The inspector whistled. “Then you would inherit the bulk of the money if Sir Vernon Brooklyn died after Walter Brooklyn.”
“Yes, that is, unless a new will were made. I should, of course, have to inform Sir Vernon fully as to the circumstances.”
“Quite so. And now there is just one further point. Sir Vernon has not, I suppose, shown any desire so far to amend his will.”
“He is far too ill to be troubled at present with matters of business.”
“I see. Then, so far as you know, the old will stands.”
“Yes. Mr. Walter Brooklyn is at present the principal heir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Woodman,” said the inspector, holding out his hand.
When Inspector Blaikie had gone, Woodman sat down again at his desk to think things over. What was the purpose of the questions just addressed to him? Clearly, the police had some new idea in their minds. They had come to the conclusion, on grounds adequate or inadequate, that Walter Brooklyn was not the murderer, and they were clearly trying to find out afresh who else could have had a reasonable motive. That was the only possible reason for the careful inquiries into the terms of the will. Was it possible that the police had a real new clue—possibly even a definite suspicion? Would they even begin suspecting him, now they had discovered that he was next of kin? As long as Walter Brooklyn lived, he stood to gain nothing. It was ridiculous to think that he could be suspected.
The inspector also had a good deal to think about when he left Woodman’s office. His first thought was to see his superior officer; but he found that the superintendent was out, and was not expected back for an hour or so. He made up his mind to fill in the interval by clearing up the new question, relating to Walter Brooklyn’s guilt, which Carter Woodman had raised. He took a taxi, and drove to Liskeard House, where he asked to see Miss Cowper. She received him at once, and he came straight to the point.
“Miss Cowper, I have a question to ask you. You may think it a very peculiar one, and you need not answer it if you would rather not. I shall not tell anyone that you refused, or that I asked it. I want to know whether, so far as you are aware, Mr. Thomas, your stepfather’s solicitor, at any time believed in his client’s guilt. I should not ask you, of course, if your stepfather had not been released. But I have a reason for asking.”
Joan showed that the question startled her; but she answered without hesitation. “Yes,” she said, “Mr. Thomas did believe what you say until we undeceived him with the evidence you also found convincing; indeed, that was why Mr. Ellery and I determined to go to work on our own. We felt that Mr. Thomas, believing what was not true, would never find out what was true. My stepfather told me that he was sure Thomas believed him guilty; but he said, ‘I dare say he’ll make as good a defence as another would when it comes to the point.’ ”
“I will tell you, Miss Cowper, exactly why I asked the question. It is being stated that Mr. Brooklyn actually confessed his guilt to his solicitor, and that Mr. Thomas told a third person that he was guilty. I should not, of course, tell you this if I believed it to be true. Your answer quite satisfies me that it is based on a misunderstanding.”
“It is preposterous,” said Joan indignantly. “My stepfather told Mr. Thomas the absolute truth; but the man would not believe it, until we proved it to him.”
“That is just what I imagined, Miss Cowper. Thank you very much for speaking to me so frankly. It has saved a world of trouble. Let me assure you that no suspicion at all now rests on Mr. Brooklyn.”
“I should hope not,” said Joan. “But who put this abominable story about?”
“I cannot tell you that, Miss Cowper. But you may rest secure that no more will be heard of it. May I use your telephone for a moment on my way out?”
The permission was readily given, and, in the hall, the inspector stepped into the little closed lobby, in which the telephone was kept, and rang up Carter Woodman.
“Hallo, is that Mr. Woodman? Inspector Blaikie speaking. I have looked into that matter about which you spoke to me. About Walter Brooklyn, I mean—his having told Thomas that he was guilty. There’s nothing in it. No, nothing in it. You made a mistake. You must have misinterpreted what Thomas said. He did believe Mr. Brooklyn to be guilty, but Mr. Brooklyn never told him so. It was merely his personal opinion. What? Am I sure? Yes, quite certain. No, I have not seen Thomas; but I am sure all the same. Yes, I now regard Mr. Brooklyn’s innocence as quite established. Yes, quite certain. No doubt at all about it. We made a very natural mistake when we arrested him; but that’s all done with now. I think we are getting on the right track. Thanks all the same. You were quite right to tell me, though there proved to be nothing in it. Good night.”
The inspector hung up the receiver, and went on his way.
XXVI
Two Men Strike a Bargain
Walter Brooklyn dined alone in his rooms. As a rule, a single Club waiter would have been deputed to attend upon him; but this evening he noticed that no less than four found an excuse for coming to help. Each course was brought to table by a different hand; for the whole Club staff were curious to get a good look at the member who had been miraculously delivered from jail and the gallows. That very afternoon, when they had discussed the case, they had all been taking his guilt for granted,
