Unfortunately for Parker, this is a quarter which swarms with solicitors. Gray’s Inn Road, Gray’s Inn itself, Bedford Row, Holborn, Lincoln’s Inn—the brass plates grow all about as thick as blackberries.
Which was why Parker was feeling so hot, tired and fed-up that June afternoon.
With an impatient grunt he pushed away his eggy plate, paid-at-the-desk-please, and crossed the road towards Bedford Row, which he had marked down as his portion for the afternoon.
He started at the first solicitor’s he came to, which happened to be the office of one J. F. Trigg. He was lucky. The youth in the outer office informed him that Mr. Trigg had just returned from lunch, was disengaged, and would see him. Would he walk in?
Mr. Trigg was a pleasant, fresh-faced man in his early forties. He begged Mr. Parker to be seated and asked what he could do for him.
For the thirty-seventh time, Parker started on the opening gambit which he had devised to suit his purpose.
“I am only temporarily in London, Mr. Trigg, and finding I needed legal advice I was recommended to you by a man I met in a restaurant. He did give me his name, but it has escaped me, and anyway, it’s of no great importance, is it? The point is this. My wife and I have come up to Town to see her great-aunt, who is in a very bad way. In fact, she isn’t expected to live.
“Well, now, the old lady has always been very fond of my wife, don’t you see, and it has always been an understood thing that Mrs. Parker was to come into her money when she died. It’s quite a tidy bit, and we have been—I won’t say looking forward to it, but in a kind of mild way counting on it as something for us to retire upon later on. You understand. There aren’t any other relations at all, so, though the old lady has often talked about making a will, we didn’t worry much, one way or the other, because we took it for granted my wife would come in for anything there was. But we were talking about it to a friend yesterday, and he took us rather aback by saying that there was a new law or something, and that if my wife’s great-aunt hadn’t made a will we shouldn’t get anything at all. I think he said it would all go to the Crown. I didn’t think that could be right and told him so, but my wife is a bit nervous—there are the children to be considered, you see—and she urged me to get legal advice, because her great-aunt may go off at any minute, and we don’t know whether there is a will or not. Now, how does a great-niece stand under the new arrangements?”
“The point has not been made very clear,” said Mr. Trigg, “but my advice to you is, to find out whether a will has been made and if not, to get one made without delay if the testatrix is capable of making one. Otherwise I think there is a very real danger of your wife’s losing her inheritance.”
“You seem quite familiar with the question,” said Parker, with a smile; “I suppose you are always being asked it since this new Act came in?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘always.’ It is comparatively rare for a great-niece to be left as sole next-of-kin.”
“Is it? Well, yes, I should think it must be. Do you remember being asked that question in the summer of 1925, Mr. Trigg?”
A most curious expression came over the solicitor’s face—it looked almost like alarm.
“What makes you ask that?”
“You need have no hesitation in answering,” said Parker, taking out his official card. “I am a police officer and have a good reason for asking. I put the legal point to you first as a problem of my own, because I was anxious to have your professional opinion first.”
“I see. Well, Inspector, in that case I suppose I am justified in telling you all about it. I was asked that question in June, 1925.”
“Do you remember the circumstances?”
“Clearly. I am not likely to forget them—or rather, the sequel to them.”
“That sounds interesting. Will you tell the story in your own way and with all the details you can remember?”
“Certainly. Just a moment.” Mr. Trigg put his head out into the outer office. “Badcock, I am engaged with Mr. Parker and can’t see anybody. Now, Mr. Parker, I am at your service. Won’t you smoke?”
Parker accepted the invitation and lit up his well-worn briar, while Mr. Trigg, rapidly smoking cigarette after cigarette, unfolded his remarkable story.
XVIII
The London Lawyer’s Story
“I who am given to novel-reading, how often have I gone out with the doctor when the stranger has summoned him to visit the unknown patient in the lonely house … This Strange Adventure may lead, in a later chapter, to the revealing of a mysterious crime.”
The Londoner
“I think,” said Mr. Trigg, “that it was on the 15th, or 16th June, 1925, that a lady called to ask almost exactly the same question that you have done—only that she represented herself as inquiring on behalf of a friend whose name she did not mention. Yes—I think I can describe her pretty well. She was tall and handsome, with a very clear skin, dark hair and blue eyes—an attractive girl. I remember that she had very fine brows, rather straight, and not much colour in her face, and she was dressed in something summery but very neat. I should think it would be called an embroidered linen dress—I am not an expert on those things—and a shady white hat of panama straw.”
“Your recollection seems very clear,” said Parker.
“It
