“Hear, hear,” said Parker, with emphasis, “not to mention that we had to sit through a lot of moral punk by the Coroner, about the prevalence of jazz and the immoral behaviour of modern girls in going off alone with young men to Epping Forest.”

“It’s a pity these busy-bodies can’t had up for libel. Never mind. We’ll get the Whittaker woman yet.”

“Always provided it was the Whittaker woman. After all, Mrs. Cropper may have been mistaken. Lots of people do change their hats in cloak-rooms without criminal intention.”

“Oh, of course. Miss Whittaker’s supposed to be in the country with Miss Findlater, isn’t she? We’ll get the invaluable Miss Climpson to pump the girl when they turn up again. Meanwhile; what do you think of Mrs. Cropper’s storyt?”

“There’s no doubt about what happened there. Miss Whittaker was trying to get the old lady to sign a will without knowing it. She gave it to her all mixed up with income-tax papers, hoping she’d put here name to it without reading it. It must have been a will, I think, because that’s the only document I know of which is invalid unless it’s witnessed by two persons in the presence of the testatrix and of each other.”

“Exactly. And since Miss Whittaker couldn’t be one of the witnesses herself, but had to get the two maids to sign, the will must have been in Miss Whittaker’s favour.”

“Obviously. She wouldn’t go to all that trouble to disinherit herself.”

“But that brings us to another difficulty. Miss Whittaker, as next of kin, would have taken all the old lady had to leave in any case. As a matter of fact, she did. Why bother about a will?”

“Perhaps, as we said before, she was afraid Miss Dawson would change her mind, and wanted to get a will made out before- no, that won’t work.”

“No- because, anyhow, any will made later would invalidate the first will. Besides, the old lady sent for her solicitor some time later, and Miss Whittaker put no obstacle of any kind in her way.”

“According to Nurse Forbes, she was particularly anxious that every facility should be given.”

“Seeing how Miss Dawson distrusted her niece, it’s a bit surprising, really, that she didn’t will the money away. Then it would have been to Miss Whittaker’s advantage to keep her alive as long as possible.”

“I don’t suppose she really distrusted her- not to the extent of expecting to be made away with. She was excited and said more than she meant- we often do.”

“Yes, but she evidently thought there’d be other attempts to get a will signed.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Don’t you remember the power of attorney? The old girl evidently thought that out and decided to give Miss Whittaker authority to sign everything for her so that there couldn’t possibly be any jiggery-pokery about papers in future.”

“Of course. Cute old lady. How irritating for Miss Whittaker. And after that very hopeful visit of the solicitor, too. So disappointing. Instead of the expected will, a very carefully planted spoke in her wheel.”

“Yes. But we’re still brought up against the problem, why a will at all?”

“So we are.”

The two men pulled at their pipes for some time in silence.

“The aunt evidently intended the money to go to Mary Whittaker all right,” remarked Parker at last. “She promised it so often- besides, I daresay she was a just-minded old thing, and remembered that it was really Whittaker money which had come to her over the head of the Rev. Charles, or whatever his name was.”

“That’s so. Well, there’s only one thing that could prevent that happening, and that’s-oh, lord! old son. Do you know what it works out at?- The old, old story, beloved of novelists- the missing heir!”

“Good lord yes, you’re right. Damn it all, what fools we were not to think of it before. Mary Whittaker possibly found out that there was some nearer relative left, who would scoop the lot. Maybe she was afraid that if Miss Dawson got to know about it, she’d divide the money or disinherit Mary altogether. Or perhaps she just despaired of hammering the story into the old lady’s head, and so hit on the idea of getting her to make the will unbeknownst to herself in Mary’s favour.”

“What a brain you’ve got, Charles, see here, Miss Dawson may have known all about it, sly old thing, and determined to pay Miss Whittaker out for her indecent urgency in the matter of will-makin’ by just dyin’ intestate in the other chappie’s favour.”

“If she did, she deserved anything she got,” said Parker, rather viciously. “After taking the poor girl away from her job under promise of leaving her the dibs.”

“Teach the young woman not to be so mercenary,” retorted Wimsey, with the cheerful brutality of the man who has never in his life been short of money.

“If this bright idea is correct,” said Parker, “it rather messes up your murder theory, doesn’t it? Because Mary would obviously take the line of keeping her aunt alive as long as possible, in hopes she might make a will after all.”

“That’s true. Curse you, Charles, I see that bet of mine going west. What a blow for friend Carr, too. I did hope I was going to vindicate him and have him played home by the village band under a triumphal arch with ‘Welcome, Champion of Truth!’ picked out in red-white-and-blue electric bulbs. Never mind. It’s better to lose a wager and see the light than walk in ignorance bloated with gold. -Or stop!- why shouldn’t Carr be right after all? Perhaps it’s just my choice of a murderer that’s wrong. Aha! I see a new and even more sinister villain step upon the scene. The new claimant, warned by his minion-”

“What minions?”

“Oh, don’t be so pernickety, Charles, Nurse Forbes, probably. I shouldn’t wonder if she’s in his pay. Where was I? I wish you wouldn’t interrupt.”

“Warned by his minions-” prompted Parker.

“Oh yes- warned by his minions that Miss Dawson is hob-nobbing with solicitors and being tempted into making wills and things, gets the said minions to polish her off before she can do any mischief.”

“Yes, but how?”

“Oh, by one of those native poisons which slay in a split second and defy the skill of the analyst. They are familiar to the meanest writer of mystery stories. I’m not going to let a trifle like that stand in my way.”

“And why hasn’t this hypothetical gentleman brought forward any claim to the property so far?”

“He’s biding his time. The fuss about the death scared him, and he’s lying low till it’s all blown over.”

“He’ll find it much more awkward to dispossess Miss Whittaker now she’s taken possession. Possession is nine points of the law, you know.”

“I know, but he’s going to pretend he wasn’t anywhere near at the time of Miss Dawson’s death. He only read about it a few weeks ago in a sheet of newspaper wrapped round a salmon-tin, and now he’s rushing home from his distant farm in thing-ma-jig to proclaim himself as the long-lost Cousin Tom… Great Scott! that reminds me.”

He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a letter.

“This came this morning just as I was going out and I met Freddy Arbuthnot on the doorstep and shoved it into my pocket before I’d read it properly. But I do believe there was something in it about a Cousin Somebody from some godforsaken spot. Let’s see.”

He unfolded the letter, which was in Miss Climpson’s old-fashioned flowing hand, and ornamented with such a variety of underlinings and exclamation marks as to look like an exercise in musical notation.

“Oh, lord!” said Parker.

“Yes, it’s worse than usual, isn’t it?- it must be of desperate importance. Luckily, it’s comparatively short.”

“MY DEAR LORD PETER,

“I heard something this morning which MAY be of use, so I HASTEN communicate it!! You remember I mentioned before that Mrs. Budge’s maid is the SISTER of the present maid at Miss Whittaker’s? WELL!!! The AUNT of these two girls came to pay a visit to Mrs Budge’s girl this afternoon, and was introduced to me- of course, as a boarder at Mrs. Budge’s I am naturally an object of local interest- and, bearing your instructions in mind, I encourage this to an extent I should not otherwise do!!