"Masses."

"I suppose you think you know who killed your grandfather?"

"Well, I think so - but I shall have to find a few more clues." She paused and added, "Chief Inspector Taverner thinks that Brenda did it, doesn't he? Or Brenda and Laurence together because they're in love with each other."

"You shouldn't say things like that,

Josephine."

"Why not? They are in love with each other."

"You can't possibly judge." sfe "Yes, I can. They write to each other.

Love letters."

"Josephine! How do you know that?"

"Because I've read them. Awfully soppy letters. But Laurence is soppy. He was too frightened to fight in the war. He went into basements, and stoked boilers. When the flying bombs went over here, he used to turn green - really green. It made Eustace and me laugh a lot."

What I would have said next, I do not know, for at that moment a car drew up outside. In a flash Josephine was at the window, her snub nose pressed to the pane.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Mr. Gaitskill, grandfather's lawyer.

I expect he's come about the will."

Breathing excitedly, she hurried from the room, doubtless to resume her sleuthing activities.

Magda Leonides came in the room and to my surprise came across to me and took my hands in hers.

"My dear," she said, "thank goodness you're still here. One needs a man so badly."

She dropped my hands, crossed to a i highbacked chair, altered its position a little, glanced at herself in a mirror, then picking up a small Battersea enamel box from a table she stood pensively opening and shutting it.

It was an attractive pose.

Sophia put her head in at the door and said in an admonitory whisper, "Gaitskill!"

"I know," said Magda.

A few moments later, Sophia entered the; room accompanied by a small elderly man, and Magda put down her enamel box and came forward to meet him.

"Good morning, Mrs. Philip. I'm on my way upstairs. It seems there's some misunderstanding about the will. Your husband wrote to me with the impression that the will was in my keeping. I understood from Mr. Leonides himself that it was at his vault. You don't know anything about it, I suppose?"

"About poor Sweetie's will?" Magda opened astonished eyes. "No, of course not. Don't tell me that wicked woman upstairs has destroyed it?"

"Now, Mrs. Philip," he shook an admonitory finger at her. "No wild surmises.

It's just a question of where your father-inlaw kept it."

"But he sent it to you - surely he did - after signing it. He actually told us he had." o "The police, I understand, have been through Mr. Leonides's private papers," said Mr. Gaitskill. "I'll just have a word with Chief Inspector Taverner."

He left the room. g "Darling," cried Magda. "She has destroyed it. I know I'm right."

"Nonsense, mother, she wouldn't do a stupid thing like that."

"It wouldn't be stupid at all. If there's no will she'll get everything."

"Sh - here's Gaitskill back again."

The lawyer re-entered the room. Chief Inspector Taverner was with him and behind Taverner came Philip.

"I understood from Mr. Leonides,"

Gaitskill was saying, "that he had placed his will with the Bank for safe keeping."

Taverner shook his head.

"I've been in communication with the Bank. They have no private papers belonging to Mr. Leonides beyond certain securities which they held for him."

Philip said:

"I wonder if Roger - or Aunt Edith -Perhaps, Sophia, you'd ask them to come down here."

But Roger Leonides, summoned with the others to the conclave, could give no assistance.

"But it's nonsense - absolute nonsense," he declared. "Father signed the will and said distinctly that he was posting it to Mr.

Gaitskill on the following day."

"If my memory serves me," said Mr.

Gaitskill, leaning back and half-closing his eyes, "it was on November 24th of last year that I forwarded a draft drawn up according to Mr. Leonides's instructions. He approved the draft, returned it to me, and in due course I sent him the will for signature.

After a lapse of a week, I ventured to remind him that I had not yet received the will duly signed and attested, and asking him if there was anything he wished altered.

He replied that he was perfectly satisfied and added that after signing the will he had sent it to his Bank."

"That's quite right," said Roger eagerly. "It was about the end of November last year - you remember, Philip? - Father had us all up one evening and read the will to us."

Taverner turned towards Philip Leonides.

"That agrees with your recollection, Mr.Leonides?"

"Yes," said Philip.

"It was rather like the Voysey Inheritance," said Magda. She sighed pleasurably.

"I always think there's something so dramatic about a will." s % "Miss Sophia?"

"Yes," said Sophia. "I remember perfectly." 

"And the provisions of that wiU?" asked Taverner.

Mr. Gaitskill was about to reply in his precise fashion, but Roger Leonides got ahead of him.

"It was a perfectly simple will. Electra and Joyce had died and their shaire of the settlements had returned to father. Joyce's son, William, had been killed in action in Burma, and the money he left went to his father. Philip and I and the children were Ae only relatives left. Father 'explained Aat. He left fifty thousand pounds free of duty to Aunt Edith, a hundred thousand pounds free of duty to Brenda, this house to Brenda or else a suitable house in London to be purchased for her, whichever she preferred. The residue to be divided into three portions, one to myself, one to Philip, i the third to be divided between Sophia, Eustace and Josephine, the portions of the last two to be held in trust until they should come of age. I think that's right, isn't it, Mr. Gaitskill?"

"Those are - roughly stated - the provisions of the document I drew up," agreed Mr. Gaitskill, displaying some slight acerbity at not having been allowed to speak for himself.

"Father read it out to us," said Roger. 

"He asked if there was any comment we might like to make. Of course there was none."

"Brenda made a comment," said Miss de Haviland.

"Yes," said Magda with zest. "She said she couldn't bear her darling old Aristide to talk about death. It 'gave her the creeps', | she said. And after he was dead she didn't want any of the horrid money!"

"That," said Miss de Haviland, "was a conventional protest, typical of her class."

It was a cruel and biting little remark. I realised suddenly how much Edith de Haviland disliked Brenda.

"A very fair and reasonable disposal of his estate," said Mr. Gaitskill.

"And after reading it what happened?" asked Inspector Taverner.

"After reading it," said Roger, "he signed it."

Taverner leaned forward.

"Just how and when did he sign it?"

Roger looked round at his wife in an appealing way. Clemency spoke in answer to that look. The rest of the family seemed content for her to do so. % "You want to know exactly what took place?"

"If you please, Mrs. Roger."

"My father-in-law laid the will down on his desk and requested one of us - Roger, I think - to ring the bell. Roger did so.

When Johnson came in answer to the bell, my father-in-law requested him to fetch Janet Woolmer, the parlourmaid. When they were both there, he signed the will and requested them to sign their own names beneath his signature."

"The correct procedure," said Mr. Gaitskill.

"A will must be signed by the testator in the presence of two witnesses who must affix their own signatures at the same time and place."

"And after that?" asked Taverner.

"My father-in-law thanked them, and they went out. My father-in-law picked up the will 5 put it in a long envelope and mentioned that he would send it to Mr.

Gaitskill on the following day."

"You all agree," said Inspector Taverner, looking round, "that this is an accurate account of what happened?"

There were murmurs of agreement.

"The will was on the desk, you said.

How near were any of you to that desk?"

"Not very near. Five or six yards, perhaps, would be the nearest."

"When Mr. Leonides read you the will was he himself sitting at the desk?"

"Yes.".

"Did he get up, or leave the desk, after reading the will and before signing it?"

"No."

"Could the servants read the document when they signed their names?"

"No," said Clemency. "My father-in-law placed a sheet of paper across the upper part of the document."

"Quite properly," said Philip. "The contents of the will were no business of the servants."

"I see," said Taverner. "At least - I don't see."

With a brisk movement he produced a long envelope and leaned forward to hand it to the lawyer.

"Have a look at that," he said. "And tell me what it is."

Mr. Gaitskill drew a folded document out of the envelope. He looked at it with lively astonishment, turning it round and round in his hands.

"This," he said, "is somewhat surprising.

I do not understand it at all. Where was this, if I may ask?"

"In the safe, amongst Mr. Leonides's other papers."

"But what is it?" demanded Roger.

"What's all the fuss about?"

"This is the will I prepared for your father's signature, Roger - but - I can't understand it after what you have all said - it is not signed."

"What? Well, I suppose it is just a draft."

"No," said the lawyer. "Mr. Leonides returned me the original draft. I then drew up the will - this will," he tapped it with his finger, "and sent it to him for signature.

According to your evidence he signed the will in front of you all - and the two witnesses also appended their signatures - and yet this will is unsigned."

"But that's impossible," exclaimed Philip Leonides, speaking with more animation than I had yet heard from him.