merriment. “You must forgive my friend, Mr. Rosseter. Such a droll fellow, but no business sense, none at all. Ha! ha! ha! A Galsworthy novel, eh? That’s very, very funny, old man. Ha! ha!” He mastered himself with apparent difficulty. “But we mustn’t waste Mr. Rosseter’s valuable time like this— must we ?” he concluded savagely.
Repressing the imp of mischief within him, Cadogan nodded. “I do apologize, Mr. Rosseter. The fact is that I sometimes write things for the B.B.C., and I like to try them out on people beforehand.” Mr. Rosseter made no reply; his dark eyes were wary. “Yes,” said Cadogan heavily. “Well, now, Mr. Rosseter: I heard only the bare facts of my cousin’s death. Her end was peaceful, I hope?”
“In fact,” said Mr. Rosseter, “no.” His small form, behind the old-fashioned roll-top desk, was silhouetted against a window overlooking the Cornmarket “She was, unhappily, run over by a bus.”
“Like Savonarola Brown,” put in Fen, interested.
“Really?” said Mr. Rosseter sharply, as though he suspected he was being trapped into some damaging admission.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Cadogan, trying to inject something like sorrow into his voice. Though, mind you,” he added, sensing failure in this endeavour, “I only met her once or twice, so I wasn’t exactly bowled over by her death. ‘No longer mourn for me when I am dead than you shall hear the surly sullen bell’ —you understand.”
“Of course, of course,” Fen sighed unnecessarily.
“No, I ’ll be frank with you, Mr. Rosseter,” said Cadogan. “My cousin was a rich woman and had few—ah—relatives. As regards the will…” He paused delicately.
“I see.” Mr. Rosseter seemed a little relieved. “Well, I ’m afraid I must disappoint you there, Mr.—er—Cadogan. Miss Snaith left the whole of her fairly considerable fortune to her nearest relative—a Miss Emilia Tardy.”
Cadogan looked up sharply. “I know the name, of course.”
“Quite a considerable fortune,” Mr. Rosseter enunciated with relish. “In the region of a million pounds.” He looked at his visitors, pleased with the effect he had created. “Large sums, naturally, were swallowed up in estate and death duties, but well over half of the original amount is left. Unfortunately, Miss Emilia Tardy is no longer in a position to claim it.”
Cadogan stared. “No longer in a position—”
“The terms of the will are peculiar, to say the very least of it.” Again Mr. Rosseter polished his glasses. “I have no objection to telling you gentlemen of them, since the will has been proved, and you may discover the details yourself from Somerset House. Miss Snaith was an eccentric old lady—I might say very eccentric. She had a strong sense of—ah—family ties, and had, moreover, promised to leave her estate to her nearest surviving relative, Miss Tardy. But at the same time she was a woman of—ah—old-fashioned views, and disapproved of the kind of life her niece was leading, travelling and living, as she did, almost wholly on the Continent. In consequence, she added a curious proviso in her will: I was to advertise for Miss Tardy in the English newspapers, with a certain specified regularity, but not in the Continental ones; and if within six months of the date of Miss Snaith’s death Miss Tardy had not appeared to lay claim to her inheritance, then automatically she forfeited all right to it. In this way Miss Snaith proposed to revenge herself for Miss Tardy’s way of life and for her neglect of her aunt with whom, I believe, she had not communicated for many years, without on the other hand transgressing the letter of her promise.
“Gentlemen, the period of six months came to an end at midnight last night and I have had no communication from Miss Tardy of any kind.”
There was a long silence. Then Fen said: “And the estate?”
“It goes entirely to charity.”
“To charity!” Cadogan
Repressing the imp of mischief within him, Cadogan nodded. “I do apologize, Mr. Rosseter. The fact is that I sometimes write things for the B.B.C., and I like to try them out on people beforehand.” Mr. Rosseter made no reply; his dark eyes were wary. “Yes,” said Cadogan heavily. “Well, now, Mr. Rosseter: I heard only the bare facts of my cousin’s death. Her end was peaceful, I hope?”
“In fact,” said Mr. Rosseter, “no.” His small form, behind the old-fashioned roll-top desk, was silhouetted against a window overlooking the Cornmarket “She was, unhappily, run over by a bus.”
“Like Savonarola Brown,” put in Fen, interested.
“Really?” said Mr. Rosseter sharply, as though he suspected he was being trapped into some damaging admission.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Cadogan, trying to inject something like sorrow into his voice. Though, mind you,” he added, sensing failure in this endeavour, “I only met her once or twice, so I wasn’t exactly bowled over by her death. ‘No longer mourn for me when I am dead than you shall hear the surly sullen bell’ —you understand.”
“Of course, of course,” Fen sighed unnecessarily.
“No, I ’ll be frank with you, Mr. Rosseter,” said Cadogan. “My cousin was a rich woman and had few—ah—relatives. As regards the will…” He paused delicately.
“I see.” Mr. Rosseter seemed a little relieved. “Well, I ’m afraid I must disappoint you there, Mr.—er—Cadogan. Miss Snaith left the whole of her fairly considerable fortune to her nearest relative—a Miss Emilia Tardy.”
Cadogan looked up sharply. “I know the name, of course.”
“Quite a considerable fortune,” Mr. Rosseter enunciated with relish. “In the region of a million pounds.” He looked at his visitors, pleased with the effect he had created. “Large sums, naturally, were swallowed up in estate and death duties, but well over half of the original amount is left. Unfortunately, Miss Emilia Tardy is no longer in a position to claim it.”
Cadogan stared. “No longer in a position—”
“The terms of the will are peculiar, to say the very least of it.” Again Mr. Rosseter polished his glasses. “I have no objection to telling you gentlemen of them, since the will has been proved, and you may discover the details yourself from Somerset House. Miss Snaith was an eccentric old lady—I might say very eccentric. She had a strong sense of—ah—family ties, and had, moreover, promised to leave her estate to her nearest surviving relative, Miss Tardy. But at the same time she was a woman of—ah—old-fashioned views, and disapproved of the kind of life her niece was leading, travelling and living, as she did, almost wholly on the Continent. In consequence, she added a curious proviso in her will: I was to advertise for Miss Tardy in the English newspapers, with a certain specified regularity, but not in the Continental ones; and if within six months of the date of Miss Snaith’s death Miss Tardy had not appeared to lay claim to her inheritance, then automatically she forfeited all right to it. In this way Miss Snaith proposed to revenge herself for Miss Tardy’s way of life and for her neglect of her aunt with whom, I believe, she had not communicated for many years, without on the other hand transgressing the letter of her promise.
“Gentlemen, the period of six months came to an end at midnight last night and I have had no communication from Miss Tardy of any kind.”
There was a long silence. Then Fen said: “And the estate?”
“It goes entirely to charity.”
“To charity!” Cadogan
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