Wicked Uncle

Chapter XXVII

When Justin Leigh walked into the hall of the Grange after putting his car away it was a quarter to one. They had made very good time on the way down. If he found Moira Lane unusually silent, he preferred it that way. He had plenty to think about.

He had hardly shut the front door behind him when to his surprise Dorinda came out of the study. She clutched him and pulled him back into the room.

“I want to talk to you-I thought you were never coming. It’s quite dreadful. The police have only just gone, and Mr. Winter is washing his hands.”

Justin shut the study door.

“Darling, you’re gibbering. Who or what is Winter?”

Dorinda gazed at him with widened eyes.

“He’s Mr. Porlock’s solicitor. The Scotland Yard policeman got him down-he arrived about eleven o’clock-”

He interrupted her.

“I wasn’t really asking for a biography.”

“Justin, it’s too dreadful. They rang up and said would I come over, because he’d brought down Mr. Porlock’s will. Only of course it isn’t Mr. Porlock-it’s Uncle Glen, and he’s left everything to me.”

Justin whistled. Then he said,

“Not really!”

Dorinda nodded.

“Frightful-isn’t it?”

Justin looked at her curiously.

“What makes you say that?”

She had turned quite pale.

“Justin, I can’t take it. He usedn’t to have any money. I’m sure he made it some wicked way.”

“Blackmail, my dear-just a little simple, innocent blackmail.”

“Oh, how-” She hesitated for a word, and came out with a childish ‘beastly!’ “I’m glad I said at once I didn’t want it.”

“You said that?”

“Yes, I did-to the policemen, and to Mr. Winter. I said I couldn’t imagine why he’d thought of leaving it to me. And Mr. Winter said-he’s a little grey man, very respectable, and industrious like an ant, only of course ants aren’t grey, but you know what I mean-he twiddled his pince-nez, and he said his client had informed him that he had no relatives, but that he would like to benefit a niece of his late wife’s-said he had lost touch with her, but he remembered her as a pleasant little girl. I suppose I ought to feel grateful, but when I think how he did his best to get me put in prison for shoplifting-well, I can’t. He did, you know. The big policeman said so.”

Justin was looking serious.

“What are you going to do?”

She said, “I don’t know. I had to wait and see you. Mr. Winter says it will make everything a lot easier if he and I prove the will-we’re executors. If I don’t, the money will just go to the Crown, and there doesn’t seem to be any point about that. He says it will be better to prove it, and then, if he’s taken money from people, I can give it back. That bit isn’t what he said-it’s what I thought of myself. And then if there was anything over I could give it to something-for children perhaps. So I thought it would be better to let him get on with the will.”

“Had he much to leave? What does it amount to?”

“He isn’t sure. He knows there’s about five thousand pounds -he doesn’t know whether there’s anything more or not. Justin-they want me to come here.”

“Why?”

“They say it would be easier. You see, I’m one of the executors. In a way, it’s my house. There’s no one here to give any orders. Mr. Winter would like me to be here because, he says, we are responsible for the house and furniture-Uncle Glen had it on a year’s lease. And the police say it would make it easier for them.”

Justin said quickly,

“These people in the house-they’re a queer crowd, and one of them’s a murderer. I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t particularly want to come, but of course I see their point.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I wouldn’t come here unless I could have Miss Silver.”

“Miss Silver?”

“I told you last night I wished she was here. If you were here, and she was here, I wouldn’t mind being here too.”

“What about Mrs. Oakley?”

“That’s the extraordinary thing. The police came up and saw her after breakfast. She made me stay in the room. She’s dreadfully unhappy and dreadfully frightened. I can’t tell you about it, but if I was here I might be able to help a little. I mean, there might be things amongst Uncle Glen’s papers-that’s what she’s afraid of. And you see, if I’m an executor I should have the right to go through them with Mr. Winter and, I suppose, the police. And of course I would do my best for her, poor thing. She hasn’t any brains, but she does love her husband and Marty, and she’s sick with fright at the idea of losing them.”

Justin looked at her straight and said,

“Did she kill Porlock?”

Dorinda’s eyes became quite round.

“Oh-she wouldn’t!”

He said, “I don’t know about that.”