment, and then went on impressively â âthat paper was a short will, drawn up apparently in Sir Johnâs own handwriting, leaving everything of which he died possessed to his wife, appointing her sole executor and residuary legatee. His daughter â his only child â is not even mentioned.â
âWhat an extraordinary thing!â Harbord exclaimed. âWhy on earth should he make a new will at that time of night? Did he know he was in some danger?â
Stoddart nodded. âExactly the questions I have been putting to myself, but I can find no answer to them. More especially as he had already made one will since his marriage with Miss Carlford. This former one was drawn up by Mr. Weldon. It left Lady Burslem and his daughter well provided for, but the bulk of his fortune was to be held in trust for any son that might be born to him. Only in the case of his second marriage, like his first, failing to provide him with an heir, was his property to be divided equally between Lady Burslem and his daughter Pamela and any other daughters he might have. It appears to be, on the face of it, a far more satisfactory arrangement, and the questions one cannot help asking oneself are: âWhy did he want to make a hurried fresh will in that last moment? And had he any reason to suppose that it was his last moment?â
âCould it have been a duel?â Harbord said in a puzzled tone.
âHardly!â The inspector laughed satirically. âThe duellist does not throw his dead opponent in a ditch and go off with his car. Besides, who would fight a duel in these days?
âI donât know,â Harbord said in a befogged tone. Then, brightening up, âI beg your pardon, sir. Of course it was an idiotic suggestion. But this case so bristles with impossibilities that goodness knows what we shall come to before we have finished with it.â
âI hope at any rate we shall keep our heads,â the inspector said dryly. âThis last will is witnessed by James, the second footman, and Ellerby, Sir Johnâs man.â
âIt is a queer affair altogether,â Harbord concluded, âand Iâm afraid a little discovery I made down at Hughlinâs Wood this morning will not throw any additional light on the matter.â
The inspector pricked up his ears. âDiscovery! What was it?â
âWell, I proceeded on the lines you suggested,â Harbord went on, âand I have found a man who saw two cars, both two-seaters, coming from Oxley at a great pace towards Hughlinâs Wood. Each of them had two occupants, a man and a woman. But he did not notice numbers or anything else that would help us to identify either of them. At last I began to think he had taken something that had made him see double. Finding I could make nothing more of him, I thought I would take another look at the ditch and its surroundings. On the other side of the ditch from the road, behind one of those old trees, I found this.â
He took up the parcel he had brought in and carefully unwrapping it held up the contents.
The inspector stared. âWhatâs that?â
âOne of those wretched little
Learning to Kill: Stories