Chapter XIX

Miss Climpson stayed the night in the spare bedroom.

"The best thing," she said, "will be for you to write a little letter to Mr. Urquhart, explaining about the séance, and saying that you thought it best and safest to send the will on to him."

"He will be very much surprised," said Miss Booth. "I wonder what he will say. Lawyers don't believe in spirit communications as a rule. And he'll think it rather funny that we should have managed to open the safe."

"Well, but the spirit led us directly to the combination, didn't it? He could hardly expect you to ignore a message like that, could he? The proof of your good faith is that you are sending the will straight to him. And it would be as well, don't you think, if you asked him to come up and check the other contents of the safe and have the combination altered."

"Wouldn't it be better if I kept the will and asked him to come for it?"

"But perhaps he requires it urgently?"

"Then why hasn't he been to fetch it?"

Miss Climpson noted with some irritation that, where spiritualistic messages were not concerned, Miss Booth showed signs of developing an independent judgment.

"Perhaps he doesn't know yet that he wants it. Perhaps the spirits foresaw an urgent need that will only arise tomorrow."

"Oh, yes, that's quite likely. If only people would avail themselves more fully of the marvellous guidance given to them, so much might be foreseen and provided for! Well, I think you are right. We will find a big envelope to fit it, and I will write a letter and we will send it by the first post tomorrow."

"It had better be registered," said Miss Climpson. "If you will entrust it to me, I will take it down to the post-office first thing."

"Will you? That will be a great relief to my mind. Well now, I'm sure you're as tired as I am, so I'll put on a kettle for the hot-water bottles and we'll turn in. Will you make yourself comfy in my sitting-room? I've only got to put the sheets on your bed. What? No, indeed, I can do it in a moment; _please_ don't bother. I'm so used to making beds."

"Then I'll see to the kettles," said Miss Climpson. "I simply _must_ make myself useful."

"Very well. It won't take long. The water is quite hot in the kitchen boiler."

Left alone in the kitchen, with a kettle bumping and singing on its way to boiling-point, Miss Climpson wasted no time. She tip-toed quickly out again and stood with ear cocked at the foot of the stairs, listening to the nurse's footsteps as they pattered into the distance. Then she slipped into the little sitting-room, took up the will in its sealed envelope, and a long thin paper-knife which she had already marked down as a useful weapon, and hastened back to the kitchen.

It is astonishing how long a kettle which seems to be on the verge of boiling will take before the looked-for jet of steady steam emerges from its spout. Delusive little puffs and deceptive pauses in the song tantalise the watcher interminably. It seemed to Miss Climpson that there would have been time to make twenty beds before the kettle boiled that evening. But even a watched pot cannot absorb heat for ever. After what appeared to be an hour, but was actually about seven minutes, Miss Climpson, guilty and furtive, was holding the flap of the envelope before the scalding steam.

"I mustn't hurry," said Miss Climpson, "oh, blessed saints, I mustn't hurry, or I shall tear it."

She slipped the paper-knife under the flap; it lifted; it opened cleanly, just as Miss Booth's step resounded in the passage.

Miss Climpson adroitly dropped the paper-knife behind the stove and thrust the envelope, with the flap doubled back to prevent it from re-sticking itself, behind a dish-cover on the wall.

"The water's ready!" she cried blithely. "Where are the bottles?"

It is a tribute to her nerve that she filled them with a steady hand. Miss Booth thanked her, and departed upstairs, a bottle in each hand.

Miss Climpson pulled the will from its hiding-place, drew it from its envelope and glanced swiftly through it.

It was not a long document, and in spite of the legal phraseology, its purport was easily gathered. Within three minutes she had replaced it, moistened the gum and stuck the flap down again. She put it in her petticoat-pocket--for her garments were of a useful and old-fashioned kind--and went to hunt in the pantry. When Miss Booth returned, she was making tea peacefully.

"I thought it would refresh us after our labours," she remarked.

"A very good idea," said Miss Booth; "in fact, I was just going to suggest it."

Miss Climpson carried the tea-pot to the sitting-room, leaving Miss Booth to follow with the cups, milk and sugar on a tray. With the tea-pot on the hob and the will once more lying innocently on the table, she smiled and breathed deeply. Her mission was accomplished.

* * * * *

Letter from Miss Climpson to Lord Peter Wimsey.

Tuesday, Jan. 7, 1930.

My dear Lord Peter,

As my _telegram_ this morning will have informed you, I have
SUCCEEDED!! Though what excuse I can find in my _conscience_ for
the _methods_ I have used, I _don't_ KNOW! but I believe the
Church takes into account the necessity of _deception_ in certain
_professions_, such as that of a _police-detective_ or a SPY in
time of WARFARE, and I _trust_ that my _subterfuges_ may be allowed
to come under that _category_. However, you will not want to hear
about my _religious scruples_! So I will hasten to let you know
_what_ I have DISCOVERED!!

In my last letter I explained the _plan_ I had in mind, so you
will know what to do about the _Will itself_, which was duly
_despatched_ by _Registered Post_ this morning under cover to _Mr.
Norman Urquhart_. How surprised he will be to get it!!! Miss Booth
wrote an excellent _covering letter_, which I _saw_ before it went,
which explains the circumstances and _mentions_ NO NAMES!! I have
wired to Miss Murchison to _expect_ the package, and I hope that
when it comes she will contrive to be _present_ at the opening, so
as to constitute _yet another_ WITNESS to its existence. In any
case, I should not think he would _venture_ to _tamper_ with it.
Perhaps Miss Murchison may be able to INVESTIGATE it in detail,
which I had not _time_ to do (it was all _most_ adventurous! and I
am looking forward to _telling_ you ALL ABOUT IT when I come back),
but in case she is _not_ able to do so, I will give you the _rough
outline_.

The property consists of _real estate_ (the house and grounds) and
a _personalty_ (am I not _good_ at legal terms??) which I am not
able to calculate _exactly_. But the gist of it all is this:--

The _real estate_ is left to _Philip Boyes_, absolutely.

_Fifty thousand pounds_ is left to _Philip Boyes_ also, in _cash_.

The remainder (is not this called the residue?) is left to NORMAN
URQUHART, who is appointed sole executor.

There are a few _small legacies_ to Stage Charities, of which I did
not manage to memorise any _particulars_.

There is a special paragraph, explaining that the greater part of
the property is left to _Philip Boyes_ in token that the testatrix
FORGIVES the ill-treatment meted out to her by _his family_, for
which he was _not responsible_.

The date of the Will is 5 June 1920, and the _witnesses_ are _Eva
Gubbins_, housekeeper, and _John Briggs_, gardener.

I hope, dear Lord Peter, that this information will be enough for
your purpose. I had hoped that even _after_ Miss Booth had enclosed
the Will in a _covering envelope_ I might be able to take it out
and _peruse_ it at leisure, but unfortunately she _sealed_ it for
greater security with Mrs. Wrayburn's _private seal_, which I
had not sufficient _dexterity_ to _remove and replace_, though I
understand it is possible to _do so_ with a _hot knife_.

You will _understand_ that I cannot leave Windle _just yet_--it
would look so odd to do so immediately after this occurrence.
Besides, I am hoping, in a further series of "sittings," to _warn_
Miss Booth against Mrs. Craig and her "control" Fedora, as I am
_quite sure_ that this person is _quite_ as great a _charlatan_ as
I AM!!!--and without my _altruistic_ motives!! So you will not be
surprised if I am away from Town for, say, _another week_! I am a
little worried about the _extra expense_ of this, but if you do not
think it _justified_ for the sake of safety, _let me know_--and I
will alter my arrangements accordingly.

Wishing you _all success_, dear Lord Peter,

Most sincerely yours,
Katharine A. Climpson.

P.S. I managed to do the "job" _very nearly_ within the stipulated
week, you see. I am _so sorry_ it was not _quite_ finished
yesterday, but I was so _terrified_ of _spoiling_ the WHOLE THING
by _rushing_ it!!

* * * * *

"Bunter," said Lord Peter, looking up from this letter, "I _knew_ there was something fishy about that will."

"Yes, my lord."

"There is something about wills which brings out the worst side of human nature. People who under ordinary circumstances are perfectly upright and amiable, go as curly as corkscrews and foam at the mouth, whenever they hear the words 'I devise and bequeath.' That reminds me, a spot of champagne in a silver tankard is no bad thing to celebrate on. Get up a bottle of the Pommery and tell Chief-Inspector Parker I should be glad of a word with him. And bring me those notes of Mr. Arbuthnot's. And oh, Bunter!"

"My lord?"

"Get Mr. Crofts on the 'phone and give him my compliments, and say I have found the criminal and the motive and hope presently to produce proof of the way the crime was done, if he will see that the case is put off for a week or so."

"Very good, my lord."

"All the same, Bunter, I really don't know how it _was_ done."

"That will undoubtedly suggest itself before long, my lord."

"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, airily. "Of course. Of course. I'm not worrying about a trifle like that."