Wrack and Rune by Charlotte MacLeod

corduroys and flannel shirt with the marks of petunia-planting imperfectly erased, the chipmunk face changed momentarily to a weasel’s. Then Nute got back his professional smirk and went through a pretty routine of searching his memory.
    “Dear me, I know I’ve—ah yes. You were here last week with a petite blond lady. A charmer, if I may say so.”
    “The lady is my wife and I do not care to have her charms commented on by strangers, so I’d rather you didn’t say so,” Shandy replied. “Mr. Lumpkin, are you aware that your cousin Spurge has been killed?”
    “Spurge dead?” The artificial smile became all too real before Canute Lumpkin managed to smooth his features into a more decorous expression. “Then I’m—”
    “The king of the cats. Precisely how much do you stand to inherit, Mr. Lumpkin?”
    “Please don’t keep calling me Mr. Lumpkin. It’s such a dreary name. And surely you can’t expect me to be thinking of anything so crass as money when I’ve just lost my last, lone relative.”
    “You appeared to have money rather firmly in mind a few months ago when you were trying to railroad Spurge into the loony bin.”
    “I see you’ve been talking to the Horsefalls. By the way, may I have the pleasure of knowing who is taking such an interest in my personal affairs? It’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern, you understand. It’s merely that one does like to know.”
    Posturing fop! Suppressing a natural urge to kick Nutie the Cutie where he most needed to be kicked, Shandy acceded to what was, after all, a reasonable request. Nutie was delighted.
    “Professor Shandy! I had no idea I was being so signally honored. Why signally, I wonder? Should one be waving flags or working a heliograph? Do come in and sit down, Professor. Please forgive the disorder. I’ve just this minute finished with a customer in from New York who positively raided the place. One does enjoy dealing with people who have a sincere appreciation of the rare and the beautiful. And the wherewithal to indulge their tastes,” he added with an insinuating glance out the window at Shandy’s car. “By the way, I noticed your wife taking a particular interest in my Bow tea set the other day. Quite a rarity, as I’m sure you realize.”
    “We already have a tea set, thanks.”
    Shandy had no idea whether they did or not, but wouldn’t have touched anything from Nute’s Nook with a ten-foot pole. “Since you’ve had such a successful run of business, no doubt you’ll want to get in touch with Harry Goulson about paying the costs for your dear departed cousin’s funeral.”
    He’d never seen anybody bridle before. It was interesting to watch Canute Lumpkin definitely and distinctly bridle.
    “Really, Professor, I don’t see where I have the smallest responsibility in the matter. As you know, I did try to assume legal guardianship of my cousin, not, as the Horsefalls may have tried to make you believe, out of any pecuniary motive, but from a genuine concern for Spurge’s welfare. However, the judge saw fit to deny my petition. Therefore it would be inappropriate and probably illegal for me to go barging in and upset whatever plans the Horsefalls have made. Miss Hilda would adore to get me pinched for contempt of court.”
    He spread his beautifully manicured hands and showed his dimple. “I’ll send a wreath or something, of course. Lilies, do you think? Consider the lilies of the field and all that? Though one could hardly say my cousin Spurge toiled not, could one? Old Horsefall worked him like, as one might expect, a horse. That was why I thought I should take steps to relieve the poor chap from what virtually amounted to slave labor. But since everybody chose to misunderstand my motives—”
    “Who could possibly misunderstand your motives, Mr. Lumpkin? As to the value of the property you stand to inherit, no doubt it’s a matter of public record and I can easily look it up. What I’m most curious about is