“Well, I don’t know,” said Miss Climpson. “I once heard a sermon about that from a most splendid priest- and he said that that kind of love might become idolatry if one wasn’t very careful. He said that Milton ’s remark about Eve- you know, ‘he for God only, she for God in him’- was 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 fellow-creature.”

“One must put God first, of course,” said Miss Findlater, a little formally. “But if the friendship is mutual- that was the point- quite unselfish on both sides, it must be a good thing.”

“Love is always good, when it’s the right kind,” agreed Miss Climpson, “but I don’t think it ought to be too possessive. One has to train oneself- ” she hesitated, and went on courageously- “and in any case, my dear, I can’t help feeling that it is more natural- more proper, in a sense- for a man and a woman to be all in all to one another than for two persons of the same sex. Er- after all, it is a- a fruitful affection,” said Miss Climpson, boggling a trifle at this idea, “and- and all that, you know, and I am sure that when the right MAN come along for you- ”

“Bother the right man!” cried Miss Findlater crossly. “I do hate that kind of talk. It makes one feel dreadful- like 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 friend’s side, was sufficient guarantee of that.

Chapter 17 The Country Lawyer’s Story

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 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, to make a testamentary disposition in order to ensure that her great-niece, 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 great-aunt 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 proper dispositions had been made in each case to avoid misunderstanding and litigation in case of intestacy. I at once realised that Miss Whittaker’s inheritance of Miss Dawson’s 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 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 to Leahampton and laid the matter before her. This was on March 14th, or thereabouts- I 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 suggestion- there 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 passed.

“Naturally, the fool of a doctor insisted that she was not to be told what her disease was- they always do- and she was convinced that the next operation would make all right and that she would live for years. When I ventured to insist- giving 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, 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 great-aunt’s either making a will or else dying before December 31, 1925. While I know nothing to the young lady’s disadvantage, I have always held it inadvisable that persons should know too exactly how much they stand to gain by the unexpected decease of other persons. In case of any unforeseen accident, they may find themselves in an equivocal position, where the fact of possessing such knowledge might- if made public- be highly prejudicial to their interests. The most I thought it proper to say was that if at any time Miss Dawson should express a wish to see me, I should like to be sent for without delay. Of course, the withdrawal of Miss Dawson’s affairs from my hands put it out of my power to interfere any further.

“In October, 1925, feeling that my health was not what it had been, I retired from business and came to Italy. In this country the English papers do not always arrive regularly, and I missed the announcement of Miss Dawson’s death. That it should have occurred so suddenly and under circumstances somewhat mysterious, is certainly interesting.

“You say further that you would be glad of my opinion on Miss Agatha Dawson’s mental condition at the time when I last saw her. It was perfectly clear and competent-in so far as she was ever competent with business. She was in no way gifted to grapple with legal problems, and I had extreme difficulty in getting her to understand what the trouble was with regard to the Property Act. Having been brought up all her life to the idea that property went of right to the next of kin, she found it inconceivable that this state of things should ever alter. She assured me that the law would never permit the Government to pass such an Act. When I had reluctantly persuaded her that it would, she was quite sure that no court would be wicked enough to interpret the Act so as to give the money to anybody but Miss Whittaker, when she was clearly the proper person to have it. ‘Why should the Duchy of Lancaster have any rights to it?’ she kept on saying. ‘I don’t even know the Duke of Lancaster.’ She was not a particularly sensible woman, and in the end I was not at all sure that I had made her comprehend the situation- quite apart from the dislike she had of pursuing the subject. However, there is no doubt that she was then quite compos mentis. My reason for urging her to make the will before her final operation was, of course, that I feared she might subsequently lose the use of her faculties, or- which comes to the same thing from a business point of view- have to be kept continually under the influence of opiates.