“Arome de la Corse,” murmured Gimblet, as he handed the letter to Sir Gregory. “You, Sir Gregory, know the lady’s writing, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said Sir Gregory. “It is from her. Will you not read it aloud? Without spectacles, I’m sorry to say, I should find a difficulty in doing so,” and he gave it back to Gimblet.
The detective opened the envelope and unfolding the sheet it contained read aloud what was written on it:
“Grosvenor Street:
“Monday Evening.
“Dear Sirs,
“I shall be much obliged if one of your firm will call on me to-morrow, Tuesday, between four and five o’clock, for the purpose of altering my will. Mr. Sidney has made it impossible for me to contemplate longer the thought of his inheriting any portion of my late husband’s fortune. If Mr. Vanderstein were alive I am sure he would agree with me on this point, but as he is no more and has left the matter to my discretion, it becomes a sacred duty with me utterly to ignore the wishes he expressed, and to alter my will immediately to that effect. Trusting you will make it convenient to call at teatime to-morrow,
“I remain,
“Yours faithfully,
“Ruth Vanderstein.”
Gimblet folded the letter carefully, replaced it in the envelope, and handed it back to Mr. Chark.
“We heard something of a quarrel between Mrs. Vanderstein and Mr. Sidney,” he said. “I wonder whether she would have stuck to her threat of cutting him off with a penny. People write this sort of letter when they lose their tempers, but very often they have calmed down by the following day.”
“You do not know Mrs. Vanderstein, Mr. Gimblet,” interrupted Sir Gregory. “She isn’t one of those women who fly into a rage about nothing at all, or try to frighten people with threats. She does not suffer from nerves; her health is as excellent as her temper. I am persuaded she wouldn’t have written that letter unless she had the gravest reasons for doing so.”