“Whither, as a modest man, you could not follow her. I quite understand.”
“Quite so, my lord. I took a seat in the entrance hall, in a position from which I could watch the door without appearing to do so.”
“And discovered too late that the place had two exits, I suppose. Unusual and distressin’.”
“No, my lord. That was not the trouble. I sat watching for three quarters of an hour, but the crimson hat did not reappear. Your lordship will bear in mind that I had never seen the lady’s face.”
Lord Peter groaned.
“I foresee the end of this story, Bunter. Not your fault. Proceed.”
“At the end of this time, my lord, I felt bound to conclude either that the lady had been taken ill or that something untoward had occurred. I summoned a female attendant who happened to cross the hall and informed her that I had been entrusted with a message for a lady whose dress I described. I begged her to ascertain from the attendant in the Ladies’ Room whether the lady in question was still there. The girl went away and presently returned to say that the lady had changed her costume in the cloakroom and had gone out half an hour previously.”
“Oh, Bunter, Bunter. Didn’t you spot the suitcase or whatever it was when she came out again?”
“Excuse me, my lord. The lady had come in earlier in the day and had left an attaché-case in charge of the attendant. On returning, she had transferred her hat and fur to the attaché-case and put on a small black felt hat and a lightweight raincoat which she had packed there in readiness. So that her dress was concealed when she emerged and she was carrying the attaché-case, whereas, when I first saw her, she had been empty-handed.”
“Everything foreseen. What a woman!”
“I made immediate inquiries, my lord, in the region of the hotel and the station, but without result. The black hat and raincoat were entirely inconspicuous, and no one remembered having seen her. I went to the Central Station to discover if she had travelled by any train. Several women answering to the description had taken tickets for various destinations, but I could get no definite information. I also visited all the garages in Liverpool, with the same lack of success. I am greatly distressed to have failed your lordship.”
“Can’t be helped. You did everything you could do. Cheer up. Never say die. And you must be tired to death. Take the day off and go to bed.”
“I thank your lordship, but I slept excellently in the train on the way up.”
“Just as you like, Bunter. But I did hope you sometimes got tired like other people.”
Bunter smiled discreetly and withdrew.
“Well, we’ve gained this much, anyhow,” said Parker. “We know now that this Miss Whittaker has something to conceal, since she takes such precautions to avoid being followed.”
“We know more than that. We know that she was desperately anxious to get hold of the Cropper woman before anybody else could see her, no doubt to stop her mouth by bribery or by worse means. By the way, how did she know she was coming by that boat?”
“Mrs. Cropper sent a cable, which was read at the inquest.”
“Damn these inquests. They give away all the information one wants kept quiet, and produce no evidence worth having.”
“Hear, hear,” said Parker, with emphasis, “not to mention that we had to sit through a lot of moral punk by the Coroner, about the prevalence of jazz and the immoral behaviour of modern girls in going off alone with young men to Epping Forest.”
“It’s a pity these busybodies can’t be had up for libel. Never mind. We’ll get the Whittaker woman yet.”
“Always provided it was the Whittaker woman. After all, Mrs. Cropper may have been mistaken. Lots of people do change their hats in cloakrooms without any criminal intention.”
“Oh, of course. Miss Whittaker’s supposed to be in the country with Miss Findlater, isn’t she? We’ll get the invaluable Miss Climpson to pump the girl when they turn up again. Meanwhile, what do you think of Mrs. Cropper’s story?”
“There’s no doubt about what happened there. Miss Whittaker was trying to get the old lady to sign a will without knowing it. She gave it to her all mixed up with the income-tax papers, hoping she’d put her name to it without reading it. It must have been a will, I think, because that’s the only document I know of which is invalid unless it’s witnessed by two persons in the presence of the testatrix and of each other.”
“Exactly. And since Miss Whittaker couldn’t be one of the witnesses herself, but had to get the two maids to sign, the will must have been in Miss Whittaker’s favour.”
“Obviously. She wouldn’t go to all that trouble to disinherit herself.”
“But that brings us to another difficulty. Miss Whittaker, as next of kin, would have taken all the old lady had to leave in any case. As a matter of fact, she did. Why bother about a will?”
“Perhaps, as we said before, she was afraid Miss Dawson would change her mind, and wanted to get a will made out before—no, that won’t work.”
“No—because, anyhow, any will made later would invalidate the first will. Besides, the old lady sent for her solicitor some time later, and Miss Whittaker put no obstacle of any kind in her way.”
“According to Nurse Forbes, she was particularly anxious that every facility should be given.”
“Seeing how Miss Dawson distrusted her niece, it’s a bit surprising, really, that she didn’t will the money away. Then it would have been to Miss Whittaker’s advantage to keep her alive as long as possible.”
“I don’t suppose she really distrusted her—not to the extent of expecting to be made away with. She was excited and said more than she meant—we often do.”
“Yes, but she evidently thought there’d be other attempts to get a will signed.”
“How do you make that out?”
“Don’t you remember the power of attorney? The
