“Which I very much doubt,” interrupted Mary.
“I'll buy the other half and we'll be partners.”
He came near adding “for life,” but decided that such a declaration would be inopportune. “Why should you engage in business, Quincy? You are not obliged to work.”
“That's the unfortunate part of it. I wish I were. I have so much money that I don't know what to do with it, except let it grow. But, speaking seriously, I've no intention of remaining a do-nothing. I'm treasurer of my father's grocery company but I have no liking for mercantile business. I can give away, but can neither buy nor sell—to advantage. I heard a story not long ago that set me thinking.”
“I told you my story, Quincy, why not tell me yours?”
“I will. It's a mystery—unsolved, and, I think, unsolvable. But I feel that my vocation will be the solving of mysteries. My mother wrote detective stories and I must have inherited a mania for mysteries and criminal problems. But I'll tell you what set me thinking.”
Then he related the story that had been told him by Jack and Ned. As he concluded, he asked: “Do you think it was signed?”
“Of course it was, but not by the dead man.”
“By whom, then?”
“By Mrs. Bliss. She materialized the form by her mediumistic prowess, but she signed the will.”