“At this first visit she told me—much as you did—that she was only temporarily in Town, and had been casually recommended to me. I told her that I should not like to answer her question offhand. The Act, you may remember, had only recently passed its Final Reading, and I was by no means up in it. Besides, from just skimming through it, I had convinced myself that various important questions were bound to crop up.
“I told the lady—Miss Grant was the name she gave, by the way—that I should like to take counsel’s opinion before giving her any advice, and asked if she could call again the following day. She said she could, rose and thanked me, offering me her hand. In taking it, I happened to notice rather an odd scar, running across the backs of all the fingers—rather as though a chisel or something had slipped at some time. I noticed it quite idly, of course, but it was lucky for me I did.
“Miss Grant duly turned up the next day. I had looked up a very learned friend in the interval, and gave her the same opinion that I gave you just now. She looked rather concerned about it—in fact, almost more annoyed than concerned.
“ ‘It seems rather unfair,’ she said, ‘that people’s family money should go away to the Crown like that. After all, a great-niece is quite a near relation, really.’
“I replied that, provided the great-niece could call witnesses to prove that the deceased had always had the intention of leaving her the money, the Crown would, in all probability, allot the estate, or a suitable proportion of it, in accordance with the wishes of the deceased. It would, however, lie entirely within the discretion of the court to do so or not, and, of course, if there had been any quarrel or dispute about the matter at any time, the judge might take an unfavourable view of the great-niece’s application.
“ ‘In any case,’ I added, ‘I don’t know that the great-niece is excluded under the Act—I only understand that she may be. In any case, there are still six months before the Act comes into force, and many things may happen before then.’
“ ‘You mean that Auntie may die,’ she said, ‘but she’s not really dangerously ill—only mental, as Nurse calls it.’
“Anyhow, she went away then after paying my fee, and I noticed that the ‘friend’s great-aunt’ had suddenly become ‘Auntie,’ and decided that my client felt a certain personal interest in the matter.”
“I fancy she had,” said Parker. “When did you see her again?”
“Oddly enough, I ran across her in the following December. I was having a quick and early dinner in Soho, before going on to a show. The little place I usually patronise was very full, and I had to sit at a table where a woman was already seated. As I muttered the usual formula about ‘Was anybody sitting there,’ she looked up, and I promptly recognised my client.
“ ‘Why, how do you do, Miss Grant?’ I said.
“ ‘I beg your pardon,’ she replied, rather stiffly. ‘I think you are mistaken.’
“ ‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, stiffer still, ‘my name is Trigg, and you came to consult me in Bedford Row last June. But if I am intruding, I apologise and withdraw.’
“She smiled then, and said, ‘I’m sorry, I did not recognise you for the moment.’
“I obtained permission to sit at her table.
“By way of starting a conversation, I asked whether she had taken any further advice in the matter of the inheritance. She said no, she had been quite content with what I had told her. Still to make conversation, I inquired whether the great-aunt had made a will after all. She replied, rather briefly, that it had not been necessary; the old lady had died. I noticed that she was dressed in black, and was confirmed in my opinion that she herself was the great-niece concerned.
“We talked for some time, Inspector, and I will not conceal from you that I found Miss Grant a very interesting personality. She had an almost masculine understanding. I may say I am not the sort of man who prefers women to be brainless. No, I am rather modern in that respect. If ever I was to take a wife, Inspector, I should wish her to be an intelligent companion.”
Parker said Mr. Trigg’s attitude did him great credit. He also made the mental observation that Mr. Trigg would probably not object to marrying a young woman who had inherited money and was unencumbered with relations.
“It is rare,” went on Mr. Trigg, “to find a woman with a legal mind. Miss Grant was unusual in that respect. She took a great interest in some case or other that was prominent in the newspapers at the time—I forget now what it was—and asked me some remarkably sensible and intelligent questions. I must say that I quite enjoyed our conversation. Before dinner was over, we had got on to more personal topics, in the course of which I happened to mention that I lived in Golder’s Green.”
“Did she give you her own address?”
“She said she was staying at the Peveril Hotel in Bloomsbury, and that she was looking for a house in Town. I said that I might possibly hear of something out Hampstead way, and offered my professional services in case she should require them. After dinner I accompanied her back to her hotel, and bade her goodbye in the lounge.”
“She was really staying there, then?”
“Apparently. However, about a fortnight later, I happened to hear of a house in Golder’s Green that had fallen vacant suddenly. It belonged, as a matter of fact, to a client of mine. In pursuance of my promise, I wrote to Miss Grant at the Peveril. Receiving no reply, I made inquiries there, and found that she had left the hotel the day after our meeting, leaving
