“queath
aken out by
March in the year”
“Well, how’s that?” said Leyland. “I don’t think we shall differ much over the reading of it.”
“No. It’s really rather disappointing, when you are supposed to be a detective, for a document to come to hand in such excellent condition—what there is of it. There aren’t two words in the English language that end with the syllable ‘queath,’ and unless I am mistaken—no, as you were—the word in the next line might be either ‘taken’ or ‘mistaken.’ And of course there’s Interlaken, when one comes to think of it, and weaken, and shaken, and oaken, and all sorts of words. But, as you say, or rather imply, ‘taken out by’ makes the best sense. And I shall hardly be communicating new impressions to you if I suggest that one speaks of ‘taking out’ insurance policies. Do you happen to know when Mottram took out his Euthanasia? I believe I’ve got the record upstairs.”
“He took it out in March. There isn’t a bit of doubt about this document as it stands. It’s the copy of a will, made out by Mottram, having reference to the Euthanasia policy. Now, unless this was a new will altogether—which is possible—that means that this was a copy of his second will, or rather of the codicil which referred to the policy. For in the will, if you remember, there was no allusion to the Euthanasia at all.”
“I suppose that it is absolutely certain that this scrap of paper belonged to Mottram?”
“Quite certain—that’s the extraordinary thing, the way I found it. The undertaker came round this morning to make—well, certain arrangements. As you know, I had taken command of the key of Mottram’s room; it’s been locked by my orders ever since you and I had that look round—except yesterday, when I took the Coroner in. The undertaker came to me for the key this morning, and I went into the room with him; and, just mooning about there aimlessly, I saw something that you and I had failed to see when we were searching the room—this bit of paper. We were not much to blame, for it was rather hidden away, behind the writing-table; that is, between the writing-table and the window. To do us justice, I don’t know how we came to overlook it. Considering it was in Mottram’s room, I don’t think it is a very wild speculation to suppose that it was a part of Mottram’s will.”
“No, that seems reasonable. And how does it fit into your view of the case? I mean”——
“Oh, of course, it’s conceivable that Mottram burned the thing himself. But it doesn’t really make very much sense when you come to think of it. We know, and Mottram knew, that it was only a spare copy of the will which the solicitors had got up in London. It wasn’t a very important document, therefore, one way or the other. And I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your observation that whereas burning papers is a natural way to get rid of them in winter, when there’s a fire in the grate, one doesn’t do it in summer unless one’s absolutely put to it. Nothing burns more ill-temperedly than a piece of paper when you have to set light to it with a match. You can’t even burn it whole, without great difficulty, for you must either keep hold of it, and so leave a corner unburnt, or else leave it lying about in a grate or somewhere, and then the flame generally dies down before it is finished. In this case, it is pretty clear that somebody must have held it in his hand, or it probably wouldn’t be a corner that remained unburnt. I can find no finger-marks.”
“Wouldn’t a man who was destroying an important document be apt to take care he didn’t leave any of it lying about?”
“Certainly, if he’d plenty of time to do it in. If it had been Mottram, for example, burning his own will. It seems to me more like the action of a man in a hurry; and I suspect that the man who burned this document was in a hurry. Or at least he was flustered; for he had been committing a murder, and so few people can keep their heads altogether in that position.”