Envious Casca (29 page)

"Yes, my sweet, that is just what I mean," Stephen replied. "In plain words, your Uncle Joseph has mucked it."

Chapter Fifteen

This was so startling that even Maud momentarily forgot the loss of her book. Paula demanded: "Then who gets Uncle Nat's money?" "I don't know," answered Stephen. "His next of kin, presumably."

"But I'm his next of kin!" exclaimed Joseph, much agitated. "It's absurd! I don't want it! I shouldn't know what to do with it! Really, Stephen, you're taking a most exaggerated view of things! I feel quite sure that when the matter is explained -"

"No, Stephen's right," Mathilda said. "I know what a fuss there was when my Aunt Charlotte died, leaving a will on half a sheet of notepaper. The Law's extremely sticky about wills. Besides, how can you explain such a piece of lunacy as not admitting the two witnesses into the room?"

"But, Tilda, it was hard enough to bring Nat to the point of making a will at all!"

"Well you'd better keep quiet about that," said Mathilda unkindly. "We know you persuaded him with the best intentions, but it might not sound so good to anyone who hasn't the pleasure of knowing the Herriard family."

Joseph looked quite stunned, and was for once bereft ,of the power of speech. Maud's flat voice made itself heard. "Well, I am sure Nathaniel never meant Joseph to inherrit all his money," she said. "It is not at all what he wished, for he did not consider that Joseph had any sense of money."

"Do you mean to tell me," said Paula ominously, "that I sharn't get my legacy after all?"

"Not a penny of it," replied Stephen. "You may, of course, be able to bully Joe into disgorging it."

That roused Joseph into exclaiming: "How can you, Stephen? As though I should have to be bullied into it! If you are right about this unlucky business - but I feel sure you're not! - you can't think that I should let the matter rest at that! I know well what poor Nat's wishes were!"

"If you are about to offer restitution, don't!" said Stephen grimly. "I'm not taking any."

Paula suddenly surprised everyone by breaking into a peal of jangling laughter. "How damned funny!" she said. "Nat's been murdered, we've been torn and rent by fear and suspicion, all for nothing!"

Mathilda regarded her with disfavour. "It may be your idea of humour. It isn't mine. I don't for a moment suppose that you want my advice, but before you all rush to extremes, might it not be as well to discover just how the law does stand towards intestacy?"

"He didn't die intestate!" Joseph said. "Just because there's a small irregularity -"

"That's rather a good idea of yours, Mathilda," said Stephen, as though Joseph had not spoken. "I'll get on to Blyth, and ask him."

He left the room. Paula was still laughing, with more than a suggestion of hysteria in her voice. Joseph tried to put his arm round her, but was fiercely shaken off. "Leave me alone!" she said. "I might have guessed you'd muddle everything! Fool! Fool!"

"If you don't shut up, I'll empty this flower-vase over your head!" threatened Mathilda.

"Can't you see the exquisite irony of it?" Paula said. "He did it all for the best! Oh, my God, what a second act it would make! I must tell Willoughby! He at least will have the perception to appreciate it!"

Roydon, however, was not immediately to be found, nor, if Paula had found him, would her idea for a second act have been met with any enthusiasm. His thoughts were far from playwriting. He was confronting Inspector Hemingway, rather white about the gills, and with his Adam's apple working convulsively.

"I think," said Hemingway, laying a bloodstained handkerchief on the table between them, "that this is yours."

"No, it's not!" replied Roydon, in a frightened voice. "I never saw it before in my life!"

Hemingway stared disconcertingly at him for a moment, and then straightened the handkerchief, and pointed with the butt of his pencil to the embroidered letter in the corner.

"I don't know anything about it!" Roydon said obstinately.

"Laundry-marks, too," observed Hemingway. "Easily identified."

There was an awful silence. Nothing in Roydon's experience had fitted him to cope with such a situation as this. He was badly frightened, and showed it.

"You put it into the incinerator by the potting-sheds, didn't you?" said Hemingway.

"No."

"Come, come, sir, you're not doing yourself any good by telling lies to me! I know you put it there."

Roydon seemed to crumple up. "I know what you think, but you're wrong! I didn't murder Mr. Herriard! I didn't, I tell you!"

"How did your handkerchief come to be in this state?"

"I had a bad nose-bleed!" Roydon blurted out.

The Sergeant, who was a silent witness, turned his slow gaze upon Hemingway, to see how he would receive this explanation.

"Do you burn your handkerchiefs every time you have a nose-bleed?" asked Hemingway.

"No, of course I don't, but I knew what you'd think if you found it! I - I lost my head!"

"When did you have this nose-bleed?"

"Last night, after I'd gone up to bed. I put the handkerchief in my suitcase, and then I thought - I thought if you were to find it there it would look suspicious. I heard you were searching the house, and - and I thought I'd better get rid of it!"

"Did you tell anyone about your nose-bleed?"

"No. No, naturally I didn't! It isn't anything to make a fuss about. As a matter of fact, I often get them."

"But this morning, when you were afraid I might find the handkerchief, didn't you think to mention to anyone what had happened?"

"Yes, but I couldn't say it then! I mean, it would have sounded odd. At least, I thought it would. Everyone would have wondered if it was true, or if I was only trying to account for the blood on my handkerchief. Oh, I know I behaved like a fool, but I swear I had nothing to do with the murder!"

"Haven't you ever heard of blood-tests?" asked Hemingway.

"Yes; but suppose my blood and Mr. Herriard's belong to the same group?" objected Roydon. "I thought of that, and it seemed much safer to get rid of the damned thing. Because it could only lead you down a side-track, honestly!"

"Well, if your story's true, you've given me a great deal of trouble through behaving so foolishly," said Hemingway.

"I'm sorry. Of course, I see now that it was silly of me, but the fact of the matter is that this whole affair is getting on my nerves." A sense of grievance overcame him. "I don't think I've been treated at all well!" he complained. "I was invited down here to a friendly party, and first Mr. Herriard was damned rude to me, and then he got himself murdered, and now I know very well I'm under suspicion, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with me!"

"Well, this handkerchief has a good deal to do with you," said Hemingway sternly. "You deliberately tried to conceal it, and that doesn't look any too good, let me tell you!"

"But I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it! It isn't Mr. Herriard's blood: it's my own!"

"That'll be for others to find out," said Hemingway, and dismissed him.

The Sergeant drew a breath. "Do you believe him, sir?" "It's about what I thought had happened when you first showed me the handkerchief," admitted Hemingway.

"But that story he put up, about being afraid you'd find it!"

"Might easily be true."

The Sergeant looked disappointed. "You made a point when you asked him if he'd mentioned his nose-bleed to anyone."

"I didn't really, but I wanted to see what he'd do if I rattled him. Nose-bleeding's a silly sort of kid's complaint: you don't go round bucking about it."

"Then you do believe him!"

"I've got what wouldn't do you any harm, my lad: an open mind! This is a job for the scientists. Until they tell me that this blood belongs to old Herriard's group, there's nothing I can do about it. You'd better come along, and get some lunch now."

The Sergeant, feeling rather dissatisfied, followed him out into the hall, where he was pounced on by Mottisfont, who said in a complaining tone that he had been waiting to speak to him for a long time.

"Yes, sir, what is it?" asked Hemingway, eyeing him dispassionately.

"I don't know how much longer you propose to take over your investigation," Mottisfont said sarcastically, "but I must point out to you that my time is not my own. I'm a very busy man. I came down here merely to spend Christmas, not to remain indefinitely. I have an important business engagement in town tomorrow, and with all due deference to you I propose to leave in the morning."

"I've no objection, sir," said Hemingway calmly. "You're not being kept here."

"I understood that no one was allowed to leave the house!"

"Did you, sir? Not from me, I'm sure. Of course, I shall want your address, but I shouldn't dream of keeping you here."

Mottisfont looked as though the wind had been taken out of his sails, and was beginning to grumble that he had been misled, when Paula came down the stairs, and interrupted him.

"I suppose you have heard the latest news?" she said. She was not laughing now; she looked hard and angry, and it was evident that she meant to vent her displeasure on as many people as possible.

"What news?" said Mottisfont.

"Oh, so you haven't! Well, you may be interested to hear that Stephen is not the heir, and that I do not get my legacy!"

Mottisfont stared at her. "Do you mean that a later will has been discovered?"

"Oh no! Nothing like that! Merely that this one is invalid!" said Paula savagely.

"Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it, but I can hardly suppose that it concerns me," said Mottisfont.

She laughed shortly. "Not interested, in fact!"

The Inspector said: "Well, I'm interested, at all events, miss. In what way is the will invalid?"

She was too angry to care what she said, or to whom. "It's invalid because it wasn't signed in the presence of the witnesses. That fact has just been disclosed to us by our engaging butler."

Mottisfont gave a slight titter. "How typical of Joseph!" he remarked. "Quite a blow to you and Stephen, I fear!"

"Quite!" said Paula through her teeth.

"You have all my sympathy," he said. "But it is never wise to anticipate, is it?"

"Oh, get out!" she said rudely.

He shrugged, and walked away. The Inspector said: "Well, well, this is quite a surprise, I must say, miss! Very unfortunate for all concerned. How did it come about that the will wasn't witnessed? Mr. Blyth never said anything."

"He didn't know. My precious Uncle Joseph, who started life in a solicitor's office, remembered just enough law to realise that witnesses would be wanted, and he got Sturry and Ford to sign as witnesses. But my Uncle Nat apparently wouldn't have them in his bedroom, and they waited outside to do their stuff. Now it seems that my clear uncle forgot some clause or other, and on account of it the witnesses will be required to swear that they saw Uncle Nat sign his will. And of course, Sturry, as soon as he heard of it, seized the opportunity to queer my brother's pitch, and said he couldn't perjure himself. So that is beautifully that. It would be funny if it weren't so damnable."

The Inspector, who had listened to this with an expression of absorbed interest on his face, said sympathetically that it was a bit of a facer. "I am not what you'd call a whale on these matters myself, miss. What happens to the late Mr. Herriard's estate now?"