“Mr. Forsyth, d’you know Captain Pomeroy?”
“Very well. He’s a client of mine. As a matter of fact, he’s due here in ten minutes’ time—I imagine, to discuss a similar letter to this.” He tapped the document. “It’s rather convenient.”
“It isn’t convenient at all,” said Belinda Seneschal. “I’ll tell you why. Six months ago Captain Pomeroy and I were engaged. It wasn’t announced, but we were. Well, now we aren’t.”
Forsyth thought very fast.
“I see,” he said slowly. “Ah, yes, I see now. That explains the bequest. The testator——”
“We met him at Biarritz,” said Belinda. “His dog was run over by a car, and we did what we could. Poor old man, he was beside himself. After that we used to go and see him sometimes to try and cheer him up. It wasn’t much to do, and he was pathetically grateful. Of course, we never dreamed . . .”
“One never does,” said Forsyth. “Yes?”
“Well, that’s all,” said Miss Seneschal. “He knew of our engagement and naturally assumed it was going to end in marriage. So out of the kindness of his heart he’s left us his house. It was extremely handsome of him. It’s a perfectly lovely place.”
Forsyth referred to the letter.
. . . . my property at Biarritz, known as Les Iles d’Or, including the villa and all its contents, jointly to Miss Belinda Seneschal . . . and Captain Ivan Pomeroy . . . in the belief that they will appreciate it and neither sell nor let the same. . . .