“Clear as a bell. Was Robert satisfied with that arrangement?”
“Oh dear, yes; perfectly. He knew all about the will beforehand and had agreed that it was quite fair and right.”
“Nevertheless,” said Wimsey, “it appears to be such a small matter, on the face of it, that you must be concealing something perfectly devastating up your sleeve. Out with it, man, out with it! Whatever the shock may be, I am braced to bear it.”
“The shock,” said Mr. Murbles, “was inflicted on me, personally, last Friday by Lady Dormer’s man of business—Mr. Pritchard of Lincoln’s Inn. He wrote to me, asking if I could inform him of the exact hour and minute of General Fentiman’s decease. I replied, of course, that, owing to the peculiar circumstances under which the event took place, I was unable to answer his question as precisely as I could have wished, but that I understood Dr. Penberthy to have given it as his opinion that the General had died some time in the forenoon of November 11th. Mr. Pritchard then asked if he might wait upon me without delay, as the matter he had to discuss was of the most urgent importance. Accordingly I appointed a time for the interview on Monday afternoon, and when Mr. Pritchard arrived he informed me of the following particulars.
“A good many years before her death, Lady Dormer—who, as I said before, was an eminently generous-minded woman—made a will. Her husband and her daughter were then dead. Henry Dormer had few relations, and all of them were fairly wealthy people. By his own will he had sufficiently provided for these persons, and had left the remainder of his property, amounting to something like seven hundred thousand pounds, to his wife, with the express stipulation that she was to consider it as her own, to do what she liked with, without any restriction whatsoever. Accordingly, Lady Dormer’s will divided this very handsome fortune—apart from certain charitable and personal bequests with which I need not trouble you—between the people who, for one reason and another, had the greatest claims on her affection. Twelve thousand pounds were to go to Miss Ann Dorland. The whole of the remainder was to pass to her brother, General Fentiman, if he was still living at her death. If, on the other hand, he should predecease her, the conditions were reversed. In that case, the bulk of the money came to Miss Dorland, and fifteen thousand pounds were to be equally divided between Major Robert Fentiman and his brother George.”
Wimsey whistled softly.
“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Murbles. “It is a most awkward situation. Lady Dormer died at precisely 10:37 a.m. on November 11th. General Fentiman died that same morning at some time, presumably after 10 o’clock, which was his usual hour for arriving at the Club, and certainly before 7 p.m. when his death was discovered. If he died immediately on his arrival, or at any time up to 10:36, then Miss Dorland is an important heiress, and my clients the Fentimans get only seven thousand pounds or so apiece. If, on the other hand, his death occurred even a few seconds after 10:37, Miss Dorland receives only twelve thousand pounds, George Fentiman is left with the small pittance bequeathed to him under his father’s will—while Robert Fentiman, the residuary legatee, inherits a very considerable fortune of well over half a million.”
“And what,” said Wimsey, “do you want me to do about it?”
“Why,” replied the lawyer, with a slight cough, “it occurred to me that you, with your—if I may say so—remarkable powers of deduction and analysis might be able to solve the extremely difficult and delicate problem of the precise moment of General Fentiman’s decease. You were in the Club when the death was discovered, you saw the body, you know the places and the persons involved, and you are, by your standing and personal character, exceptionally well fitted to carry out the necessary investigations without creating any—ahem!—public agitation or—er—scandal, or, in fact, notoriety, which would, I need hardly say, be extremely painful to all concerned.”
“It’s awkward,” said Wimsey, “uncommonly awkward.”
“It is indeed,” said the lawyer with some warmth, “for as we are now situated, it is impossible to execute either will or—or in short do anything at all. It is most unfortunate that the circumstances were not fully understood at the time, when the—um—the body of General Fentiman was available for inspection. Naturally, Mr. Pritchard was quite unaware of the anomalous situation, and as I knew nothing about Lady Dormer’s will, I had no idea that anything beyond Dr. Penberthy’s certificate was, or ever could become, necessary.”
“Couldn’t
