Patricia Wentworth - The Blind Side

“Now, Mr. Renshaw,” said the Inspector, “I believe you are Mr. Craddock’s next of kin. Do you happen to know whether he made a will?”

Peter did a stupid thing. He said at once and without thinking,

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”

“And what makes you think that, Mr. Renshaw?”

He was in for it now. It would be the worst possible folly to hesitate.

“Well, it was something he said. I can’t remember how it came up, but it was something to do with my being my cousin’s executor-something on the lines of he hadn’t made a will and he wasn’t going to, because he didn’t give a damn who had his money when he was gone.”

“And there was a good deal of money?”

“Quite a piece,” said Mr. Renshaw soberly.

The Inspector leaned forward.

“You’re telling me Mr. Craddock was a wealthy man-and he lived in a little flat like this?”

“Yes, he did. But there were reasons. His father had a lot, but the depression hit them very hard indeed. My uncle had to economize, cut everything to the bone. He died about four years ago. But the reason I said there was quite a piece of money is that a lot of leasehold property fell in this year. I’ve no idea of the amount, but it was something pretty considerable.”

“And if there’s no will-you’re next of kin and heir at law, I take it.”

“I suppose I am-if there’s no will.” Peter went on looking at the Inspector for a moment, then he turned and looked at Detective Abbott.

Detective Abbott was looking at the ceiling. Something ran a sharp pin into Peter’s memory and jogged it. He said to himself, “Fug Abbott, or I’m a Dutchman!” He very nearly said it aloud.

The Inspector’s voice recalled him to the fact that he was undergoing an official examination, and that he had just said several things that could very easily be used against him.

“Mr. Craddock’s solicitor has informed us that Mr. Craddock was very much opposed to the idea of making a will. As far as he knows, no will exists. Would you say that this was common knowledge in the family?”

“It might be.”

“Other relatives might expect to benefit by Mr. Craddock’s death if he died intestate?”

Peter didn’t like the way that this was tending. He said quickly,

“I don’t know, but some of the property is entailed. Didn’t old Pettigrew tell you so?”

The Inspector did not answer this question.

“Entailed upon you, Mr. Renshaw?”

“I am quite sure Mr. Pettigrew must have told you that. It’s all down in old David Craddock’s will.”

“You seem very well informed as to the provisions of this will.”

Peter felt a certain anger, but he kept his voice quiet.

“I told you I was acting as executor to my old cousin. I have had to look up the provisions of my great-grandfather’s will. There was some small trust, and there was a question as to whether her share went to her surviving sister, or whether it would have to be shared with a niece.”

“The niece’s name?”

“Mavis Grey.”

“Seems to me, Mr. Renshaw, there’s a lot of you in this-all relations. Now I’d like to get those relationships clear, if you don’t mind.”

Peter slewed round to the table.

“If I can have a bit of paper, I’ll put them down for you.”

He had his bit of paper and the scarlet pen offered him gravely by Detective Abbott. He wrote, drew lines, and handed the result to the Inspector.

“The Craddock family tree. We’re all there, I think.”

The Inspector.studied it with a good deal of concentration.

“You and Mr. Craddock were first cousins then, and the young lady, Miss Fenton, a bit further afield. Mr. Craddock wasn’t married, I take it.”

“I never heard of a wife.”

As Detective Abbott wrote this down, it occurred to him to wonder whether there had been something that wasn’t quite an emphasis on the last word.

“Well, now that we’ve got all that quite clear, Mr. Renshaw, may I trouble you for your account of what happened last night?”

“Certainly. I came home just before twelve o’clock-”

“Just a moment. You’d been dining out?”

“At the Luxe.”

“And you spent the evening at the Luxe?”

“No-I went on to a night-club to meet some friends-a Mr. and Mrs. Nelson.”

“I’d just like the name of the club.”

“The Ducks and Drakes.”

“Ah! Go on, Mr. Renshaw.”

Peter went on.

“I got back here a little before twelve.”

“That was rather early.”

“It was very hot. The party broke up.”

“No unpleasantness?”

“Certainly not.”

“No unpleasantness with Mr. Craddock?”

“Look here, Inspector-”

“I’d like an answer to that question, Mr. Renshaw.”

Peter smiled disarmingly.

“Well, the answer is in the negative.”

“You didn’t see your cousin?”

“Certainly I saw him.”

“And where did you see Mr. Craddock?”

“I saw him at the Ducks and Drakes. I didn’t speak to him.”

“Sure of that?”

“Quite sure.”

“Now why didn’t you speak to him? Were you on bad terms?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders.

“I was with my party, and he was with his. We didn’t meet, that’s all.”

“You didn’t answer my question. I asked if you were on bad terms with him.”

“Not bad, not good. We hadn’t much in common, that’s all.”

“I see,” said the Inspector. “Who was Mr. Craddock with?”

He had seen the question coming and known that he would be bound to answer it. Anyone at the Ducks and Drakes could put a name to Mavis. It would be fatal to hesitate. He said at once,

“Oh, he was with Miss Grey.”

“Miss Grey-she was an intimate friend of Mr. Craddock’s?”

Again it would not do to hang back.

“A cousin,” he said carelessly.

“Miss Mavis Grey?”

“Miss Mavis Grey.”

“Ah! Were Mr. Craddock and Miss Grey still at the Ducks and Drakes when you came away?”

“Yes, they were.”

“Go on, Mr. Renshaw.”

“I came home, I went to bed, and I went to sleep. I was roused by Peterson’s yell. I got on my dressing-gown and came out on to the landing. I followed him and Rush into this room, and saw my cousin lying dead.”

The Inspector leaned forward and raised his voice.

“And you picked up the revolver. I want to know what you did that for, Mr. Renshaw.”

“I know,” said Peter in a candid tone. “I oughtn’t to have touched it. Rush ticked me off like anything.”

The Inspector banged with his fist on the table.

“You took hold of it by the butt, and you took hold of it by the muzzle, and if there were fingermarks on either, you took very good care to destroy them-and I want to know why.”

Peter gazed at him earnestly.

“Of course I knew the minute I’d done it that I ought to have left the damned thing alone.”

The Inspector banged again.

“And I’m asking you why you didn’t leave it alone.”

Peter knitted his brows.

“Well, I suppose it was the shock. The first thing I knew I’d picked the thing up.”

“And the next thing you knew you were handling it all over!”

“Well, it’s no good going on ticking me off. I mean-well is it? I must have done a bit of-what do they call it-unconscious cerebration, or I wouldn’t have done it, would I? I’ve apologized, and I don’t quite see what more I can do. I mean, it’s no good crying over spilt milk, is it, Inspector?”

“I should like to know why the milk was spilt,” said Inspector Lamb in a most unpleasant tone of voice.