“I repeat it.”
“Then you accuse Mr. Prescott of villainy. He drew the will and produces this one as authentic. Do you think he is splitting with Miss Karn?”
“Good heavens, no.” Her eyes widened in astonishment.
Wolfe frowned. “I’m afraid your mind isn’t working very well, Miss Hawthorne. No wonder, with the jolts you’ve had. You say you believe — when did your brother tell you he was leaving a million to your fund?”
“He mentioned it two or three times. A year ago last winter he informed me he intended to make it a million instead of half that amount. Last summer he told me he had done so.”
“The summer of 1938?”
“Yes.”
“Well. You say you are convinced he wasn’t deceiving you. That he had done what he said. But the will which Mr. Prescott presents as authentic is dated March 7th, 1938, and it was after that date that your brother told you he had changed it to a million for your fund. Therefore you are charging Mr. Prescott with fraud.”
“Not at all,” she declared impatiently. “If I had to base my contention on a supposition as improbable as that, I’d abandon it. I know Glenn Prescott. He’s a fairly shrewd and capable Wall Street lawyer, with the natural flexibility in ethics and morals that is a functional necessity in his environment, but he totally lacks the daring and imagination that are required for banditry in the grand manner. I would be as likely to write a great epic poem as he would be to steal three million dollars by substituting a forgery for my brother’s will. I suppose that’s what you meant — that about his splitting with Miss Karn.”
“Roughly, yes. Some degree of forgery. Not necessarily counterfeiting signatures. Have you seen the document?”