“Quite so—I see,” responded the lawyer. He paused for a moment. “Well, what I was about to say was this. Mr. Crake in his message—sent me in our own private professional code, of course—the major provisions of your father’s will. Have I your permission to make them public here and now, Mr. Stewart?”
Charles Stewart waved his hand in assent. “Certainly—I shall be rather glad if you will. I had intended to ask you.”
Ferguson took a document from his pocket. “As you know, your father was a very rich man. His investments, which were many and varied, have almost, without exception, turned out to be excessively lucrative. He had with him very much more than a mere touch of financial genius.” He looked up. “You will understand that I have only, at this juncture, received from my partner what I termed the major provisions. Legacies are left to all members of the late Mr. Stewart’s household who had been in his service for any length of time—I can safely say that nobody with any claim at all has been forgotten. Mr. Stewart was always most generous. For example,” he broke off and referred to his paper—“Mr. Morgan Llewellyn receives an annuity of £300—John Butterworth £500 per annum, ‘in recognition of many years’ faithful and devoted service’—several other servants have been remembered very kindly. The rest of the will is rather surprising.” He wiped his glasses and blinked at the company again. “£250,000 is devised and bequeathed to Miss Marjorie Lennox—Mr. Stewart’s ward—and the whole of the residue of the estate to Mr. Charles Stewart—in respect of both real and personal property. But there are important conditions attached to each of these two bequests. In Miss Lennox’s case, the capital sum is to be held in trust until she reaches the age of forty, and in Mr. Stewart’s case similar conditions apply till the age of forty-five, unless they marry each other, when the capital sums pass into their respective possessions immediately upon such marriage. Should, however, either Miss Lennox or Mr. Stewart marry a third party—when marriage to the other principal legatee is possible and legal—the contractor of such marriage forfeits his or her bequest under this will and the said bequest passes to various charitable institutions.” He waved his hands with a gesture of semi-apology. “It was pointed out to Mr. Stewart when he first outlined these provisions that there might be several flaws in the disposition, but”—he shrugged his ample shoulders—“he was absolutely determined upon the matter.”
Charles Stewart was very white and kept biting at his underlip in nervous excitement. “You will be a very rich man, Mr. Stewart,” said Mr. Ferguson of New York—“provided, of course—but there.” He smiled somewhat fatuously—“I know how perfectly charming the lady is—I have no doubt——”
“Come in and have some lunch, Mr. Ferguson, will you?” responded Mr. Charles Stewart. It will be noticed that Mr. Ferguson’s remark provoked in him no particular enthusiasm. Certainly Mr. Bathurst noticed the fact!
CHAPTER XXII.
Mr. Bathurst Baits the Hook
The inquest that afternoon took its course as Inspector Goodall had foreshadowed. Formal identification of the body was taken by the Coroner, and almost immediately afterwards, Sergeant Clegg asked for an adjournment. The Coroner granted the Sergeant’s request without demur. Goodall attended—he told Anthony that he always made a special point of attending inquests—he had more than once during his career picked up an hitherto elusive trail from some unexpected turn an inquest had taken, and he also liked to have a good look at all the people who made it their business to be present—but Peter stayed in the house with Anthony. The latter’s first remark after lunch was surprising. “What daily papers come to Assynton Lodge, Daventry, any idea?”
“You bet I have,” replied Peter. “I was only too glad of them during my enforced term of Sentinel-in-Chief—‘The Times,’ ‘The Telegraph,’ and ‘The Morning Post’—also a financial paper of some kind—I didn’t look at it.”
“Good,” said Anthony—it flashed through his mind that Goodall had never informed him whether the “Telegraph” for the 30th ultimo had afforded him any special information. He would have to ask him that when he came in.
“Tell me,” said Peter, “I haven’t had a chance of speaking to you quietly—how did you get on—what are the latest developments—what’s been doing?”