Yes, no doubtexcept perhaps the more exclusive sectslike the Agapemonites and those people who gather together to say om. Was it Voltaire who said that the English had three hundred and sixtyfive religions and only one sauce? Judging from the War Tribunals, said Parker, I should say that was an understatement. And then theres Americaa country, I understand, remarkably well supplied with religions. Too true. Hunting for a single dogcollar in the States must be like the proverbial needle. Still, we could make a few discreet inquiries, and meanwhile Im going to totter up to Crofton with the jolly old bus. Crofton? Where Miss Clara Whittaker and Miss Dawson used to live. Im going to look for the man with the little black bagthe strange, suspicious solicitor, you remember, who came to see Miss Dawson two years ago, and was so anxious that she should make a will. I fancy he knows all there is to know about the Rev. Hallelujah and his claim. Will you come too? Cantnot without special permission. Im not officially on this case, you know. Youre on the Gotobed business. Tell the Chief you think theyre connected. I shall need your restraining presence. No less ignoble pressure than that of the regular police force will induce a smokedried family lawyer to spill the beans. Well, Ill tryif youll promise to drive with reasonable precaution. Be thou as chaste as ice and have a licence as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. I am not a dangerous driver. Buck up and get your leave. The snowwhite horsepower foams and frets and the blue bonnetblack in this caseis already, in a manner of speaking, over the border. Youll drive me over the border one of these days, grumbled Parker, and went to the phone to call up Sir Andrew Mackenzie at Scotland Yard. Crofton is a delightful little oldworld village, tucked away amid the maze of crisscross country roads which fills the triangle of which Coventry, Warwick and Birmingham mark the angles. Through the falling night, Mrs. Merdle purred her way delicately round hedgeblinded corners and down devious lanes, her quest made no easier by the fact that the Warwick County Council had pitched upon that particular week for a grand repainting of signposts and had reached the preliminary stage of laying a couple of thick coats of gleaming white paint over all the lettering. At intervals the patient Bunter unpacked himself from the back seat and climbed one of these uncommunicative guides to peer at its blank surface with a torcha process which reminded Parker of Alan Quartermaine trying to trace the features of the departed Kings of the Kukuanas under their calcareous shrouds of stalactite. One of the posts turned out to be in the wetpaint stage, which added to the depression of the party. Finally, after several misdirections, blind alleys and reversings back to the main road, they came to a fourways. The signpost here must have been in extra need of repairs, for its arms had been removed bodily; it stood, stark and ghastlya long, livid finger erected in wild protest to the unsympathetic heavens. Its starting to rain, observed Parker, conversationally. Look here, Charles, if youre going to bear up cheerfully and be the life and soul of the expedition, say so and have done with it. Ive got a good, heavy spanner handy under the seat, and Bunter can help to bury the body. I think this must be Brushwood Cross, resumed Parker, who had the map on his knee. If so, and if its not Covert Corner, which I thought we passed half an hour ago, one of these roads leads directly to Crofton. That would be highly encouraging if we only knew which road we were on. We can always try them in turn, and come back if we find were going wrong. They bury suicides at crossroads, replied Wimsey, dangerously. Theres a man sitting under that tree, pursued Parker. We can ask him. Hes lost his way too, or he wouldnt be sitting there, retorted the other. People dont sit about in the rain for fun. At this moment the man observed their approach and, rising, advanced to meet them with raised, arresting hand. Wimsey brought the car to a standstill. Excuse me, said the stranger, who turned out to be a youth in motorcycling kit, but could you give me a hand with my bus? Whats the matter with her? Well, she wont go. I guessed as much, said Wimsey. Though why she should wish to linger in a place like this beats me. He got out of the car, and the youth, diving into the hedge, produced the patient for inspection. Did you tumble there or put her there? inquired Wimsey, eyeing the machine distastefully. I put her there. Ive been kicking the starter for hours but nothing happened, so I thought Id wait till somebody came along. I see. What is the matter, exactly? I dont know. She was going beautifully and then she conked out suddenly. Have you run out of petrol? Oh, no. Im sure theres plenty in. Plug all right? I dont know. The youth looked unhappy. Its only my second time out, you see. Oh! wellthere cant be much wrong. Well just make sure about the petrol first, said Wimsey, more cheerfully. He unscrewed the fillercap and turned his torch upon the interior of the tank. Seems all right. He bent over again, whistling, and replaced the cap. Lets give her another kick for luck and then well look at the plug. The young man, thus urged, grasped the handlebars, and with the energy of despair delivered a kick which would have done credit to an army mule. The engine roared into life in a fury of vibration, racing heartrendingly. Good God! said the youth, its a miracle. Lord Peter laid a gentle hand on the throttlelever and the shattering bellow calmed into a grateful purr. What did you do to it? demanded the cyclist. Blew through the fillercap, said his lordship with a grin. Airlock in the feed, old son, thats all. Im frightfully grateful. Thats all right. Look here, can you tell us the way to Crofton? Sure. Straight down here. Im going there, as a matter of fact. Thank Heaven. Lead and I follow, as Sir Galahad says. How far? Five miles. Decent inn? My governor keeps the FoxandHounds. Would that do? Wed give you awfully decent grub. Sorrow vanquished, labour ended, Jordan passed. Buzz off, my lad. No, Charles, I will not wait while you put on a Burberry. Back and side go bare, go bare, hand and foot go cold, so bellygod send us good ale enough, whether it be new or old. The starter hummedthe youth mounted his machine and led off down the lane after one alarming wobbleWimsey slipped in the clutch and followed in his wake. The FoxandHounds turned out to be one of those pleasant, oldfashioned inns where everything is upholstered in horsehair and it is never too late to obtain a good meal of cold roast sirloin and homegrown salad. The landlady, Mrs. Piggin, served the travellers herself. She wore a decent black satin dress and a front of curls of the fashion favoured by the Royal Family. Her round, cheerful face glowed in the firelight, seeming to reflect the radiance of the scarletcoated huntsmen who galloped and leapt and fell on every wall through a series of sporting prints. Lord Peters mood softened under the influence of the atmosphere and the houses excellent ale, and by a series of inquiries directed to the huntingseason, just concluded, the neighbouring families and the price of horseflesh, he dexterously led the conversation round to the subject of the late Miss Clara Whittaker. Oh, dear, yes, said Mrs. Piggin, to be sure, we knew Miss Whittaker. Everybody knew her in these parts. A wonderful old lady she was. Theres a many of her horses still in the country. Mr. Cleveland, he bought the best part of the stock, and is doin well with them. Fine honest stock she bred, and they all used to say she was a woman of wonderful judgment with a horseor a man either. Nobody ever got the better of her twice, and very few, once. Ah! said Lord Peter, sagaciously. I remember her well, riding to hounds when she was well over sixty, went on Mrs. Piggin, and she wasnt one to wait for a gap, neither. Now Miss Dawsonthat was her friend as lived with herover at the Manor beyond the stone bridgeshe was more timidlike. Shed go by the gates, and we often used to say shed never be riding at all, but for bein that fond of Miss Whittaker and not wanting to let her out of her sight. But there, we cant all be alike, can we, sir?and Miss Whittaker was altogether out of the way. They dont make them like that nowadays. Not but what these modern girls are good goers, many of them, and does a lot of things as would have been thought very fast in the old days, but Miss Whittaker had the knowledge as well. Bought her own horses and physicked em and bred em, and needed no advice from anybody. She sounds a wonderful old girl, said Wimsey, heartily. Id have liked to know her. Ive got some friends who knew Miss Dawson quite wellwhen she was living in Hampshire, you know. Indeed, sir? Well, thats strange, isnt it? She was a very kind, nice lady. We heard shed died, too. Of this cancer, was it? Thats a terrible thing, poor soul. And fancy you being connected with her, so to speak. I expect youd be interested in some of our photographs of the Crofton Hunt. Jim? Hullo! Show these gentlemen the photographs of Miss Whittaker and Miss Dawson. Theyre acquainted with some friends of Miss Dawson down in Hampshire. Step this wayif youre sure you wont take anything more, sir. Mrs. Piggin led the way into a cosy little private bar, where a number of huntinglooking gentlemen were enjoying a final glass before closingtime. Mr. Piggin, stout and genial as his wife, moved forward to do the honours. Whatll you have, gentlemen?Joe, two pints of the winter ale. And fancy you knowing our Miss Dawson. Dear me, the worlds a very small place, as I often says to my wife. Heres the last group as was ever took of them, when the meet was held at the Manor in 1918. Of course, youll understand, it wasnt a regular meet, like, owing to the War and the gentlemen being away and the horses toowe couldnt keep things up regular like in the old days. But what with the foxes gettin so terrible many, and the packs all going to the dogsha! ha!thats what I often used to say in this barthe ounds is going to the dogs, I says. Very good, they used to think it. Theres many a gentleman has laughed at me sayin thatthe ounds, I says, is goin to the dogswell, as I was sayin, Colonel Fletcher and some of the older gentlemen, they says, we must carry on somehow, they says, and so they ad one or two scratch meets as you might say, just to keep the pack from fallin to pieces, as you might say. And Miss Whittaker, she says,  Ave the meet at the Manor, Colonel, she says, its the last meet Ill ever see, perhaps, she says. And so it was, poor lady, for she ad a stroke in the New Year. She died in 1922. Thats er, sitting in the ponycarriage and Miss Dawson beside er. Of course, Miss Whittaker ad ad to give up riding to ounds some years before. She was gettin on, but she always followed in the trap, up to the very last. Andsome old lady, aint she, sir? Lord Peter and Parker looked with considerable interest at the rather grim old woman sitting so uncompromisingly upright with the reins in her hand. A dour, weatherbeaten old face, but certainly handsome still, with its large nose and straight, heavy eyebrows. And beside her, smaller, plumper and more feminine, was the Agatha Dawson whose curious death had led them to this quiet country place. She had a sweet, smiling faceless dominating than that of her redoubtable friend, but full of spirit and character. Without doubt they had been a remarkable pair of old ladies. Lord Peter asked a question or two about the family. Well, sir, I cant say as I knows much about that. We always understood as Miss Whittaker had quarrelled with her people on account of comin here and settin up for herself. It wasnt usual in them days for girls to leave home the way it is now. But if youre particularly interested, sir, theres an old gentleman here as can tell you all about the Whittakers and the Dawsons too, and thats Ben Cobling. He was Miss Whittakers groom for forty years, and he married Miss Dawsons maid as come with her from Norfolk. Eightysix e was, last birthday, but a grand old fellow still. We thinks a lot of Ben Cobling in these parts. Im and his wife lives in the little cottage what Miss Whittaker left them when she died. If youd like to go round and see them tomorrow, sir, youll find Bens memory as good as ever it was. Excuse me, sir, but its time. I must get em out of the bar.Time, gentlemen, please! Three and eightpence, sir, thank you, sir. Hurry up, gentlemen, please. Now then, Joe, look sharp. Great place, Crofton, said Lord Peter, when he and Parker were left alone in a great, lowceilinged bedroom, where the sheets smelt of lavender. Ben Coblings sure to know all about Cousin Hallelujah. Im looking forward to Ben Cobling. XII A Tale of Two Spinsters The power of perpetuating our property in our families is one of the most valuable and interesting circumstances belonging to it. Burke Reflections on the Revolution The rainy night was followed by a sunstreaked morning. Lord Peter, having wrapped himself affectionately round an abnormal quantity of bacon and eggs, strolled out to bask at the door of the FoxandHounds. He filled a pipe slowly and meditated. Within, a cheerful bustle in the bar announced the near arrival of opening time. Eight ducks crossed the road in Indian file. A cat sprang up upon the bench, stretched herself, tucked her hind legs under her and coiled her tail tightly round them as though to prevent them from accidentally working loose. A groom passed, riding a tall bay horse and leading a chestnut with a hogged mane; a spaniel followed them, running ridiculously, with one ear flopped insideout over his foolish head. Lord Peter said, Hah! The inndoor was set hospitably open by the barman, who said, Good morning, sir; fine morning, sir, and vanished within again. Lord Peter said, Umph. He uncrossed his right foot from over his left and straddled happily across the threshold. Round the corner by the churchyard wall a little bent figure hove into sightan aged man with a wrinkled face and legs incredibly bowed, his spare shanks enclosed in leather gaiters. He advanced at a kind of brisk totter and civilly bared his ancient head before lowering himself with an audible creak on to the bench beside the cat. Good morning, sir, said he. Good morning, said Lord Peter. A beautiful day. That it be, sir, that it be, said the old man, heartily. When I sees a beautiful May day like this, I pray the Lord Hell spare me to live in this wonderful world of His a few years longer. I do indeed. You look uncommonly fit, said his lordship, I should think there was every chance of it. Im still very hearty, sir, thank you, though Im eightyseven next Michaelmas. Lord Peter expressed a proper astonishment. Yes, sir, eightyseven, and if it wasnt for the rheumatics Id have nothin to complain on. Im stronger maybe than what I look. I knows Im a bit bent, sir, but thats the osses, sir, more than age. Regular brought up with osses Ive been all my life. Worked with em, slept with emlived in a stable, you might say, sir. You couldnt have better company, said Lord Peter. Thats right, sir, you couldnt. My wife always used to say she was jealous of the osses. Said I preferred their conversation to hers. Well, maybe she was right, sir. A oss never talks no foolishness, I says to her, and thats more than you can always say of women, aint it, sir? It is indeed, said Wimsey. What are you going to have? Thank you, sir, Ill have my usual pint of bitter. Jim knows. Jim! Always start the day with a pint of bitter, sir. Its olesomer than tea to my mind and dont fret the coats of the stomach. I dare say youre right, said Wimsey. Now you mention it, there is something fretful about tea. Mr. Piggin, two pints of bitter, please, and will you join us? Thank you, my lord, said the landlord. Joe! Two large bitters and a Guinness. Beautiful morning, my lordmorning, Mr. CoblingI see youve made each others acquaintance already. By Jove! so this is Mr. Cobling. Im delighted to see you. I wanted particularly to have a chat with you. Indeed, sir? I was telling this gentlemanLord Peter Wimsey his name isas you could tell him all about Miss Whittaker and Miss Dawson. He knows friends of Miss Dawsons. Indeed? Ah! There aint much I couldnt tell you about them ladies. And proud Id be to do it. Fifty years I was with Miss Whittaker. I come to her as undergroom in old Johnny Blackthornes time, and stayed on as headgroom after he died. A rare young lady she was in them days. Deary me. Straight as a switch, with a fine, high colour in her cheeks and shiny black hairjust like a beautiful twoyearold filly she was. And very sperrited. Wonnerful sperrited. There was a many gentlemen as would have been glad to hitch up with her, but she was never broke to harness. Like dirt, she treated em. Wouldnt look at em, except it might be the grooms and stablehands in a matter of osses. And in the way of business, of course. Well, there is some creatures like that. I ad a terrierbitch that way. Great ratter she was. But a business womannothin else. I tried er with all the dogs I could lay and to, but it werent no good. Bloodshed there was an sich a rowyou never eard. The Lord makes a few on em that way to suit Is own purposes, I suppose. There aint no arguin with females. Lord Peter said Ah! The ale went down in silence. Mr. Piggin roused himself presently from contemplation to tell a story of Miss Whittaker in the huntingfield. Mr. Cobling capped this by another. Lord Peter said Ah! Parker then emerged and was introduced, and Mr. Cobling begged the privilege of standing a round of drinks. This ritual accomplished, Mr. Piggin begged the company would be his guests for a third round, and then excused himself on the plea of customers to attend to. He went in, and Lord Peter, by skilful and maddeningly slow degrees, began to work his way back to the history of the Dawson family. Parkereducated at BarrowinFurness grammar school and with his wits further sharpened in the London police serviceendeavoured now and again to get matters along faster by a brisk question. The result, every time, was to make Mr. Cobling lose the thread of his remarks and start him off into a series of interminable sidetracks. Wimsey kicked his friend viciously on the anklebone to keep him quiet, and with endless patience worked the conversation back to the main road again. At the end of an hour or so, Mr. Cobling explained that his wife could tell them a great deal more about Miss Dawson than what he could, and invited them to visit his cottage. This invitation being accepted with alacrity, the party started off, Mr. Cobling explaining to Parker that he was eightyseven come next Michaelmas, and hearty still, indeed, stronger than he appeared, bar the rheumatics that troubled him. Im not saying as Im not bent, said Mr. Cobling, but thats more the work of the osses. Regular lived with osses all my life Dont look so fretful, Charles, murmured Wimsey in his ear, it must be the tea at breakfastit frets the coats of the stomach. Mrs. Cobling turned out to be a delightful old lady, exactly like a driedup pippin and only two years younger than her husband. She was entranced at getting an opportunity to talk about her darling Miss Agatha. Parker, thinking it necessary to put forward some reason for the inquiry, started on an involved explanation, and was kicked again. To Mrs. Cobling, nothing could be more natural than that all the world should be interested in the Dawsons, and she prattled gaily on without prompting. She had been in the Dawson family service as a girlalmost born in it as you might say. Hadnt her mother been housekeeper to Mr. Henry Dawson, Miss Agathas papa, and to his father before him? She herself had gone to the big house as stillroom maid when she wasnt but fifteen. That was when Miss Harriet was only three years oldher as afterwards married Mr. James Whittaker. Yes, and shed been there when the rest of the family was born. Mr. Stephenhim as should have been the heirah, dear! only the trouble came and that killed his poor father and there was nothing left. Yes, a sad business that was. Poor Mr. Henry speculated with somethingMrs. Cobling wasnt clear what, but it was all very wicked and happened in London where there were so many wicked peopleand the long and the short was, he lost it all, poor gentleman, and never held up his head again. Only fiftyfour he was when he died; such a fine upright gentleman with a pleasant word for everybody. And his wife didnt live long after him, poor lamb. She was a Frenchwoman and a sweet lady, but she was very lonely in England, having no family and her two sisters walled up alive in one of them dreadful Romish Convents. And what did Mr. Stephen do when the money went? asked Wimsey. Him? Oh, he went into businessa strange thing that did seem, though I have heard tell as old Barnabas Dawson, Mr. Henrys grandfather that was, was nought but a grocer or something of thatand they do say, dont they, that from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves is three generations? Still, it was very hard on Mr. Stephen, as had always been brought up to have everything of the best. And engaged to be married to a beautiful lady, too, and a very rich heiress. But it was all for the best, for when she heard Mr. Stephen was a poor man after all, she threw him over, and that showed she had no heart in her at all. Mr. Stephen never married till he was over forty, and then it was a lady with no family at allnot lawful, that is, though she was a dear, sweet girl and made Mr. Stephen a most splendid wifeshe did indeed. And Mr. John, he was their only son. They thought the world of him. It was a terrible day when the news came that he was killed in the War. A cruel business that was, sir, wasnt it?and nobody the better for it as I can see, but all these shocking hard taxes, and the price of everything gone up so, and so many out of work. So he was killed? That must have been a terrible grief to his parents. Yes, sir, terrible. Oh, it was an awful thing altogether, sir, for poor Mr. Stephen, as had had so much trouble all his life, he went out of his poor mind and shot hisself. Out of his mind he must have been, sir, to do itand what was more dreadful still, he shot his dear lady as well. You may remember it, sir. There was pieces in the paper about it. I seem to have some vague recollection of it, said Peter, quite untruthfully, but anxious not to seem to belittle the local tragedy. And young Johnhe wasnt married, I suppose. No, sir. That was very sad, too. He was engaged to a young ladya nurse in one of the English hospitals, as we understood, and he was hoping to get back and be married to her on his next leave. Everything did seem to go all wrong together them terrible years. The old lady sighed, and wiped her eyes. Mr. Stephen was the only son, then? Well, not exactly, sir. There was the darling twins. Such pretty children, but they only lived two days. They come four years after Miss Harriether as married Mr. James Whittaker. Yes, of course. That was how the families became connected. Yes, sir. Miss Agatha and Miss Harriet and Miss Clara Whittaker was all at the same school together, and Mrs. Whittaker asked the two young ladies to go and spend their holidays with Miss Clara, and that was when Mr. James fell in love with Miss Harriet. She wasnt as pretty as Miss Agatha, to my thinking, but she was livelier and quickerand then, of course, Miss Agatha was never one for flirting and foolishness. Often she used to say to me, Betty, she said, I mean to be an old maid and so does Miss Clara, and were going to live together and be ever so happy, without any stupid, tiresome gentlemen. And so it turned out, sir, as you know, for Miss Agatha, for all she was so quiet, was very determined. Once shed said a thing, you couldnt turn her from itnot with reasons, nor with threats, nor with coaxingsnothing! Manys the time Ive tried when she was a childfor I used to give a little help in the nursery sometimes, sir. You might drive her into a temper or into the sulks, but you couldnt make her change her little mind, even then. There came to Wimseys mind the picture of the stricken, helpless old woman, holding to her own way in spite of her lawyers reasoning and her nieces subterfuge. A remarkable old lady, certainly, in her way. I suppose the Dawson family has practically died out, then, he said. Oh, yes, sir. Theres only Miss Mary nowand shes a Whittaker, of course. She is Miss Harriets granddaughter, Mr. Charles Whittakers only child. She was left all alone, too, when she went to live with Miss Dawson. Mr. Charles and his wife was killed in one of these dreadful motorsdear, dearit seemed we was fated to have nothing but one tragedy after another. Just to think of Ben and me outliving them all. Cheer up, Mother, said Ben, laying his hand on hers. The Lord have been wonderful good to us. That He have. Three sons we have, sir, and two daughters, and fourteen grandchildren and three greatgrandchildren. Maybe youd like to see their pictures, sir. Lord Peter said he should like to very much, and Parker made confirmatory noises. The lifehistories of all the children and descendants were detailed at suitable length. Whenever a pause seemed discernible, Parker would mutter hopefully in Wimseys ear, How about Cousin Hallelujah? but before a question could be put, the interminable family chronicle was resumed. And for Gods sake, Charles, whispered Peter, savagely, when Mrs. Cobling had risen to hunt for the shawl which Grandson William had sent home from the Dardanelles, dont keep saying Hallelujah at me! Im not a revival meeting. The shawl being duly admired, the conversation turned upon foreign parts, natives and black people generally, following on which, Lord Peter added carelessly By the way, hasnt the Dawson family got some sort of connections in those foreign countries, somewhere? Well, yes, said Mrs. Cobling, in rather a shocked tone. There had been Mr. Paul, Mr. Henrys brother. But he was not mentioned much. He had been a terrible shock to his family. In facta gasp here, and a lowering of the voicehe had turned Papist and becomea monk! (Had he become a murderer, apparently, he could hardly have done worse.) Mr. Henry had always blamed himself very much in the matter. How was it his fault? Well, of course, Mr. Henrys wifemy dear mistress, you see, sirshe was French, as I told you, and of course, she was a Papist. Being brought up that way, she wouldnt know any better, naturally, and she was very young when she was married. But Mr. Henry soon taught her to be a Christian, and she put away her idolatrous ideas and went to the parish church. But Mr. Paul, he fell in love with one of her sisters, and the sister had been vowed to religion, as they called it, and had shut herself up in a nunnery. And then Mr. Paul had broken his heart and gone over to the Scarlet Woman andagain the pause and the hushbecome a monk. A terrible todo it made. And hed lived to be a very old man, and for all Mrs. Cobling knew was living yet, still in the error of his ways. If hes alive, murmured Parker, hes probably the real heir. Hed be Agatha Dawsons uncle and her nearest relation. Wimsey frowned and returned to the charge. Well, it couldnt have been Mr. Paul I had in mind, he said, because this sort of relation of Miss Agatha Dawsons that I heard about was a real foreignerin fact, a very darkcomplexioned manalmost a black man, or so I was told. Black? cried the old ladyoh, no, sirthat couldnt be. Unlessdear Lord a mercy, it couldnt be that, surely! Ben, do you think it could be that?Old Simon, you know? Ben shook his head. I never heard tell much about him. Nor nobody did, replied Mrs. Cobling, energetically. He was a long way back, but they had tales of him in the family. Wicked Simon, they called him. He sailed away to the Indies, many years ago, and nobody knew what became of him. Wouldnt it be a queer thing, like, if he was to have married a black wife out in them parts, and this was hisoh, dearhis grandson it ud have to be, if not his greatgrandson, for he was Mr. Henrys uncle, and thats a long time ago. This was disappointing. A grandson of old Simons would surely be too distant a relative to dispute Mary Whittakers title. However Thats very interesting, said Wimsey. Was it the East Indies or the West Indies he went to, I wonder? Mrs. Cobling didnt know, but she believed it was something to do with America. Its a pity as Mr. Probyn aint in England any longer. He could have told you more about the family than what I can. But he retired last year and went away to Italy or some such place. Who was he? He was Miss Whittakers solicitor, said Ben, and he managed all Miss Dawsons business, too. A nice gentleman he was, but uncommon sharpha, ha! Never gave nothing away. But thats lawyers all the world over, added he, shrewdly, take all and give nothing. Did he live in Crofton? No, sir, in Croftover Magna, twelve miles from here. Pointer  Winkin have his business now, but theyre young men, and I dont know much about them. Having by this time heard all the Coblings had to tell, Wimsey and Parker gradually disentangled themselves and took their leave. Well, Cousin Hallelujahs a washout, said Parker. Possiblypossibly not. There may be some connection. Still, I certainly think the disgraceful and papistical Mr. Paul is more promising. Obviously Mr. Probyn is the bird to get hold of. You realise who he is? Hes the mysterious solicitor, I suppose. Of course he is. He knows why Miss Dawson ought to have made her will. And were going straight off to Croftover Magna to look up Messrs. Pointer  Winkin, and see what they have to say about it. Unhappily, Messrs. Pointer  Winkin had nothing to say whatever. Miss Dawson had withdrawn her affairs from Mr. Probyns hands and had lodged all the papers with her new solicitor. Messrs. Pointer  Winkin had never had any connection with the Dawson family. They had no objection, however, to furnishing Mr. Probyns addressVilla Bianca, Fiesole. They regretted that they could be of no further assistance to Lord Peter Wimsey and Mr. Parker. Good morning. Short and sour, was his lordships comment. Well, wellwell have a spot of lunch and write a letter to Mr. Probyn and another to my good friend Bishop Lambert of the Orinoco Mission to get a line on Cousin Hallelujah. Smile, smile, smile. As Ingoldsby says The breezes are blowing a race, a race! The breezes are blowingwe near the chase! Do ye ken John Peel? Likewise, knowst thou the land where blooms the citronflower? Well, never mind if you dontyou can always look forward to going there for your honeymoon. XIII Hallelujah Our ancestors are very good kind of folks, but they are the last people I should choose to have a visiting acquaintance with. Sheridan The Rivals That excellent prelate, Bishop Lambert of the Orinoco Mission, proved to be a practical and kind man. He did not personally know the Rev. Hallelujah Dawson, but thought he might belong to the Tabernacle Missiona Nonconformist body which was doing a very valuable work in those parts. He would himself communicate with the London Headquarters of this community and let Lord Peter know the result. Two hours later, Bishop Lamberts secretary had duly rung up the Tabernacle Mission and received the very satisfactory information that the Rev. Hallelujah Dawson was in England, and, indeed, available at their Mission House in Stepney. He was an elderly minister, living in very reduced circumstancesin fact, the Bishop rather gathered that the story was a sad one.Oh, not at all, pray, no thanks. The Bishops poor miserable slave of a secretary did all the work.


Very glad to hear from Lord Peter, and was he being good? Ha, ha! and when was he coming to dine with the Bishop? Lord Peter promptly gathered up Parker and swooped down with him upon the Tabernacle Mission, before whose dim and grim frontage Mrs. Merdles long black bonnet and sweeping copper exhaust made an immense impression. The small fry of the neighbourhood had clustered about her and were practising horn solos almost before Wimsey had rung the bell. On Parkers threatening them with punishment and casually informing them that he was a policeofficer, they burst into ecstasies of delight, and joining hands, formed a ringoroses round him, under the guidance of a sprightly young woman of twelve years old or thereabouts. Parker made a few harassed darts at them, but the ring only broke up, shrieking with laughter, and reformed, singing. The Mission door opened at the moment, displaying this undignified exhibition to the eyes of a lank young man in spectacles, who shook a long finger disapprovingly and said, Now, you children, without the slightest effect and apparently without the faintest expectation of producing any. Lord Peter explained his errand. Oh, come in, please, said the young man, who had one finger in a book of theology. Im afraid your frienderthis is rather a noisy district. Parker shook himself free from his tormentors, and advanced, breathing threatenings and slaughter, to which the enemy responded by a derisive blast of the horn. Theyll run those batteries down, said Wimsey. You cant do anything with the little devils, growled Parker. Why dont you treat them as human beings? retorted Wimsey. Children are creatures of like passions with politicians and financiers. Here, Esmeralda! he added, beckoning to the ringleader. The young woman put her tongue out and made a rude gesture, but observing the glint of coin in the outstretched hand, suddenly approached and stood challengingly before them. Look here, said Wimsey, heres half a crownthirty pennies, you know. Any use to you? The child promptly proved her kinship with humanity. She became abashed in the presence of wealth, and was silent, rubbing one dusty shoe upon the calf of her stocking. You appear, pursued Lord Peter, to be able to keep your young friends in order if you choose. I take you, in fact, for a woman of character. Very well, if you keep them from touching my car while Im in the house, you get this halfcrown, see? But if you let em blow the horn, I shall hear it. Every time the horn goes, you lose a penny, got that? If the horn blows six times, you only get two bob. If I hear it thirty times, you dont get anything. And I shall look out from time to time, and if I see anybody mauling the car about or sitting in it, then you dont get anything. Do I make myself clear? I takes care o yer car fer arf a crahn. An ef the orn goes, you docks a copper orf of it. Thats right. Right you are, mister. Ill see none on em touches it. Good girl. Now, sir. The spectacled young man led them into a gloomy little waitingroom, suggestive of a railway station and hung with Old Testament prints. Ill tell Mr. Dawson youre here, said he, and vanished, with the volume of theology still clutched in his hand. Presently a shuffling step was heard on the coconut matting, and Wimsey and Parker braced themselves to confront the villainous claimant. The door, however, opened to admit an elderly West Indian, of so humble and inoffensive an appearance that the hearts of the two detectives sank into their boots. Anything less murderous could scarcely be imagined, as he stood blinking nervously at them from behind a pair of steelrimmed spectacles, the frames of which had at one time been broken and bound with twine. The Rev. Hallelujah Dawson was undoubtedly a man of colour. He had the pleasant, slightly aquiline features and brownolive skin of the Polynesian. His hair was scanty and greyishnot woolly, but closely curled. His stooping shoulders were clad in a threadbare clerical coat. His black eyes, yellow about the whites and slightly protruding, rolled amiably at them, and his smile was open and frank. You asked to see me? he began, in perfect English, but with the soft native intonation. I think I have not the pleasure? How do you do, Mr. Dawson? Yes. We areermakin certain inquirieserin connection with the family of the Dawsons of Crofton in Warwickshire, and it has been suggested that you might be able to enlighten us, what? as to their West Indian connectionsif you would be so good. Ah, yes! The old man drew himself up slightly. I am myselfin a waya descendant of the family. Wont you sit down? Thank you. We thought you might be. You do not come from Miss Whittaker? There was something eager, yet defensive in the tone. Wimsey, not quite knowing what was behind it, chose the discreeter part. Oh, no. We arepreparin a work on County Families, dont you know. Tombstones and genealogies and that sort of thing. Oh!yesI hoped perhaps The mild tones died away in a sigh. But I shall be very happy to help you in any way. Well, the question now is, what became of Simon Dawson? We know that he left his family and sailed for the West Indies inah!in seventeen Eighteen hundred and ten, said the old man, with surprising quickness. Yes. He got into trouble when he was a lad of sixteen. He took up with bad men older than himself, and became involved in a very terrible affair. It had to do with gaming, and a man was killed. Not in a duelin those days that would not have been considered disgracefulthough violence is always displeasing to the Lordbut the man was foully murdered and Simon Dawson and his friends fled from justice. Simon fell in with the pressgang and was carried off to sea. He served fifteen years and was then taken by a French privateer. Later on he escaped andto cut a long story shortgot away to Trinidad under another name. Some English people there were kind to him and gave him work on their sugar plantation. He did well there and eventually became owner of a small plantation of his own. What was the name he went by? Harkaway. I suppose he was afraid that they would get hold of him as a deserter from the Navy if he went by his own name. No doubt he should have reported his escape. Anyway, he liked plantation life and was quite satisfied to stay where he was. I dont suppose he would have cared to go home, even to claim his inheritance. And then, there was always the matter of the murder, you knowthough I dare say they would not have brought that trouble up against him, seeing he was so young when it happened and it was not his hand that did the awful deed. His inheritance? Was he the eldest son, then? No. Barnabas was the eldest, but he was killed at Waterloo and left no family. Then there was a second son, Roger, but he died of smallpox as a child. Simon was the third son. Then it was the fourth son who took the estate? Yes, Frederick. He was Henry Dawsons father. They tried, of course, to find out what became of Simon, but in those days it was very difficult, you understand, to get information from foreign places, and Simon had quite disappeared. So they had to pass him over. And what happened to Simons children? asked Parker. Did he have any? The clergyman nodded, and a deep, dusky flush showed under his dark skin. I am his grandson, he said, simply. That is why I came over to England. When the Lord called me to feed His lambs among my own people, I was in quite good circumstances. I had the little sugar plantation which had come down to me through my father, and I married and was very happy. But we fell on bad timesthe sugar crop failed, and our little flock became smaller and poorer and could not give so much support to their minister. Besides, I was getting too old and frail to do my workand I have a sick wife, too, and God has blessed us with many daughters, who needed our care. I was in great straits. And then I came upon some old family papers belonging to my grandfather, Simon, and learned that his name was not Harkaway but Dawson, and I thought, maybe I had a family in England and that God would yet raise up a table in the wilderness. Accordingly, when the time came to send a representative home to our London Headquarters, I asked permission to resign my ministry out there and come over to England. Did you get into touch with anybody? Yes. I went to Croftonwhich was mentioned in my grandfathers lettersand saw a lawyer in the town therea Mr. Probyn of Croftover. You know him? Ive heard of him. Yes. He was very kind, and very much interested to see me. He showed me the genealogy of the family, and how my grandfather should have been the heir to the property. But the property had been lost by that time, had it not? Yes. And, unfortunatelywhen I showed him my grandmothers marriage certificate, hehe told me that it was no certificate at all. I fear that Simon Dawson was a sad sinner. He took my grandmother to live with him, as many of the planters did take women of colour, and he gave her a document which was supposed to be a certificate of marriage signed by the Governor of the country. But when Mr. Probyn inquired into it, he found that it was all a sham, and no such governor had ever existed. It was distressing to my feelings as a Christian, of coursebut since there was no property, it didnt make any actual difference to us. That was bad luck, said Peter, sympathetically. I called resignation to my aid, said the old Indian, with a dignified little bow. Mr. Probyn was also good enough to send me with a letter of introduction to Miss Agatha Dawson, the only surviving member of our family. Yes, she lived at Leahampton. She received me in the most charming way, and when I told her who I wasacknowledging, of course, that I had not the slightest claim upon hershe was good enough to make me an allowance of 100 a year, which she continued till her death. Was that the only time you saw her? Oh, yes. I would not intrude upon her. It could not be agreeable to her to have a relative of my complexion continually at her house, said the Rev. Hallelujah, with a kind of proud humility. But she gave me lunch, and spoke very kindly. Andforgive my askinhope it isnt impertinentbut does Miss Whittaker keep up the allowance? Well, noIperhaps I should not expect it, but it would have made a great difference to our circumstances. And Miss Dawson rather led me to hope that it might be continued. She told me that she did not like the idea of making a will, but, she said, It is not necessary at all, Cousin Hallelujah, Mary will have all my money when I am gone, and she can continue the allowance on my behalf. But perhaps Miss Whittaker did not get the money after all? Oh, yes, she did. It is very odd. She may have forgotten about it. I took the liberty of writing her a few words of spiritual comfort when her aunt died. Perhaps that did not please her. Of course, I did not write again. Yet I am loath to believe that she has hardened her heart against the unfortunate. No doubt there is some explanation. No doubt, said Lord Peter. Well, Im very grateful to you for your kindness. That has quite cleared up the little matter of Simon and his descendants. Ill just make a note of the names and dates, if I may. Certainly. I will bring you the paper which Mr. Probyn kindly made out for me, showing the whole of the family. Excuse me. He was not gone long, and soon reappeared with a genealogy, neatly typed out on a legallooking sheet of blue paper. Wimsey began to note down the particulars concerning Simon Dawson and his son, Bosun, and his grandson, Hallelujah. Suddenly he put his finger on an entry further along. Look here, Charles, he said. Here is our Father Paulthe bad boy who turned R.C. and became a monk. So he is. Buthes dead, Peterdied in 1922, three years before Agatha Dawson. Yes. We must wash him out. Well, these little setbacks will occur. They finished their notes, bade farewell to the Rev. Hallelujah, and emerged to find Esmeralda valiantly defending Mrs. Merdle against all comers. Lord Peter handed over the halfcrown and took delivery of the car. The more I hear of Mary Whittaker, he said, the less I like her. She might at least have given poor old Cousin Hallelujah his hundred quid. Shes a rapacious female, agreed Parker. Well, anyway, Father Pauls safely dead, and Cousin Hallelujah is illegitimately descended. So theres an end of the longlost claimant from overseas. Damn it all! cried Wimsey, taking both hands from the steeringwheel and scratching his head, to Parkers extreme alarm, that strikes a familiar chord. Now where in thunder have I heard those words before? XIV Sharp Quillets of the Law Things done without examplein their issue Are to be feared. Henry VIII I, 2 Murbles is coming round to dinner tonight, Charles, said Wimsey. I wish youd stop and have grub with us too. I want to put all this family history business before him. Where are you dining? Oh, at the flat. Im sick of restaurant meals. Bunter does a wonderful bloody steak and there are new peas and potatoes and genuine English grass. Gerald sent it up from Denver specially. You cant buy it. Come along. Ye olde English fare, dont you know, and a bottle of what Pepys calls Ho Bryon. Do you good. Parker accepted. But he noticed that, even when speaking on his beloved subject of food, Wimsey was vague and abstracted. Something seemed to be worrying at the back of his mind, and even when Mr. Murbles appeared, full of mild legal humour, Wimsey listened to him with extreme courtesy indeed, but with only half his attention. They were partly through dinner when, apropos of nothing, Wimsey suddenly brought his fist down on the mahogany with a crash that startled even Bunter, causing him to jerk a great crimson splash of the Haut Brion over the edge of the glass upon the tablecloth. Got it! said Lord Peter. Bunter in a low shocked voice begged his lordships pardon. Murbles, said Wimsey, without heeding him, isnt there a new Property Act? Why, yes, said Mr. Murbles, in some surprise. He had been in the middle of a story about a young barrister and a Jewish pawnbroker when the interruption occurred, and was a little put out. I knew Id read that sentence somewhereyou know, Charlesabout doing away with the longlost claimant from overseas. It was in some paper or other about a couple of years ago, and it had to do with the new Act. Of course, it said what a blow it would be to romantic novelists. Doesnt the Act wash out the claims of distant relatives, Murbles? In a sense, it does, replied the solicitor. Not, of course, in the case of entailed property, which has its own rules. But I understand you to refer to ordinary personal property or real estate not entailed. Yeswhat happens to that, now, if the owner of the property dies without making a will? It is rather a complicated matter, began Mr. Murbles. Well, look here, first of allbefore the jolly old Act was passed, the nextofkin got it all, didnt heno matter if he was only a seventh cousin fifteen times removed? In a general way, that is correct. If there was a husband or wife Wash out the husband and wife. Suppose the person is unmarried and has no near relations living. It would have gone To the nextofkin, whoever that was, if he or she could be traced. Even if you had to burrow back to William the Conqueror to get at the relationship? Always supposing you could get a clear record back to so very early a date, replied Mr. Murbles. It is, of course, in the highest degree improbable Yes, yes, I know, sir. But what happens now in such a case? The new Act makes inheritance on intestacy very much simpler, said Mr. Murbles, setting his knife and fork together, placing both elbows on the table and laying the indexfinger of his right hand against his left thumb in a gesture of tabulation. I bet it does, interpolated Wimsey. I know what an Act to make things simpler means. It means that the people who drew it up dont understand it themselves and that every one of its clauses needs a lawsuit to disentangle it. But do go on. Under the new Act, pursued Mr. Murbles, one half of the property goes to the husband and wife, if living, and subject to his or her lifeinterest, then all to the children equally. But if there be no spouse and no children, then it goes to the father or mother of the deceased. If the father and mother are both dead, then everything goes to the brothers and sisters of the whole blood who are living at the time, but if any brother or sister dies before the intestate, then to his or her issue. In case there are no brothers or sisters of the Stop, stop! you neednt go any further. Youre absolutely sure of that? It goes to the brothers or sisters issue? Yes. That is to say, if it were you that died intestate and your brother Gerald and your sister Mary were already dead, your money would be equally divided among your nieces and nephews. Yes, but suppose they were already dead toosuppose Id gone tediously living on till Id nothing left but greatnephews and greatnieceswould they inherit? Whywhy, yes, I suppose they would, said Mr. Murbles, with less certainty, however. Oh, yes, I think they would. Clearly they would, said Parker, a little impatiently, if it says to the issue of the deceaseds brothers and sisters. Ah! but we must not be precipitate, said Mr. Murbles, rounding upon him. To the lay mind, doubtless, the word issue appears a simple one. But in law(Mr. Murbles, who up till this point had held the indexfinger of the righthand poised against the ringfinger of the left, in recognition of the claims of the brothers and sisters of the halfblood, now placed his left palm upon the table and wagged his right indexfinger admonishingly in Parkers direction)in law the word may bear one of two, or indeed several, interpretations, according to the nature of the document in which it occurs and the date of that document. But in the new Act urged Lord Peter. I am not, particularly, said Mr. Murbles, a specialist in the law concerning property, and I should not like to give a decided opinion as to its interpretation, all the more as, up to the present, no case has come before the Courts bearing on the present issueno pun intended, ha, ha, ha! But my immediate and entirely tentative opinionwhich, however, I should advise you not to accept without the support of some weightier authoritywould be, I think, that issue in this case means issue ad infinitum, and that therefore the greatnephews and greatnieces would be entitled to inherit. But there might be another opinion? Yesthe question is a complicated one What did I tell you? groaned Peter. I knew this simplifying Act would cause a shockin lot of muddle. May I ask, said Mr. Murbles, exactly why you want to know all this? Why, sir, said Wimsey, taking from his pocketbook the genealogy of the Dawson family which he had received from the Rev. Hallelujah Dawson, here is the point. We have always talked about Mary Whittaker as Agatha Dawsons niece; she was always called so and she speaks of the old lady as her aunt. But if you look at this, you will see that actually she was no nearer to her than greatniece she was the granddaughter of Agathas sister Harriet. Quite true, said Mr. Murbles, but still, she was apparently the nearest surviving relative, and since Agatha Dawson died in 1925, the money passed without any question to Mary Whittaker under the old Property Act. Theres no ambiguity there. No, said Wimsey, none whatever, thats the point. But Good God! broke in Parker, I see what youre driving at. When did the new Act come into force, sir? In January, 1926, replied Mr. Murbles. And Miss Dawson died, rather unexpectedly, as we know, in November, 1925, went on Peter. But supposing she had lived, as the doctor fully expected her to do, till February or March, 1926are you absolutely positive, sir, that Mary Whittaker would have inherited then? Mr. Murbles opened his mouth to speakand shut it again. He rubbed his hands very slowly the one over the other. He removed his eyeglasses and resettled them more firmly on his nose. Then You are quite right, Lord Peter, he said in a grave tone, this is a very serious and important point. Much too serious for me to give an opinion on. If I understand you rightly, you are suggesting that any ambiguity in the interpretation of the new Act might provide an interested party with a very good and sufficient motive for hastening the death of Agatha Dawson. I do mean exactly that. Of course, if the greatniece inherits anyhow, the old lady might as well die under the new Act as under the old. But if there was any doubt about ithow tempting, dont you see, to give her a little push over the edge, so as to make her die in 1925. Especially as she couldnt live long anyhow, and there were no other relatives to be defrauded. That reminds me, put in Parker, suppose the greatniece is excluded from the inheritance, where does the money go? It goes to the Duchy of Lancasteror in other words, to the Crown. In fact, said Wimsey, to no one in particular. Upon my soul, I really cant see that its very much of a crime to bump a poor old thing off a bit previously when shes sufferin horribly, just to get the money she intends you to have. Why the devil should the Duchy of Lancaster have it? Who cares about the Duchy of Lancaster? Its like defrauding the Income Tax. Ethically, observed Mr. Murbles, there may be much to be said for your point of view. Legally, I am afraid, murder is murder, however frail the victim or convenient the result. And Agatha Dawson didnt want to die, added Parker, she said so. No, said Wimsey, thoughtfully, and I suppose she had a right to an opinion. I think, said Mr. Murbles, that before we go any further, we ought to consult a specialist in this branch of the law. I wonder whether Towkington is at home. He is quite the ablest authority I could name. Greatly as I dislike that modern invention, the telephone, I think it might be advisable to ring him up. Mr. Towkington proved to be at home and at liberty. The case of the greatniece was put to him over the phone. Mr. Towkington, taken at a disadvantage without his authorities, and hazarding an opinion on the spur of the moment, thought that in all probability the greatniece would be excluded from the succession under the new Act. But it was an interesting point, and he would be glad of an opportunity to verify his references. Would not Mr. Murbles come round and talk it over with him? Mr. Murbles explained that he was at that moment dining with two friends who were interested in the question. In that case, would not the two friends also come round and see Mr. Towkington? Towkington has some very excellent port, said Mr. Murbles, in a cautious aside, and clapping his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. Then why not go and try it? said Wimsey, cheerfully. Its only as far as Grays Inn, continued Mr. Murbles. All the better, said Lord Peter. Mr. Murbles released the telephone and thanked Mr. Towkington. The party would start at once for Grays Inn. Mr. Towkington was heard to say, Good, good, in a hearty manner before ringing off. On their arrival at Mr. Towkingtons chambers the oak was found to be hospitably unsported, and almost before they could knock, Mr. Towkington himself flung open the door and greeted them in a loud and cheerful tone. He was a large, square man with a florid face and a harsh voice. In court, he was famous for a way of saying, Come now, as a preface to tying recalcitrant witnesses into tight knots, which he would then proceed to slash open with a brilliant confutation. He knew Wimsey by sight, expressed himself delighted to meet Inspector Parker, and bustled his guests into the room with jovial shouts. Ive been going into this little matter while you were coming along, he said. Awkward, eh? ha! Astonishing thing that people cant say what they mean when they draw Acts, eh? ha! Why do you suppose it is, Lord Peter, eh? ha! Come now! I suspect its because Acts are drawn up by lawyers, said Wimsey with a grin. To make work for themselves, eh? I daresay youre right. Even lawyers must live, eh? ha! Very good. Well now, Murbles, lets just have this case again, in greater detail, dyou mind? Mr. Murbles explained the matter again, displaying the genealogical table and putting forward the point as regards a possible motive for murder. Eh, ha! exclaimed Mr. Towkington, much delighted, thats goodvery goodyour idea, Lord Peter? Very ingenious. Too ingenious. The dock at the Old Bailey is peopled by gentlemen who are too ingenious. Ha! Come to a bad end one of these days, young man. Eh? Yeswell, now, Murbles, the question here turns on the interpretation of the word issueyou grasp that, eh, ha! Yes. Well, you seem to think it means issue ad infinitum. How do you make that out, come now? I didnt say I thought it did; I said I thought it might, remonstrated Mr. Murbles, mildly. The general intention of the Act appears to be to exclude any remote kin where the common ancestor is further back than the grandparentsnot to cut off the descendants of the brothers and sisters. Intention? snapped Mr. Towkington. Im astonished at you, Murbles! The law has nothing to do with good intentions. What does the Act say? It says, To the brothers and sisters of the whole blood and their issue. Now, in the absence of any new definition, I should say that the word is here to be construed as before the Act it was construed on intestacyin so far, at any rate, as it refers to personal property, which I understand the property in question to be, eh? Yes, said Mr. Murbles. Then I dont see that you and your greatniece have a leg to stand oncome now! Excuse me, said Wimsey, but dyou mindI know lay people are awful ignorant nuisancesbut if you would be so good as to explain what the beastly word did or does mean, it would be frightfully helpful, dont you know. Ha! Well, its like this, said Mr. Towkington, graciously. Before 1837 Queen Victoria, I know, said Peter, intelligently. Quite so. At the time when Queen Victoria came to the throne, the word issue had no legal meaningno legal meaning at all. You surprise me! You are too easily surprised, said Mr. Towkington. Many words have no legal meaning. Others have a legal meaning very unlike their ordinary meaning. For example, the word daffydowndilly. It is a criminal libel to call a lawyer a daffydowndilly. Ha! Yes, I advise you never to do such a thing. No, I certainly advise you never to do it. Then again, words which are quite meaningless in your ordinary conversation may have a meaning in law. For instance, I might say to a young man like yourself, You wish to leave suchandsuch property to soandso. And you would very likely reply, Oh, yes, absolutelymeaning nothing in particular by that. But if you were to write in your will, I leave suchandsuch property to soandso absolutely, then that word would bear a definite legal meaning, and would condition your bequest in a certain manner, and might even prove an embarrassment and produce results very far from your actual intentions. Eh, ha! You see? Quite. Very well. Prior to 1837, the word issue meant nothing. A grant to A. and his issue merely gave A. a life estate. Ha! But this was altered by the Wills Act of 1837. As far as a will was concerned, put in Mr. Murbles. Precisely. After 1837, in a will, issue means heirs of the bodythat is to say, issue ad infinitum. In a deed, on the other hand, issue retained its old meaningor lack of meaning, eh, ha! You follow? Yes, said Mr. Murbles, and on intestacy of personal property I am coming to that, said Mr. Towkington. the word issue continued to mean heirs of the body, and that held good till 1926. Stop! said Mr. Towkington, issue of the child or children of the deceased certainly meant issue ad infinitumbutissue of any person not a child of the deceased only meant the child of that person and did not include other descendants. And that undoubtedly held good till 1926. And since the new Act contains no statement to the contrary, I think we must presume that it continues to hold good. Ha! Come now! In the case before us, you observe that the claimant is not the child of the deceased nor issue of the child of the deceased; nor is she the child of the deceaseds sister. She is merely the grandchild of the deceased sister of the deceased. Accordingly, I think she is debarred from inheriting under the new Act, eh? ha! I see your point, said Mr. Murbles. And moreover, went on Mr. Towkington, after 1925, issue in a will or deed does not mean issue ad infinitum. That at least is clearly stated, and the Wills Act of 1837 is revoked on that point. Not that that has any direct bearing on the question. But it may be an indication of the tendency of modern interpretation, and might possibly affect the mind of the court in deciding how the word issue was to be construed for the purposes of the new Act. Well, said Mr. Murbles, I bow to your superior knowledge. In any case, broke in Parker, any uncertainty in the matter would provide as good a motive for murder as the certainty of exclusion from inheritance. If Mary Whittaker only thought she might lose the money in the event of her greataunts surviving into 1926, she might quite well be tempted to polish her off a little earlier, and make sure. Thats true enough, said Mr. Murbles. Shrewd, very shrewd, ha! added Mr. Towkington. But you realise that all this theory of yours depends on Mary Whittakers having known about the new Act and its probable consequences as early as October, 1925, eh, ha! Theres no reason why she shouldnt, said Wimsey. I remember reading an article in the Evening Banner, I think it was, some months earlierabout the time when the Act was having its second reading. Thats what put the thing into my headI was trying to remember all evening where Id seen that thing about washing out the longlost heir, you know. Mary Whittaker may easily have seen it too. Well, shed probably have taken advice about it if she did, said Mr. Murbles. Who is her usual man of affairs? Wimsey shook his head. I dont think shed have asked him, he objected. Not if she was wise, that is. You see, if she did, and he said she probably wouldnt get anything unless Miss Dawson either made a will or died before January, 1926, and if after that the old lady did unexpectedly pop off in October, 1925, wouldnt the solicitorjohnnie feel inclined to ask questions? It wouldnt be safe, dont yknow. I xpect she went to some stranger and asked a few innocent little questions under another name, what? Probably, said Mr. Towkington. You show a remarkable disposition for crime, dont you, eh? Well, if I did go in for it, Id take reasonable precautions, retorted Wimsey.  S wonderful, of course, the tomfool things murderers do do. But I have the highest opinion of Miss Whittakers brains. I bet she covered her tracks pretty well. You dont think Mr. Probyn mentioned the matter, suggested Parker, the time he went down and tried to get Miss Dawson to make her will. I dont, said Wimsey, with energy, but Im pretty certain he tried to explain matters to the old lady, only she was so terrified of the very idea of a will she wouldnt let him get a word in. But I fancy old Probyn was too downy a bird to tell the heir that her only chance of gettin the dollars was to see that her greataunt died off before the Act went through. Would you tell anybody that, Mr. Towkington? Not if I knew it, said that gentleman, grinning. It would be highly undesirable, agreed Mr. Murbles. Anyway, said Wimsey, we can easily find out. Probyns in ItalyI was going to write to him, but perhaps youd better do it, Murbles. And, in the meanwhile, Charles and I will think up a way to find whoever it was that did give Miss Whittaker an opinion on the matter.


Youre not forgetting, I suppose, said Parker, rather dryly, that before pinning down a murder to any particular motive, it is usual to ascertain that a murder has been committed? So far, all we know is that, after a careful postmortem analysis, two qualified doctors have agreed that Miss Dawson died a natural death. I wish you wouldnt keep on saying the same thing, Charles. It bores me so. Its like the Raven never flitting which, as the poet observes, still is sitting, still is sitting, inviting one to heave the pallid bust of Pallas at him and have done with it. You wait till I publish my epochmaking work The Murderers VadeMecum, or 101 Ways of Causing Sudden Death. Thatll show you Im not a man to be trifled with. Oh, well! said Parker. But he saw the Chief Commissioner next morning and reported that he was at last disposed to take the Dawson case seriously. XV Temptation of St. Peter Pierrot Scaramel, I am tempted. Scaramel Always yield to temptation. L. Housuan Prunella As Parker came out from the Chief Commissioners room, he was caught by an officer. Theres been a lady on the phone to you, he said. I told her to ring up at 1030. Its about that now. What name? A Mrs. Forrest. She wouldnt say what she wanted. Odd, thought Parker. His researches in the matter had been so unfruitful that he had practically eliminated Mrs. Forrest from the Gotobed mysterymerely keeping her filed, as it were, in the back of his mind for future reference. It occurred to him, whimsically, that she had at length discovered the absence of one of her wineglasses and was ringing him up in a professional capacity. His conjectures were interrupted by his being called to the telephone to answer Mrs. Forrests call. Is that DetectiveInspector Parker?Im so sorry to trouble you, but could you possibly give me Mr. Templetons address? Templeton? said Parker, momentarily puzzled. Wasnt it Templetonthe gentleman who came with you to see me? Oh, yes, of courseI beg your pardonIthe matter had slipped my memory. Eryou want his address? I have some information which I think he will be glad to hear. Oh, yes. You can speak quite freely to me, you know, Mrs. Forrest. Not quite freely, purred the voice at the other end of the wire, you are rather official, you know. I should prefer just to write to Mr. Templeton privately, and leave it to him to take up with you. I see. Parkers brain worked briskly. It might be inconvenient to have Mrs. Forrest writing to Mr. Templeton at 110A, Piccadilly. The letter might not be delivered. Or, if the lady were to take it into her head to call and discovered that Mr. Templeton was not known to the porter, she might take alarm and bottle up her valuable information. I think, said Parker, I ought not, perhaps, to give you Mr. Templetons address without consulting him. But you could phone him Oh, yes, that would do. Is he in the book? Nobut I can give you his private number. Thank you very much. Youll forgive my bothering you. No trouble at all. And he named Lord Peters number. Having rung off, he waited a moment and then called the number himself. Look here, Wimsey, he said, Ive had a call from Mrs. Forrest. She wants to write to you. I wouldnt give the address, but Ive given her your number, so if she calls and asks for Mr. Templeton, you will remember who you are, wont you? Rightyho! Wonder what the fair lady wants. Its probably occurred to her that she might have told a better story, and she wants to work off a few additions and improvements on you. Then shell probably give herself away. The rough sketch is frequently so much more convincing than the workedup canvas. Quite so. I couldnt get anything out of her myself. No. I expect shes thought it over and decided that its rather unusual to employ Scotland Yard to ferret out the whereabouts of errant husbands. She fancies theres something up, and that Im a nice softheaded imbecile whom she can easily pump in the absence of the official Cerberus. Probably. Well, youll deal with the matter. Im going to make a search for that solicitor. Rather a vague sort of search, isnt it? Well, Ive got an idea which may work out. Ill let you know if I get any results. Mrs. Forrests call duly came through in about twenty minutes time. Mrs. Forrest had changed her mind. Would Mr. Templeton come round and see her that eveningabout 9 oclock, if that was convenient? She had thought the matter over and preferred not to put her information on paper. Mr. Templeton would be very happy to come round. He had no other engagement. It was no inconvenience at all. He begged Mrs. Forrest not to mention it. Would Mr. Templeton be so very good as not to tell anybody about his visit? Mr. Forrest and his sleuths were continually on the watch to get Mrs. Forrest into trouble, and the decree absolute was due to come up in a months time. Any trouble with the Kings Proctor would be positively disastrous. It would be better if Mr. Templeton would come by Underground to Bond Street, and proceed to the flats on foot, so as not to leave a car standing outside the door or put a taxidriver into a position to give testimony against Mrs. Forrest. Mr. Templeton chivalrously promised to obey these directions. Mrs. Forrest was greatly obliged, and would expect him at nine oclock. Bunter! My lord. I am going out tonight. Ive been asked not to say where, so I wont. On the other hand, Ive got a kind of feelin that its unwise to disappear from mortal ken, so to speak. Anything might happen. One might have a stroke, dont you know. So Im going to leave the address in a sealed envelope. If I dont turn up before tomorrow mornin, I shall consider myself absolved from all promises, what? Very good, my lord. And if Im not to be found at that address, there wouldnt be any harm in tryinsay Epping Forest, or Wimbledon Common. Quite so, my lord. By the way, you made the photographs of those fingerprints I brought you some time ago? Oh, yes, my lord. Because possibly Mr. Parker may be wanting them presently for some inquiries he will be making. I quite understand, my lord. Nothing whatever to do with my excursion tonight, you understand. Certainly not, my lord. And now you might bring me Christies catalogue. I shall be attending a sale there and lunching at the club. And, detaching his mind from crime, Lord Peter bent his intellectual and financial powers to outbidding and breaking a ring of dealers, an exercise very congenial to his mischievous spirit. Lord Peter duly fulfilled the conditions imposed upon him, and arrived on foot at the block of flats in South Audley Street. Mrs. Forrest, as before, opened the door to him herself. It was surprising, he considered, that, situated as she was, she appeared to have neither maid nor companion. But then, he supposed, a chaperon, however disarming of suspicion in the eyes of the world, might prove venal. On the whole, Mrs. Forrests principle was a sound one no accomplices. Many transgressors, he reflected, had died because they never knew These simple little rules and few. Mrs. Forrest apologised prettily for the inconvenience to which she was putting Mr. Templeton. But I never know when I am not spied upon, she said. It is sheer spite, you know. Considering how my husband has behaved to me, I think it is monstrousdont you? Her guest agreed that Mr. Forrest must be a monster, Jesuitically, however, reserving the opinion that the monster might be a fabulous one. And now you will be wondering why I have brought you here, went on the lady. Do come and sit on the sofa. Will you have whisky or coffee? Coffee, please. The fact is, said Mrs. Forrest, that Ive had an idea since I saw you. Iyou know, having been much in the same position myself (with a slight laugh) I felt so much for your friends wife. Sylvia, put in Lord Peter with commendable promptitude. Oh, yes. Shocking temper and so on, but possibly some provocation. Yes, yes, quite. Poor woman. Feels thingsextra sensitivehighlystrung and all that, dont you know. Quite so. Mrs. Forrest nodded her fantastically turbanned head. Swathed to the eyebrows in gold tissue, with only two flat crescents of yellow hair plastered over her cheekbones, she looked, in an exotic smokingsuit of embroidered tissue, like a young prince out of the Arabian Nights. Her heavily ringed hands busied themselves with the coffeecups. WellI felt that your inquiries were really serious, you know, and though, as I told you, it had nothing to do with me, I was interested and mentioned the matter in a letter toto my friend, you see, who was with me that night. Just so, said Wimsey, taking the cup from her, yeserthat was veryerit was kind of you to be interested. Hemy friendis abroad at the moment. My letter had to follow him, and I only got his reply today. Mrs. Forrest took a sip or two of coffee as though to clear her recollection. His letter rather surprised me. He reminded me that after dinner he had felt the room rather close, and had opened the sittingroom windowthat window, therewhich overlooks South Audley Street. He noticed a car standing therea small closed one, black or dark blue or some such colour. And while he was looking idly at itthe way one does, you knowhe saw a man and woman come out of this block of flatsnot this door, but one or two along to the leftand get in and drive off. The man was in evening dress and he thought it might have been your friend. Lord Peter, with his coffeecup at his lips, paused and listened with great attention. Was the girl in evening dress, too? Nothat struck my friend particularly. She was in just a plain little dark suit, with a hat on. Lord Peter recalled to mind as nearly as possible Bertha Gotobeds costume. Was this going to be real evidence at last? Ththats very interesting, he stammered. I suppose your friend couldnt give any more exact details of the dress? No, replied Mrs. Forrest, regretfully, but he said the mans arm was round the girl as though she was feeling tired or unwell, and he heard him say, Thats rightthe fresh air will do you good. But youre not drinking your coffee. I beg your pardon Wimsey recalled himself with a start. I was dreaminputtin two and two together, as you might say. So he was along here all the timethe artful beggar. Oh, the coffee. Dyou mind if I put this away and have some without sugar? Im so sorry. Men always seem to take sugar in black coffee. Give it to meIll empty it away. Allow me. There was no slopbasin on the little table, but Wimsey quickly got up and poured the coffee into the windowbox outside. Thats all right. How about another cup for you? Thank youI oughtnt to take it really, it keeps me awake. Just a drop. Oh, well, if you like. She filled both cups and sat sipping quietly. Wellthats all, really, but I thought perhaps I ought to let you know. It was very good of you, said Wimsey. They sat talking a little longerabout plays in Town (I go out very little, you know, its better to keep oneself out of the limelight on these occasions), and books (I adore Michael Arlen). Had she read Young Men in Love yet? Noshe had ordered it from the library. Wouldnt Mr. Templeton have something to eat or drink? Really? A brandy? A liqueur? No, thank you. And Mr. Templeton felt he really ought to be slippin along now. Nodont go yetI get so lonely, these long evenings. There was a desperate kind of appeal in her voice. Lord Peter sat down again. She began a rambling and rather confused story about her friend. She had given up so much for the friend. And now that her divorce was really coming off, she had a terrible feeling that perhaps the friend was not as affectionate as he used to be. It was very difficult for a woman, and life was very hard. And so on. As the minutes passed, Lord Peter became uncomfortably aware that she was watching him. The words tumbled outhurriedly, yet lifelessly, like a set task, but her eyes were the eyes of a person who expects something. Something alarming, he decided, yet something she was determinded to have. It reminded him of a man waiting for an operationkeyed up to itknowing that it will do him goodyet shrinking from it with all his senses. He kept up his end of the fatuous conversation. Behind a barrage of smalltalk, his mind ran quickly to and fro, analysing the position, getting the range  Suddenly he became aware that she was tryingclumsily, stupidly and as though in spite of herselfto get him to make love to her. The fact itself did not strike Wimsey as odd. He was rich enough, wellbred enough, attractive enough and man of the world enough to have received similar invitations fairly often in his thirtyseven years of life. And not always from experienced women. There had been those who sought experience as well as those qualified to bestow it. But so awkward an approach by a woman who admitted to already possessing a husband and a lover was a phenomenon outside his previous knowledge. Moreover, he felt that the thing would be a nuisance. Mrs. Forrest was handsome enough, but she had not a particle of attraction for him. For all her makeup and her somewhat outspoken costume, she struck him as spinsterisheven epicene. That was the thing which puzzled him during their previous interview. Parkera young man of rigid virtue and limited worldly knowledgewas not sensitive to these emanations. But Wimsey had felt her as something essentially sexless, even then. And he felt it even more strongly now. Never had he met a woman in whom the great It, eloquently hymned by Mrs. Elinor Glyn, was so completely lacking. Her bare shoulder was against him now, marking his broadcloth with white patches of powder. Blackmail was the first explanation that occurred to him. The next move would be for the fabulous Mr. Forrest, or someone representing him, to appear suddenly in the doorway, aglow with virtuous wrath and outraged sensibilities. A very pretty little trap, thought Wimsey, adding aloud, Well, I really must be getting along. She caught him by the arm. Dont go. There was no caress in the touchonly a kind of desperation. He thought, If she really made a practice of this, she would do it better. Truly, he said, I oughtnt to stay longer. It wouldnt be safe for you. Ill risk it, she said. A passionate woman might have said it passionately. Or with a brave gaiety. Or challengingly. Or alluringly. Or mysteriously. She said it grimly. Her fingers dug at his arm. Well, damn it all, Ill risk it, thought Wimsey. I must and will know what its all about. Poor little woman. He coaxed into his voice the throaty, fatuous tone of the man who is preparing to make an amorous fool of himself. He felt her body stiffen as he slipped his arm round her, but she gave a little sigh of relief. He pulled her suddenly and violently to him, and kissed her mouth with a practised exaggeration of passion. He knew then. No one who has ever encountered it can ever again mistake that awful shrinking, that uncontrollable revulsion of the flesh against a caress that is nauseous. He thought for a moment that she was going to be actually sick. He released her gently, and stood uphis mind in a whirl, but somehow triumphant. His first instinct had been right, after all. That was very naughty of me, he said, lightly. You made me forget myself. You will forgive me, wont you? She nodded, shaken. And I really must toddle. Its gettin frightfully late and all that. Wheres my hat? Ah, yes, in the hall. Now, goodbye, Mrs. Forrest, an take care of yourself. An thank you ever so much for telling me about what your friend saw. You are really going? She spoke as though she had lost all hope. In Gods name, thought Wimsey, what does she want? Does she suspect that Mr. Templeton is not everything that he seems? Does she want me to stay the night so that she can get a look at the laundrymark on my shirt? Should I suddenly save the situation for her by offering her Lord Peter Wimseys visitingcard? His brain toyed freakishly with the thought as he babbled his way to the door. She let him go without further words. As he stepped into the hall he turned and looked at her. She stood in the middle of the room, watching him, and on her face was such a fury of fear and rage as turned his blood to water. XVI A CastIron Alibi Oh, Sammy, Sammy, why vornt there an alleybi? Pickwick Papers Miss Whittaker and the youngest Miss Findlater had returned from their expedition. Miss Climpson, most faithful of sleuths, and carrying Lord Peters letter of instructions in the pocket of her skirt like a talisman, had asked the youngest Miss Findlater to tea. As a matter of fact, Miss Climpson had become genuinely interested in the girl. Silly affectation and gush, and a parrotrepetition of the shibboleths of the modern school were symptoms that the experienced spinster well understood. They indicated, she thought, a real unhappiness, a real dissatisfaction with the narrowness of life in a country town. And besides this, Miss Climpson felt sure that Vera Findlater was being preyed upon, as she expressed it to herself, by the handsome Mary Whittaker. It would be a mercy for the girl, thought Miss Climpson, if she could form a genuine attachment to a young man. It is natural for a schoolgirl to be schwrmerischin a young woman of twentytwo it is thoroughly undesirable. That Whittaker woman encourages itshe would, of course. She likes to have someone to admire her and run her errands. And she prefers it to be a stupid person, who will not compete with her. If Mary Whittaker were to marry, she would marry a rabbit. (Miss Climpsons active mind quickly conjured up a picture of the rabbitfairhaired and a little paunchy, with a habit of saying, Ill ask the wife. Miss Climpson wondered why Providence saw fit to create such men. For Miss Climpson, men were intended to be masterful, even though wicked or foolish. She was a spinster made and not borna perfectly womanly woman.) But, thought Miss Climpson, Mary Whittaker is not of the marrying sort. She is a professional woman by nature. She has a profession, by the way, but she does not intend to go back to it. Probably nursing demands too much sympathyand one is under the authority of the doctors. Mary Whittaker prefers to control the lives of chicken. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. Dear me! I wonder if it is uncharitable to compare a fellowbeing to Satan. Only in poetry, of courseI daresay that makes it not so bad. At any rate, I am certain that Mary Whittaker is doing Vera Findlater no good. Miss Climpsons guest was very ready to tell about their month in the country. They had toured round at first for a few days, and then they had heard of a delightful poultry farm which was for sale, near Orpington in Kent. So they had gone down to have a look at it, and found that it was to be sold in about a fortnights time. It wouldnt have been wise, of course, to take it over without some inquiries, and by the greatest good fortune they found a dear little cottage to let, furnished, quite close by. So they had taken it for a few weeks, while Miss Whittaker looked round and found out about the state of the poultry business in that district, and so on. They had enjoyed it so, and it was delightful keeping house together, right away from all the silly people at home. Of course, I dont mean you, Miss Climpson. You come from London and are so much more broadminded. But I simply cant stick the Leahampton lot, nor can Mary. It is very delightful, said Miss Climpson, to be free from the conventions, Im sureespecially if one is in company with a kindred spirit. Yesof course Mary and I are tremendous friends, though she is so much cleverer than I am. Its absolutely settled that were to take the farm and run it together. Wont it be wonderful? Wont you find it rather dull and lonelyjust you two girls together? You mustnt forget that youve been accustomed to see quite a lot of young people in Leahampton. Shant you miss the tennisparties, and the young men, and so on? Oh, no! If you only knew what a stupid lot they are! Anyway, Ive no use for men! Miss Findlater tossed her head. They havent got any ideas. And they always look on women as sort of pets or playthings. As if a woman like Mary wasnt worth fifty of them! You should have heard that Markham man the other daytalking politics to Mr. Tredgold, so that nobody could get a word in edgeways, and then saying, Im afraid this is a very dull subject of conversation for you, Miss Whittaker, in his condescending way. Mary said in that quiet way of hers, Oh, I think the subject is anything but dull, Mr. Markham. But he was so stupid, he couldnt even grasp that and said, One doesnt expect ladies to be interested in politics, you know. But perhaps you are one of the modern young ladies who want the flappers vote. Ladies, indeed! Why are men so insufferable when they talk about ladies? I think men are apt to be jealous of women, replied Miss Climpson, thoughtfully, and jealousy does make people rather peevish and illmannered. I suppose that when one would like to despise a set of people and yet has a horrid suspicion that one cant genuinely despise them, it makes one exaggerate ones contempt for them in conversation. That is why, my dear, I am always very careful not to speak sneeringly about meneven though they often deserve it, you know. But if I did, everybody would think I was an envious old maid, wouldnt they? Well, I mean to be an old maid, anyhow, retorted Miss Findlater. Mary and I have quite decided that. Were interested in things, not in men. Youve made a good start at finding out how its going to work, said Miss Climpson. Living with a person for a month is an excellent test. I suppose you had somebody to do the housework for you. Not a soul. We did every bit of it, and it was great fun. Im ever so good at scrubbing floors and laying fires and things, and Marys a simply marvellous cook. It was such a change from having the servants always bothering round like they do at home. Of course, it was quite a modern, laboursaving cottageit belongs to some theatrical people, I think. And what did you do when you werent inquiring into the poultry business? Oh, we ran round in the car and saw places and attended markets. Markets are frightfully amusing, with all the funny old farmers and people. Of course, Id often been to markets before, but Mary made it all so interestingand then, too, we were picking up hints all the time for our own marketing later on. Did you run up to Town at all? No. I should have thought youd have taken the opportunity for a little jaunt. Mary hates Town. I thought you rather enjoyed a run up now and then. Im not keen. Not now. I used to think I was, but I expect that was only the sort of spiritual restlessness one gets when one hasnt an object in life. Theres nothing in it. Miss Findlater spoke with the air of a disillusioned rake, who has sucked lifes orange and found it dead sea fruit. Miss Climpson did not smile. She was accustomed to the role of confidante. So you were togetherjust you twoall the time? Every minute of it. And we werent bored with one another a bit. I hope your experiment will prove very successful, said Miss Climpson. But when you really start on your life together, dont you think it would be wise to arrange for a few breaks in it? A little change of companionship is good for everybody. Ive known so many happy friendships spoilt by people seeing too much of one another. They couldnt have been real friendships, then, asserted the girl, dogmatically. Mary and I are absolutely happy together. Still, said Miss Climpson, if you dont mind an old woman giving you a word of warning, I should be inclined not to keep the bow always bent. Suppose Miss Whittaker, for instance, wanted to go off and have a day in Town on her own, sayor go to stay with friendsyou would have to learn not to mind that. Of course I shouldnt mind. Why she checked herself. I mean, Im quite sure that Mary would be every bit as loyal to me as I am to her. Thats right, said Miss Climpson. The longer I live, my dear, the more certain I become that jealousy is the most fatal of feelings. The Bible calls it cruel as the grave, and Im sure that is so. Absolute loyalty, without jealousy, is the essential thing. Yes. Though naturally one would hate to think that the person one was really friends with was putting another person in ones place  Miss Climpson, you do believe, dont you, that a friendship ought to be fiftyfifty? That is the ideal friendship, I suppose, said Miss Climpson, thoughtfully, but I think it is a very rare thing. Among women, that is. I doubt very much if Ive ever seen an example of it. Men, I believe, find it easier to give and take in that wayprobably because they have so many outside interests. Mens friendshipsoh yes! I know one hears a lot about them. But half the time, I dont believe theyre real friendships at all. Men can go off for years and forget all about their friends. And they dont really confide in one another. Mary and I tell each other all our thoughts and feelings. Men seem just content to think each other good sorts without ever bothering about their inmost selves. Probably thats why their friendships last so well, replied Miss Climpson. They dont make such demands on one another. But a great friendship does make demands, cried Miss Findlater eagerly. Its got to be just everything to one. Its wonderful the way it seems to colour all ones thoughts. Instead of being centred in oneself, ones centred in the other person. Thats what Christian love meansones ready to die for the other person. Well, I dont know, said Miss Climpson. I once heard a sermon about that from a most splendid priestand he said that that kind of love might become idolatry if one wasnt very careful. He said that Miltons remark about Eveyou know, he for God only, she for God in himwas not congruous with Catholic doctrine. One must get the proportions right, and it was out of proportion to see everything through the eyes of another fellowcreature. One must put God first, of course, said Miss Findlater, a little formally. But if the friendship is mutualthat was the pointquite unselfish on both sides, it must be a good thing. Love is always good, when its the right kind, agreed Miss Climpson, but I dont think it ought to be too possessive. One has to train oneself she hesitated, and went on courageouslyand in any case, my dear, I cannot help feeling that it is more naturalmore proper, in a sensefor a man and woman to be all in all to one another than for two persons of the same sex. Erafter all, it is aa fruitful affection, said Miss Climpson, boggling a trifle at this idea, andand all that, you know, and I am sure that when the right man comes along for you Bother the right man! cried Miss Findlater, crossly. I do hate that kind of talk. It makes one feel dreadfullike a prize cow or something. Surely, we have got beyond that point of view in these days. Miss Climpson perceived that she had let her honest zeal outrun her detective discretion. She had lost the goodwill of her informant, and it was better to change the conversation. However, she could assure Lord Peter now of one thing. Whoever the woman was that Mrs. Cropper had seen at Liverpool, it was not Miss Whittaker. The attached Miss Findlater, who had never left her friends side, was sufficient guarantee of that. XVII The Country Lawyers Story And he that gives us in these days new lords may give us new laws. Wither Contented Mans Morrice Letter from Mr. Probyn, retired Solicitor, of Villa Bianca, Fiesole to Mr. Murbles, Solicitor, of Staple Inn. Private and confidential Dear Sir, I was much interested in your letter relative to the death of Miss Agatha Dawson, late of Leahampton, and will do my best to answer your inquiries as briefly as possible, always, of course, on the understanding that all information as to the affairs of my late client will be treated as strictly confidential. I make an exception, of course, in favour of the police officer you mention in connection with the matter. You wish to know (1) whether Miss Agatha Dawson was aware that it might possibly prove necessary, under the provisions of the new Act, for her to make a testamentary disposition, in order to ensure that her greatniece, Miss Mary Whittaker, should inherit her personal property. (2) Whether I ever urged her to make this testamentary disposition and what her reply was. (3) Whether I had made Miss Mary Whittaker aware of the situation in which she might be placed, supposing her greataunt to die intestate later than December 31, 1925. In the course of the Spring of 1925, my attention was called by a learned friend to the ambiguity of the wording of certain clauses in the Act, especially in respect of the failure to define the precise interpretation to be placed on the word Issue. I immediately passed in review the affairs of my various clients, with a view to satisfying myself that the proper dispositions had been made in each case to avoid misunderstanding and litigation in case of intestacy. I at once realised that Miss Whittakers inheritance of Miss Dawsons property entirely depended on the interpretation given to the clauses in question. I was aware that Miss Dawson was extremely averse from making a will, owing to that superstitious dread of decease which we meet with so frequently in our profession. However, I thought it my duty to make her understand the question and to do my utmost to get a will signed. Accordingly, I went down to Leahampton and laid the matter before her. This was on March the 14th, or thereaboutsI am not certain to the precise day. Unhappily, I encountered Miss Dawson at a moment when her opposition to the obnoxious idea of making a will was at its strongest. Her doctor had informed her that a further operation would become necessary in the course of the next few weeks, and I could have selected no more unfortunate occasion for intruding the subject of death upon her mind. She resented any such suggestionthere was a conspiracy, she declared, to frighten her into dying under the operation. It appears that that very tactless practitioner of hers had frightened her with a similar suggestion before her previous operation. But she had come through that and she meant to come through this, if only people would not anger and alarm her. Of course, if she had died under the operation, the whole question would have settled itself and there would have been no need of any will. I pointed out that the very reason why I was anxious for the will to be made was that I fully expected her to live on into the following year, and I explained the provisions of the Act once more, as clearly as I could. She retorted that in that case I had no business to come and trouble her about the question at all. It would be time enough when the Act was passed. Naturally, the fool of a doctor had insisted that she was not to be told what her disease wasthey always doand she was convinced that the next operation would make all right and that she would live for years. When I ventured to insistgiving as my reason that we men of law always preferred to be on the safe and cautious side, she became exceedingly angry with me, and practically ordered me out of the house. A few days afterwards I received a letter from her, complaining of my impertinence, and saying that she could no longer feel any confidence in a person who treated her with such inconsiderate rudeness. At her request, I forwarded all her private papers in my possession to Mr. Hodgson, of Leahampton, and I have not held any communication with any member of the family since that date. This answers your first and second questions. With regard to the third I certainly did not think it proper to inform Miss Whittaker that her inheritance might depend upon her greataunts either making a will or else dying before December 31, 1925.