The savage, gibing note in Stephen's voice made Mottisfont's jaw drop. The Inspector looked from Stephen's harsh face to Joseph's worried one, and waited.
"Stephen, I can't bear you to speak so bitterly of Nat!" Joseph said. "You know he thought the world of you! I didn't have to encourage him to make you his heir! He always meant it to be that way. The only thing I did was to persuade him to make a proper will."
"Well, I call it very decent of you, Joe!" said Mottisfont, unable to contain himself: "It isn't everyone who'd have behaved as you've done."
"My dear Edgar, I hope you didn't think I was the Wicked Uncle of the fairy-stories!"
"No; but I should have expected - You were Nat's brother, after all! Ten thousand only! Well, I never would have believed it!"
Joseph gave one of his whimsical smiles. "I'm afraid it seems a dreadfully large sum to me. I never could cope with money. You can say I am an impractical old fool, if you like, but I should have been very uncomfortable if Nat had left me more."
This was so unusual a point of view that no one could think of anything to say. After a pause, Blyth cleared his throat, and enquired whether the Inspector wished to go through his late client's papers.
Joseph sighed. "If you must, I suppose you must," he said. "Somehow one hates the thought of poor Nat's papers being tampered with!"
"I can't see the least sense in it," said Mottisfont. "They aren't likely to throw any light on the murder."
"You never know, sir," said Hemingway, polite but discouraging.