“What penalties attached to a breaking of the domiciliary terms of the will?” Again the Inspector put the question.
“Only one penalty—disinheritance, complete and absolute.”
“A rigid old bird,” murmured Vance. “But the important thing about the will is, I should say, the manner in which he left the money. How was this distributed?”
“It wasn’t distributed. With the exception of a few minor bequests, it was left in its entirety to the widow. She was to have the use of it during her lifetime, and could, at her death, dispose of it to the children—and grandchildren, if any—as she saw fit. It was imperative, however, that it all remain in the family.”
“Where do the present generation of Greenes get their living expenses? Are they dependent on the old lady’s bounty?”
“Not exactly. A provision was made for them in this way: each of the five children was to receive from the executors a stipulated amount from Mrs. Greene’s income, sufficient for personal needs.” Markham folded up the paper. “And that about covers Tobias’s will.”
“You spoke of a few minor bequests,” said Vance. “What were they?”
“Sproot was left a competency, for instance—enough to take care of him comfortably whenever he wished to retire from service. Mrs. Mannheim, also, was to receive an income for life beginning at the end of the twenty-five years.”
“Ah! Now, that’s most interestin’. And in the meantime she could, if she chose, remain as cook at a liberal salary.”
“Yes, that was the arrangement.”
“The status of Frau Mannheim fascinates me. I have a feeling that some day ere long she and I will have a heart-to-heart talk.—Any other minor bequests?”
“A hospital, where Tobias recovered from typhus fever contracted in the tropics; and a donation to the chair of criminology at the University of Prague. I might mention too, as a curious item, that Tobias left his library to the New York Police Department, to be turned over to them at the expiration of the twenty-five years.”
Vance drew himself up with puzzled interest.
“Amazin’!”
Heath had turned to the Inspector.
“Did you know anything about this, sir?”
“It seems to me I’ve heard of it. But a gift of books a quarter of a century in the future isn’t apt to excite the officials of the force.”
Vance, to all appearances, was smoking with indolent unconcern; but the precise way he held his cigarette told me that some unusual speculation was absorbing his mind.
“The will of Mrs. Greene,” Markham went on, “touches more definitely on present conditions, though personally I see nothing helpful in it. She has been mathematically impartial in doling out the estate. The five children—Julia, Chester, Sibella, Rex, and Ada—receive equal amounts under its terms—that is, each gets a fifth of the entire estate.”
“That part of it don’t interest me,” put in the Sergeant. “What I want to know is, who gets all this money in case the others pass outa the picture?”
“The provision covering that point is quite simple,” explained Markham. “Should any of the children die before a new will is drawn, their share of the inheritance is distributed equally among the remaining beneficiaries.”
“Then when any one of ’em passes out, all the others benefit. And if all of ’em, except one, should die, that one would get everything—huh?”
“Yes.”
“So, as it stands now, Sibella and Ada would get everything—fifty-fifty—provided the old lady croaked.”
“That’s correct, Sergeant.”
“But suppose both Sibella and Ada, as well as the old lady, should die: what would become of the money?”
“If either of the girls had a husband, the estate would pass to him. But, in event of Sibella and Ada dying single, everything would go to the State. That is to say, the State would get it provided there were no relatives alive—which I believe is the case.”
Heath pondered these possibilities for several minutes.
“I can’t see anything in the situation to give us a lead,” he lamented. “Everybody benefits equally by what’s already happened. And there’s three of the family still left—the old lady and the two girls.”
“Two from three leaves one, Sergeant,” suggested Vance quietly.
“What do you mean by that, sir?”
“The morphine and the strychnine.”
Heath gave a start and made an ugly face.
“By God!” He struck the table with his fist. “It ain’t coming to that if I can stop it!” Then a sense of helplessness tempered his outraged resolution, and he became sullen.
“I know how you feel.” Vance spoke with troubled discouragement. “But I’m afraid we’ll all have to wait. If the Greene millions are an actuating force in this affair, there’s no way on earth to avert at least one more tragedy.”
“We might put the matter up to the two girls and perhaps induce them to separate and go away,” ventured the Inspector.
“That would only postpone the inevitable,” Vance returned. “And besides, it would rob them of their patrimony.”
“A court ruling might be obtained upsetting the provisions of the will,” submitted Markham dubiously.
Vance gave him an ironical smile.
“By the time you could get one of your beloved courts to act the murderer would have had time to wipe out the entire local judiciary.”
For nearly two hours ways and means of dealing with the case were discussed; but obstacles confronted nearly every line of activity advocated. Finally it was agreed that the only practicable tactics to be pursued were those of the routine police procedure. However, before the conference broke up, certain specific decisions had been taken. The guard about the Greene estate was to be increased, and a man was to be placed on the upper floor of the Narcoss Flats to keep a close watch on the front door and windows. On some pretext or other a detective was to be kept inside of the house as many hours
