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  ‘Young puppy, infernal young puppy,’ Sir Christopher snarled. ‘Did you hear that?– like his insolence. He meant he was engaged because he knows Jennie’s going to the Amherst ball and he’s going, too. Does the young fool think I’ll ever let her marry him?’

  CHAPTER 2

  THE NEW WILL

  Marsden judged it prudent to make no answer to this question, especially as it was evident that Sir Christopher did not expect one. That Peter had met Miss Jennie two or three times and had been duly smitten by her fresh young beauty, Marsden already knew. He had even heard that Miss Jennie seemed inclined to show his good-looking young partner rather more favour than as a rule she bestowed on the eager youths who dangled in her train. But obviously the idea of a marriage between the young solicitor, only just admitted to practise, and the daughter of a man of Sir Christopher’s wealth and standing – and ambition – was not one to be taken seriously. Very certainly Sir Christopher entertained quite other views for the disposal of his daughter’s hand. Indeed, Sir Christopher’s frowning brows and angry eyes told plainly how he regarded this project that he evidently knew the young lawyer had been rash enough and foolish enough to entertain.

  But without saying anything more he drew the Belfort Trust documents towards him. Marsden had everything in order, everything clear and simple, and Sir Christopher was soon satisfied. The list of securities was checked and given back to Marsden, and the securities themselves, and the other documents, Sir Christopher thrust into his dispatch case, all ready for the inspection of old Mr Belfort that evening.

  ‘Nothing Belfort can find to grumble at there,’ he said. ‘If he wants to realize I shan’t object and it could be done at once – everything realizable at short notice. Now get my will. I’ll destroy it at once and I’ll give you instructions for a new one.’

  ‘I’ll go and get it myself,’ Marsden said.

  It was kept in the strong room in the basement and Marsden was absent a few minutes. When he returned, he was surprised to find Sir Christopher had picked up the torn pieces of the theatre tickets and had put them together on the table before him. With so strange an intensity was he staring at them, as though they concealed some secret his angry and determined eyes were resolute to discover, that at first he did not hear Marsden re-enter the room. But when Marsden spoke, once again with that same angry gesture he had used before, he swept the tickets to the floor, almost as though defying them to do their worst.

  ‘Got it?’ he asked, holding out his hand for the will. ‘Humph, good many years since this was drawn up. Half to Jennie, half to Brenda.’ He looked up in his fierce, abrupt way, as if expecting a challenge and eager to reply to it. ‘Brenda’s nothing to complain of,’ he declared, almost with defiance. ‘Not everyone would leave his money equally between his own daughter and a stepdaughter, eh?’

  ‘I must say I thought it very generous to Miss Laing,’ agreed Marsden, who was far indeed from any intention of challenging anything whatever the firm’s most important client chose to say.

  ‘Bound to provide for her, of course,’ Sir Christopher went on. ‘But equal shares – that shows I meant to do the right thing. Different now she’s getting married, though.’

  ‘Shall I take your instructions, Sir Christopher?’ Marsden asked.

  ‘You know Brenda’s engaged to Mark Lester?’ continued Sir Christopher. ‘Clever young fellow, Mark, and has a very good post with Baily’s; his mother’s some relation of Mrs Baily. Excellent prospects. He writes poetry and plays and stuff, too, I’m told, and of course there’s not much harm in that so long as he keeps it just as a hobby – might make some money too, perhaps, you never know. Very much in love with Brenda, apparently.’

  ‘I heard something about it,’ Marsden answered cautiously, not quite sure yet how Sir Christopher viewed the engagement, but very certain that anyhow Miss Jennie would never have been permitted to engage herself to this young City clerk with literary tastes, however promising his prospects might be.

  Rumour, indeed, said that Sir Christopher had done all in his power to bring their engagement about, so much so that it had been hinted he was anxious to be rid of his stepdaughter and for that reason was marrying her off to the first man he could find. But even if that were so, and he had rather imposed a husband upon Brenda than allowed her to choose for herself, at any rate she had seemed willing enough and no reasonable objection could be taken to Lester, who was a presentable young fellow with a career before him and good prospects. And then perhaps it was not altogether unnatural that Sir Christopher should wish to see his own daughter, now that she was of age, taking over the management of his house. Up to now, by virtue of her seven years’ seniority, and also possibly by reason of her more forceful character, the household reins had been quite naturally in Brenda’s hands, though that had never caused any disagreement or jealousy between the two girls. Jennie had never found anything to question in an arrangement that had always seemed to her the obvious one, and indeed, ever since her early childhood, when their mother had died, had been accustomed to look up to her big sister for help and sympathy, almost as to a second mother.

  ‘Everything to Jennie, this time,’ Sir Christopher said in his gruff, abrupt way. ‘The same executors, the same legacies, otherwise everything to Jennie for her sole use and benefit.’

  ‘But – Miss Laing?’ Marsden said, hesitatingly, not quite sure whether Sir Christopher had not forgotten her.

  ‘Just say,’ directed Sir Christopher, ‘that I have already provided for her in another way. I told her this morning what I meant to do for her – some people would have thought it generous. Anyhow, she knows. We’ll attend to that afterwards. At present, everything to Jennie – provided, provided,’ repeated Sir Christopher slowly, * that at my death she is unmarried. Make that clear. Everything to her if she is unmarried. If she is married, then – then everything to the King Edward Hospital Fund. Have I got to say it again?’ he barked suddenly, as Marsden sat and stared, very much astonished at so unexpected a conclusion.

  ‘No, no, I quite understand,’ he said hurriedly now. ‘Everything to Miss Jennie, provided she is unmarried. If she is married, everything to the King Edward Hospital Fund. A clause to say Miss Laing is otherwise provided for. All smaller legacies and everything else to stand.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Sir Christopher. ‘Now draw up a deed of gift or settlement or whatever you call it transferring to Brenda the whole of my holding in the three and a half per cent War Loan–’

  ‘The whole of it?’ asked Marsden, more and more surprised at arrangements that seemed to him more and more eccentric.

  ‘Forty thousand, isn’t it?’ asked Sir Christopher.

  ‘A very large sum,’ commented Marsden.

  ‘No one shall say I didn’t do my duty by her,’ declared Sir Christopher, getting to his feet.

  ‘The money is to be settled on her absolutely?’ Marsden asked.

  ‘Absolutely, for her sole use and benefit,’ Sir Christopher replied. ‘For her to play drakes and ducks with, if she wants to. I shall consider my responsibility to her fully discharged.’

  ‘Very generously discharged indeed,’ murmured Marsden; and indeed was inclined to think it a generosity almost excessive.

  ‘No one shall be able to say she’s anything to complain of,’ Sir Christopher repeated.

  He went across to the empty grate, and there, striking a match, put light to the old will and watched carefully to see that it was entirely destroyed. When the last little flame had flickered out, and the thing was utterly consumed, he collected hat, umbrella, gloves, nodded a good-bye to Marsden, and then, just as he was in the act of going out, he said:

  ‘Oh, by the way, let young Carsley help you draw up the new will. He may as well know about it.’

  With that he went off and Marsden whistled softly to himself.

  ‘That’s that,’ he mused, ‘and that explains the will – puts a spoke in Mr Peter’s wheel very effectively indeed. Anyone w
ho marries Miss Jennie now marries a pauper, unless and until the old man makes another will, which of course is what he’ll do as soon as he gets her safely off to someone he approves of. Meanwhile, checkmate to Mr Peter. But I wonder what’s making him so generous to the other girl? Jolly queer, not like him a bit; not many people, anyhow, would make marriage settlements on such a scale for a stepdaughter. Forty thousand in the three and a half per cents is a jolly nice wedding present.’

  He went to the door and called to his young partner. ‘Old Clarke’s been giving me instructions for a fresh will,’ he said. ‘Everything to the Jennie girl, unless she is married at his death. If she is married, everything to charity. He specially mentioned that I was to tell you.’

  There was a faint, malicious smile on Marsden’s lips as he said this, and for a moment or two Peter made no reply. Then he said slowly and deliberately:

  ‘We rather expected something of the sort.’

  ‘Who is “we”?’ demanded Marsden.

  ‘Jennie and I,’ Peter answered. ‘You see, we were married three weeks ago.’

  ‘What?’ shouted Marsden. ‘What?’

  But Peter did not think it necessary to repeat what he had said.

  ‘Good Lord!’ said Marsden, slowly taking it in. ‘Does he know?’

  ‘I don’t suppose he knows,’ Peter answered. ‘I expect he has some idea.’

  ‘Well, I’m blessed,’ said Marsden, coming into the room and sitting down. ‘You young fool, you’ve done it now – the girl won’t get a penny.’

  Peter said nothing, and Marsden sat staring and thinking till another and startling idea came to him.

  ‘Good Lord!’ he cried, ‘ten to one he’ll take it out of the firm – he’ll ruin the firm for this. You fool, you’ve done me in, too.’

  ‘I thought of that,’ answered Peter calmly, ‘so I’ll get out. You can tell him you’ve given me the sack, if you like. That’ll calm him down as far as you’re concerned. My wife’ – he flushed crimson, the words were still new to him, still wonderful and lovely – ‘my wife and I talked it all over. We expected something like this. That is one reason why we thought it better to get married privately – that can’t be undone, and Sir Christopher can do what he likes, but he can’t undo our marriage, so it will be no good his trying to bully Jennie. There’s no telling what he mightn’t have been up to before, but now he can’t do anything. But very likely he would try to get at me and perhaps at you as well, if I was still here. So I’ll get out. I shan’t be sorry to chuck the job, anyhow. I’m no good at it, and never shall be. I should never make a lawyer and don’t want to, either. I’ve talked it over with Willy Simmonds. He’s willing to buy me out and come in with you. It’ll be a good thing for you, he’s a jolly smart chap and he has lots of experience and a fair practice already.’

  Marsden had become very pale. He said nothing, but his expression had become so strange that Peter was quite alarmed.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said. ‘I thought you would jump at the idea. You will get a clever brainy fellow as partner instead of a duffer at the job like me – you were cursing heaven only yesterday for having landed you with me for a partner. Simmonds is coming along to see you any time you like – what’s the matter? You don’t object to Simmonds, do you? You told me yourself last week you wished to the Lord you had someone like him to work with.’

  ‘You fool – you fool – you infernal fool,’ Marsden stammered, ‘you’ve ruined me and yourself, too.’

  ‘What on earth–?’ began Peter, but Marsden jumped to his feet in a fury.

  ‘You fool,’ he almost screamed, ‘you may as well know now, you would have sooner or later. There’s a deficiency of Lord knows how much – I don’t. I had to take money where I could get it to make up the Belfort Trust. I was afraid old Clarke would spot something was wrong, but I suppose as long as the totals were right, he didn’t care. I’ve had to take money from half a dozen other accounts and do you suppose Simmonds will buy without finding that out, and when he does–’

  He left the sentence unfinished, and Peter tried hard to understand, but found it difficult.

  ‘Do you mean,’ he said in a whisper, in a low, awestricken whisper. ‘Embezzlement?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what the courts would call it, I suppose,’ Marsden answered, laughing harshly. ‘I could have put the money back in time, I always have till now. It’s that Belfort Trust upset me – once I could get that back I should be all right. I could use it and carry on till I had got things square again, but now, you fool, you utter fool, you’ve ruined everything. If you stay with the firm Sir Christopher will smash it; and you can’t sell out and clear out – you’ve nothing to sell except your share in a bankrupt swindle.’

  CHAPTER 3

  MURDER

  Early that same evening, about the time when the great, daily tide of humanity ebbs from work to home, Police-Constable Robert Owen, B.A. (Oxon) – a pass degree only – took shelter from a light passing shower under one of the tall cedars that grew on either side of the gate admitting to the imposing Hampstead residence of Sir Christopher Clarke. The wide stretching arms of the trees, reaching out over the roadway, protected him well enough from the rain as he waited for his sergeant, who, in the ordinary routine, was due soon to meet him thereabouts.

  As yet there was no sign of him, and, stifling a yawn, Bobby Owen reflected that a policeman’s lot, whether happy or not, was at any rate sufficiently dull. During the three years he had spent in the force his most exciting experiences had been escorting old ladies across the road and satisfying the insatiable thirst of children for the right time. Of course his luck had been atrociously bad. Any little turn up with Communists blazing to overthrow civilization, or with Irish more modestly content with the destruction of the British Empire, always took place when he was off duty. Smash and grab raids never happened on his beat, no burglar ever troubled his tranquillity, even motorists themselves seemed to suffer from an epidemic of good behaviour when he was near. Indeed Bobby was almost reduced to wishing that when, on coming down from Oxford, he had found a world with but scanty openings to offer to young University graduates with only pass degrees, he had decided to join the army instead of choosing the police – even though an army in peace time had always seemed to him the last word in futility.

  Of course, his athletic record was good enough to have secured him a post on the staff of almost any school in the land, except the few where the standard is so high that besides the necessary athletics, some scholarship also is demanded. But towards the teaching profession he felt no attraction whatever – quite the reverse, indeed – and an offer of a post in the haberdashery department, known as ‘habys’, in one of the great London stores he had also declined in spite of the alluring prospect it held out of becoming in due course a super-Selfridge, of out-harroding Harrods, of aiding the flag of Kensington High Street to blaze yet more terrific through the advertisement columns of all the papers in the country.

  So here he was in the police, very bored, and uncomfortably aware that he was not in too good odour with his superiors. For as soon as they realized that he was an old St George’s College man, he had been selected for night club work, and to that job he had shown his dislike so plainly that he had been at once shot out to Hampstead, there to be engaged on ordinary patrol duty. Not that his superiors really minded much, for there is no lack of good-looking young constables who can wear evening dress as though midnight had never seen them in any other attire, and who are perfectly prepared to spend a fiver of their country’s money on bad champagne and worse whisky. But all the same neither in ‘The Force’ nor anywhere else is it wise for the ambitious to get a reputation for being ‘difficult’.

  So Bobby was not only a little bored, but also a little depressed, as he sheltered outside ‘The Cedars’, and waited for the sergeant who did not come. Indeed, no living creature was in sight till down the drive from the house pattered an elderly man whose air of bland dignity, of grave respo
nsibility, stamped him instantly as either a bishop or a butler, the lack of gaiters on his nether limbs however tipping the scales of probability in favour of the second alternative.

  He had on a mackintosh, carried an umbrella, and was evidently on his way to the post, for he carried two or three letters in his hand. Seeing Bobby, he stopped and commented gravely on the deplorable weather. Constables on duty are warned against entering into conversation with strangers, but also it is prudent for them to be acquainted as far as possible with the domestic staffs of the neighbourhood. For it is surprising how many interesting and occasionally curious events the apparently humdrum lives of butler and maid are brought into contact with.

  So Bobby responded genially, learnt that the stranger was butler at ‘The Cedars’ and was named Lewis, and that he was on the way to post these letters himself, because ‘one of them was of some importance, being no other than Mr Lewis’s instructions to his turf agent with regard to backing a certain double at the race meeting beginning the next day. Being informed what this double was, Bobby gave it as his considered opinion that the choice was a good one and might well come off.

  For Bobby was an expert on the form of race-horses, that is to say, he read every day the pronouncements, equally authoritative and contradictory, of Captain Go, Major Know, and ‘The Spotter’, and, having done so, selected when possible a horse none of the three had mentioned. In this way he had brought off some remarkable coups, and had the reputation of knowing a lot, so much so, indeed, that even an inspector had been known to ask him for a tip. Not that Bobby took any real interest in racing, but in police work it is sometimes necessary to open conversations with strangers or to win the confidence of reluctant witnesses, and for both purposes a brief discussion on the prospects of tomorrow’s three-thirty is the best possible introduction. Indeed it is quite certain that any observation on this subject is more likely to draw a prompt and instructed reply from any Englishman anywhere than is any other imaginable remark.