“Do you know why you were appointed executor after so short an acquaintance?”
“I am an old friend of Mrs. Monkhouse. I have known her since she was a little girl. I was a friend of her father—or rather, her step-father.”
“Was it by her wish that you were made executor?”
“I believe that the suggestion came from the deceased’s family solicitor, Mr. Brodribb, who is my co-executor. But probably he was influenced by my long acquaintance with Mrs. Monkhouse.”
“Has probate been applied for?”
“Yes.”
“Then there can be no objections to your disclosing the provisions of the will. We don’t want to hear them in detail, but I will ask you to give us a general idea of the disposal of deceased’s property.”
“The gross value of the estate is about fifty-five thousand pounds, of which twelve thousand represents real property and forty-three thousand personal. The principal beneficiaries are: Mrs. Monkhouse, who receives a house valued at four thousand pounds and twenty thousand pounds in money and securities; the Reverend Amos Monkhouse, land of the value of five thousand and ten thousand invested money; Madeline Norris, a house and land valued at three thousand and five thousand in securities; Anthony Wallingford, four thousand pounds. Then there are legacies of a thousand pounds each to the two executors, and of three hundred, two hundred and one hundred respectively to the housemaid, the cook and the kitchen maid. That accounts for the bulk of the estate. Mrs. Monkhouse is the residuary legatee.”
The coroner wrote down the answer as I gave it and then read it out slowly for me to confirm, working out, at the same time, a little sum on a spare piece of paper—as did also the intellectual juryman.
“I think that gives us all the information we want,” the former remarked, glancing at the jury; and as none of them made any comment, he proceeded: