Miss Silver Comes To Stay by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

continued to smile.
    “My mother left Catherine five hundred pounds. By a few strokes of the pen she could have added, ‘and the furniture of the Gate House,’ or words to that effect. Yet she did not do so. If it comes to presumptions, that would be one on the other side. The will never mentions the furniture. Did my mother ever mention it to you?”
    “Not precisely.”
    “What do you mean by not precisely?”
    The fingertips came apart. The pencil was taken up again.
    “Well, as a matter of fact, I mentioned it to her.”
    “And she said?”
    “She put the matter aside. She could be very peremptory, you know. I cannot pretend to give her exact words. The will was drawn more than ten years ago, but my recollection is that she said something like ‘That doesn’t come into it.’ Considered in the light of what you have been saying, it might be argued that her will had no concern with the furniture because she had already given it to Catherine—”
    “Or because she had no intention of giving it to her. You didn’t ask her what she meant?”
    “No—she was being extremely peremptory.”
    James laughed.
    “I’ve no doubt of it! What I shall continue to doubt is that my mother had any intention of letting Catherine get away with so much valuable stuff.”
    Mr. Holderness rolled the pencil meditatively to and fro between finger and thumb.
    “You may have some grounds for such a doubt, but you have no certainty. I dare say, if the truth were known, that your mother never defined the situation very clearly. When she told Catherine that she might have this or that from Melling House she may have intended a loan, or she may have intended a gift, or she may have had no very clear intention. Catherine, on the other hand, might naturally have concluded that the things were being given to her. I think, if I may say so, that it would be a pity to encourage a suspicion which you cannot prove.”
    James Lessiter sat up straight and formidable.
    “Who says I can’t prove it? I will if I can.”
    Mr. Holderness looked shocked all over again. His colour did not mount so vigorously as before, nor did it attain to quite so deep a shade. He stopped rolling the pencil and said,
    “Really—”
    James nodded.
    “I know, I know—you think I ought to let it slide. Well, I’m not going to. I have an extreme dislike for being taken for a fool, and an even more extreme dislike for being done down— I can assure you that very few people have ever got away with it. I’ve got an idea that there’s been quite a lot going on behind my back. Well, I mean to get to the bottom of it, and when I do, anyone who thought he could take advantage of my absence is going to find himself in Queer Street.”
    Mr. Holderness put up a hand.
    “My dear James, I hope you don’t mean that you suspect the Mayhews. Your mother had every confidence—”
    James Lessiter laughed.
    “If there weren’t so much confidence, there would be no room for the confidence trick, would there? Now I’m going to tell you something. You say I can’t prove my suspicions because my mother held her tongue and didn’t put anything in her will. What she did do was to write to me a couple of days before she died. Would you like to know what she said?”
    “I should indeed.”
    “I can give it you verbatim. ‘I have not troubled you with letters about business as I hope you will soon be coming home. Meanwhile, in case of accident, I should like you to know that I have kept a careful note of everything.’ A careful note of everything—that should tell us what we want to know, shouldn’t it?”
    “It might,” said Mr. Holderness slowly.
    “Oh, I think you are too cautious. I think we may assume that it would. I haven’t found the note yet. My mother, like so many women, had a profound distrust of banks and office safes. It would, of course, have been a great deal more sensible—and convenient—if she had left this memorandum in your hands, but she didn’t.