“‘It seems rather unfair,’ she said, ‘that people’s family money should go away to the Crown like that. After all, a great-niece is quite a near relation, really.’
“I replied that, provided the great-niece could call witnesses to prove that the deceased had always had the intention of leaving her the money, the Crown would, in all probability, allot the estate, or a suitable proportion of it, in accordance with the wishes of the deceased. It would, however, lie entirely within the discretion of the court to do so or not, and, of course, if there had been any quarrel or dispute about the matter at any time, the judge might take an unfavourable view of the great-niece’s application.’
“‘In any case,’ I added, ‘I don’t know that the great-niece is excluded under the Act—I only understand that she may be. In any case, there are still six months before the Act comes into force, and many things may happen before then.’
“‘You mean that Auntie may die,’ she said, ‘but she’s not really dangerously ill—only mental, as Nurse calls it.’
“Anyhow, she went away then after paying my fee, and I noticed that the ‘friend’s great-aunt’ had suddenly become ‘Auntie,’ and decided that my client felt a certain personal interest in the matter.”
“I fancy she had,” said Parker. “When did you see her again?”
“Oddly enough, I ran across her in the following December. I was having a quick and early dinner in Soho, before going on to a show. The little place I usually patronise was very full, and I had to sit at a table where a woman was already seated. As I muttered the usual formula about ‘Was anybody sitting there,’ she looked up, and I promptly recognised my client.
“‘Why, how do you do, Miss Grant?’ I said.
“‘I beg your pardon,’ she replied, rather stiffly. ‘I think you are mistaken.’
“‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, stiffer still, ‘My name is Trigg, and you came to consult me in Bedford Row last June. But if I am intruding, I apologise and withdraw.’