“No, he won’t. He declines to take any steps without Godfrey’s assent—at least, that is what he says at present. His attitude is one of correct neutrality.”
“That is satisfactory so far,” said Thorndyke, “though he may alter his tone when the case comes into Court. From what you said just now I gathered that Jellicoe would prefer to have the will administered and be quit of the whole business; which is natural enough, especially as he benefits under the will to the extent of two thousand pounds and a valuable collection. Consequently, we may fairly assume that, even if he maintains an apparent neutrality, his influence will be exerted in favor of Hurst rather than of Bellingham; from which it follows that Bellingham ought certainly to be properly advised, and, when the case goes into Court, properly represented.”
“He can’t afford either the one or the other,” said I. “He’s as poor as an insolvent church mouse and as proud as the devil. He wouldn’t accept professional aid that he couldn’t pay for.”
“H’m,” grunted Thorndyke, “that’s awkward. But we can’t allow the case to go ‘by default,’ so to speak—to fail for the mere lack of technical assistance. Besides, it is one of the most interesting cases that I have ever met with, and I am not going to see it bungled. He couldn’t object to a little general advice in a friendly, informal way—amicus curiae, as old Brodribb is so fond of saying; and there is nothing to prevent us from pushing forward the preliminary inquiries.”
“Of what nature would they be?”
“Well, to begin with, we have to satisfy ourselves that the conditions of clause two have not been complied with: that John Bellingham has not been buried within the parish boundaries mentioned. Of course he has not, but we must not take anything for granted. Then we have to satisfy ourselves that he is not still alive and accessible. It is perfectly possible that he is, after all, and it is our business to trace him, if he is still in the land of the living. Jervis and I can carry out these investigations without saying anything to Bellingham; my learned brother will look through the register of burials—not forgetting the cremations—in the metropolitan area, and I will take the other matter in hand.”
“You really think that John Bellingham may still be alive?” said I.
“Since his body has not been found, it is obviously a possibility. I think it in the highest degree improbable, but the improbable has to be investigated before it can be excluded.”
“It sounds a rather hopeless quest,” I remarked. “How do you propose to begin?”
“I think of beginning at the British Museum. The people there may be able to throw some light on his movements. I know that there are some important excavations in progress at Heliopolis—in fact, the Director of the Egyptian Department is out there at the present moment; and Doctor Norbury, who is taking his place temporarily, is an old friend of Bellingham’s. I shall call on him and try to discover if there is anything that might have induced Bellingham suddenly to go abroad to Heliopolis, for instance. Also he may be able to tell me what it was that took the missing man to Paris on that last, rather mysterious journey. That might turn out to be an important clue. And meanwhile, Berkeley, you must endeavor tactfully to reconcile your friend to the idea of letting us give an eye to the case. Make it clear to him that I am doing this entirely for the enlargement of my own knowledge.”
“But won’t you have to be instructed by a solicitor?” I asked.
“Yes, nominally; but only as a matter of etiquette. We shall do all the actual work. Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking of the solicitor’s costs, and I was going to mention that I have a little money of my own—”
“Then you keep it, my dear fellow. You’ll want it when you go into practice. There will be no difficulty about the solicitor; I shall ask one of my friends to act nominally as a personal favor to me—Marchmont would take the case for us, Jervis, I am sure.”
“Yes,” said Jervis. “Or old Brodribb, if we put it to him amicus curia.”
“It is excessively kind of both of you to take this benevolent interest in the case of my friends,” I said; “and it is to be hoped that they won’t be foolishly proud and stiff-necked about it. It’s rather the way with poor gentlefolk.”
“I’ll tell you what!” exclaimed Jervis. “I have a most brilliant idea. You shall give us a little supper at your rooms and invite the Bellinghams to meet us. Then you and I will attack the old gentleman, and Thorndyke shall exercise his persuasive powers on the lady. These chronic incurable old bachelors, you know, are quite irresistible.”
“You observe that my respected junior condemns me to lifelong celibacy,” Thorndyke remarked. “But,” he added, “his suggestion is quite a good one. Of course, we mustn’t put any sort of pressure on Bellingham to employ us—for that is what it amounts to, even if we accept no payment—but a friendly talk over the supper-table would enable us to put the matter delicately and yet convincingly.”
“Yes,” said I, “I see that, and I like the idea immensely. But it won’t be possible for several days, because I’ve got a job that takes up all my spare time—and that I ought to be at work on now,” I added, with a sudden qualm at the way in which I had forgotten the passage of time in the interest of Thorndyke’s analysis.
My two friends looked at me inquiringly, and I felt it necessary to explain about the injured hand and the Tell-el-Amarna tablets; which I accordingly did rather shyly and with a nervous eye upon Jervis. The slow grin,
