“We don’t. But we very much need the services of an able, astute, discreet and unscrupulous man.”
“That’s diplomacy for you,” said April, tapping ash from her cigarette.
It was ignored. Wolfe inquired, “What kind of services?”
I decided what it was about June’s face that needed adjustment. Her eyes were the eyes of a hawk, but her nose, which should have been a beak to go with the eyes, was just a straight, good-looking nose. I preferred to look at April. But June was talking:
“Very exceptional services, I’m afraid. My husband says nothing but a miracle will do, but he’s a cautious and conservative man. You know of course that my brother died on Tuesday, three days ago. The funeral was held yesterday afternoon. Mr. Prescott — my brother’s attorney — collected us last evening to read the will to us. Its contents shocked and astonished us — all of us, without exception.”
Wolfe made a little sound of distaste. I knew it for that, but I suppose it might have passed for sympathy to people who had just met him. But he said dryly:
“Those disagreeable shocks would never occur if the inheritance tax were one hundred per cent.”
“I suppose so. You sound like a Bolshevik. But it wasn’t the disappointment of expectant legatees, it was something much worse—”
“Excuse me,” May put in quietly. “In my case it was. He had told me he was leaving a million dollars to the science fund.”
“I am merely saying,” June declared impatiently, “that we are not hyenas. Certainly none of us was calculating on any imminent inheritance from Noel. We knew of course that he was wealthy, but he was only forty-nine and in extremely good health.” She turned to Prescott. “I think, Glenn, the quickest way will be for you to tell Mr. Wolfe briefly the provisions of the will.”