"Don't tell me!" said the Inspector. "Or their issue!"
"Correct," said Hugh, with a twinkle.
The Inspector eyed him respectfully. "And that's your idea of perfectly clear?"
"Absolutely," Hugh assured him.
"Well, if that's so I'm bound to admit that you gentlemen at the Bar earn every penny you get, whichh is a thing I've often doubted. Let me be sure I've got this right! If this aunt is very old, we can take it she hasn't got any parents or grandparents living, and I remember that Miss Cliffe said that she didn't know of any relations other than her, that Carter had. So if she and Carter were the last of the family, what happens next?"
"Oh, they'll dig up some remote cousin! Failing the male line, you can try the female line. Almost endless possibilities, you perceive." He saw that the Inspector was frowning in an effort of concentration, and added: "It might go to a descendant of the grandmother's family, her father being the intestate's great grandfather. Get the idea?"
"Yes, I get it," replied Hemingway. "What I'm thinking is, that I look like having started something, and no mistake! What was it you wanted to see me about, sir?"
They had reached Hugh's car by this time, and paused by it, in the shade of a great elm-tree. Hugh began to fill his pipe. "Something my father said. I got him to attend the Inquest yesterday, to see what he made of it. One circumstance rather puzzled him. It may have puzzled you."
"And what might that have been, sir?"
Hugh struck a match, and guarded it in his cupped hand from the wind. Between puffs, he said: "Fact of the rifle's having a hair-trigger pull. My father says he can't imagine what Fanshawe wanted with a hair-trigger. Says he would have found it dam' dangerous to use, and almost impossible to load." He pressed the smouldering tobacco gently down into the bowl of his pipe, puffed again, and flicked the match away. "He can't see the point. Occurred to you?"