“Quite so,” responded Holmes, “as I confirmed for myself from the records. He could not, therefore, have interfered personally with your grandfather’s will. But he could, of course, have bribed another to do so, especially if that other was someone he had known well for nearly twenty years.”

Boldero stopped abruptly and turned to Holmes.

“Is such a thing conceivable?” said he.

“Betrayal of his client’s implicit trust is the very worst crime a lawyer can commit,” said Holmes. “Regrettably, however, it is not unknown. But come, we must make haste, for it looks as if we are in for a heavy downpour!”

I glanced up at the sky as we hurried on. The clouds had built up into a single, dark grey mass, and the wind was colder than before. After a moment, Holmes continued his account:

“I was quickly able to establish that Baker was still in practice, and with the same firm, so I called round at their chambers late this morning. Baker is an elderly man, grey, wrinkled and distinguished in appearance, and his manner towards me was at first extremely supercilious.

“‘I understand from this note on your card that you consider your business to be both urgent and personal,’ said he in a peevish tone, ‘but I do not know you.’

“‘You know, at least, the man I represent,’ I returned: ‘Mr Simon Boldero.’

“At the mention of this name, the old man’s face lost what little colour it possessed, his jaw sagged and he appeared in an instant to have aged ten years.

“‘I have been expecting him for some time,’ said he eventually in a weak voice. ‘Has something prevented his coming in person?’

“‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘but I am acting for him in the matter.’

“‘I have had a long and honourable career,’ said he in a broken, defeated voice, ‘and had every hope of a respected retirement, but Mr Boldero found evidence of the one moral lapse of my life.’

“‘The business of his grandfather’s will is a very serious matter indeed,’ said I in a grave voice. Of course, I knew practically nothing of the matter, but if you have ever played cards, you will know that it is sometimes possible to give the impression that your hand is stronger than it really is.

“Baker nodded his head sorrowfully. ‘And now what is to be done about it?’ said he. ‘As you are probably aware, the will I executed after old Daniel Boldero’s death was one he made in a moment of stubborn anger, following a quarrel with his son, Enoch, who was Simon’s father. He soon repented of it, however, and before a month had passed he made a fresh, more equitable will, by which all his property passed to Enoch, as he had originally intended.’

“‘That was the will that Silas Boldero bribed you to destroy,’ I ventured.

“Again he nodded. ‘I was not a wealthy man, and he offered me a thousand pounds if I would do it. Many men would have been tempted.’

“‘And many men would have resisted that temptation. So you destroyed the will.’

“‘No, no!’ he cried in surprise, eyeing me with suspicion. ‘Was that not made clear to you? I could not do it! All my professional training – everything I held dear – rebelled at the thought of destroying a legal document! Instead, I concealed it where no one might find it, and after Daniel Boldero’s death, so far as the world knew, it had never existed. Of course, I have often regretted it bitterly, but what could I do?’

“‘You could have told the truth.’ At this he fell silent, his head in his hands. ‘You must do exactly what Mr Simon Boldero proposed,’ I continued, feeling that my position was now a strong one. ‘It is your only chance.’

“‘Mr Boldero was, I must say, surprisingly magnanimous considering the circumstances,’ Baker remarked after a moment. ‘He said – bless his kindness! – that he would rather there was no scandal, for the sake of the family. I gave him the will, and he said he would confront Silas with it and try to come to some arrangement with him. If Silas was amenable, then the whole matter could be dealt with privately and the world need never know of it, but if Silas refused to meet Simon’s terms, he would, he said, lay the matter before the authorities. This would, I need hardly add, mean ruin and disgrace for me. When Mr Boldero did not keep the appointment he had made with me, I feared the worst. But it seems, now that you are here, that everything will be all right.’

“‘I am afraid not,’ said I. ‘It has now become a capital matter. Simon Boldero has disappeared, and all the evidence suggests that he has been done to death by Silas.’ At this, the old man’s lips turned white and I feared he would have a seizure. I waited a moment before continuing. ‘As a party to the original conspiracy, and having seen Boldero recently and perhaps, for all anyone knows to the contrary, having deliberately sent him to his death at his cousin’s house, you will of course be charged as an accomplice to this murder—’

“‘No, no!’ he cried feebly. ‘I knew nothing of this, as Heaven is my witness! Is there no way I can convince you?’

“‘Unfortunately,’ said I, ‘if, as seems likely, Simon Boldero took the will to Richmond with him, Silas will have destroyed it by now. There is therefore no evidence remaining that you had repented your earlier crime and were assisting Simon.’

“‘Wait!’ cried Baker, springing from his seat with an energy that surprised me. ‘At the time the original will was made, a copy was prepared, to be deposited at the Registrar’s office, but of course I never sent it. It is still here now, in a trunk of my private papers in the lumber room upstairs. It will take me some time to find it, I am afraid, but if you would not mind waiting . . .’

“‘I have more important business to attend to,’ said I. ‘You have my card. If that document does not reach the address upon the card by four o’clock tomorrow afternoon, then I can protect you no longer from the full force of the criminal law!’

“Baker seemed to visibly shrink as I spoke those last words. I declined the hand he held out to me, took my hat and left the chambers, feeling that I had done a good morning’s work.”

“And so you have!” cried David Boldero in amazed admiration. “I can scarcely believe what you have discovered! I shall for ever bless the day that Farrow and Redfearn sent me to consult you!”

“Well, well,” said Holmes, clearly moved by his client’s gratitude, “it is largely a matter of experience, and I am a specialist. Once you have examined two hundred little problems, the two hundred and first does not present quite the same difficulties to your brain as the first one. But I have timed my account well! Here is Hill House, and we must deal now with Cousin Silas!”

“And here comes the rain,” said I, as the first icy drops fell upon us.

Boldero’s face had set in a rigid mask of determination as we approached the house, and he made no remark as we pushed open the heavy wooden gate and entered the grounds. As we did so, the rain began to fall more heavily, making a soft drumming noise on the roof of the glass structure under which we made our way along the path. A movement off to the right caught my eye, and I peered through a murky pane of glass just in time to see some small dark creature slip swiftly beneath a bush.

For several minutes, our knocking at the front door produced no response, and as we waited on the step I caught the distant sound of raised voices from deep within the house. At length, someone approached the door, and there came a voice, thin and querulous, from the other side.

“Who is it and what do you want?”

“It is your cousin, David,” Boldero called back, “and I wish to speak to you again about Simon.”

“I’ve already told you I know nothing about him. Why can’t you leave me in peace?”

“I know that Simon was here in January.”

“No, he wasn’t!”

“I found his muffler in the room I slept in.”

“If there was any muffler there, you put it there yourself!”