Part 15 (2/2)

It only needed that, and Bill's ham-fisted, misplaced efforts to help, to put us all in trouble.

”He's crazy,” I said shortly. ”I never told him anything of the sort.”

”Oh,” she said, ”oh, well...” and then she added, her face still troubled, ”I do hope you have told the Inspector everything you know.”

The boys came back into the dining-room and we finished the meal in silence. Afterwards I took the paper-parcel, the wallet and the walking-stick up to the spare-room. Somehow they seemed to belong there, with the rest of the things hanging in the wardrobe. I would use the stick myself; it was the last thing that Magnus had ever held in his hands.

I remembered the collection at the flat. There had been a gun-stick and a sword-stick, a stick with a telescope at one end, and another with a bird's head on the handle. This one was comparatively simple, with the usual silver k.n.o.b on top, engraved with Commander Lane's initials. He had been the originator of the craze for family walking-sticks, and vaguely I had a recollection of him showing me this particular example, long ago, when I was staying at Kilmarth. It contained some gadget, I had forgotten what, but by pressing the k.n.o.b down a spring was released. I tried it; nothing happened. I tried it again and then twisted the k.n.o.b, and something clicked. I unwound the k.n.o.b and it came away in my hands, and revealed a minute silver-lined measure, just large enough to hold a half-dram of spirit or other liquid. The measure had been wiped clean, probably by a tissue thrown away or buried, when Magnus set off upon his last walk, but I knew now, with absolute certainty, what it must have contained.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE LAWYER, Herbert Dench, telephoned again during the afternoon, and expressed great shock at his client's sudden death. I told him that the inquest was not likely to be for ten days or a fortnight, and suggested that he should leave the funeral arrangements to me, coming down himself on the morning of the cremation. This suited him, greatly to my relief; for he sounded what Vita called a stuffed s.h.i.+rt, and with luck would have the tact to return by an afternoon train, which meant that he wouldn't be on our hands for more than a couple of hours or so.

”I would not trespa.s.s upon your time at all, Mr. Young, he said, were it not out of respect for the late Professor Lane and the unhappy circ.u.mstances of his death, and for the fact that you are a beneficiary under his will.”

”Oh,” I said, rather taken aback, ”I had not realised and hoped it would be the walking-sticks.”

”It is something I would prefer not to discuss over the telephone,” he added.

It was not until I had put down the receiver that I realised I was in a somewhat awkward position, living in Magnus's house rent-free by verbal agreement. It might be the lawyer's intention to kick us out in the shortest possible time, immediately after the inquest, perhaps. The thought stunned me. Surely he would not do such a thing? I would offer to pay rent, of course, but he might bring up some objection, and say the place must be shut up, or handed over to agents prior to a sale. I was depressed and shaken enough, without the prospect of a sudden move to make things worse.

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the telephone, arranging about the funeral, after checking with the police that it was in order to go ahead, and finally ringing back the lawyer to tell him what I had arranged. None of it seemed to have anything to do with Magnus. What the undertaker did, what happened in the meantime to his body, the whole paraphernalia of death before committal to the flames, did not concern the man who had been my friend. It was as though he had become part of that separate world I knew, the world of Roger, of Isolda.

Vita came into the library when I had finished telephoning. I was sitting at Magnus's desk by the window, staring out to sea.

”Darling,” she said, ”I've been thinking,” and she came and stood behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders. ”When the inquest is over, don't you think it would be best if we went away? It would be rather awkward for us to go on staying here, and sad for you, and in a way the whole point of it has gone, hasn't it?”

”What point?” I asked.

”Well, the loan of the house, now Magnus is dead. I can't help feeling an interloper, and that we've really no right to be here. Surely it would be much more sensible if we spent the rest of the holidays somewhere else? It's only the beginning of August. Bill was saying over the telephone how lovely Ireland is; they've found a delightful hotel in Connemara, some old castle or other, with its own private fis.h.i.+ng.”

”I bet he has,” I said. ”Twenty guineas a night, and full of your compatriots.”

Don't be unfair! He was just trying to be helpful. He took it for granted you would want to get away from here.

”Well, I don't,” I said. ”Not unless the lawyer kicks us out, and that's a different matter.”

I told her that the cremation was fixed for Thursday, and that Dench would be coming down, and perhaps some of Magnus's staff as well. The prospect of guests for lunch or dinner, or even the night, took her mind off the longer-term suggestion of Ireland, but as it turned out we were spared the worst of it, for Dench and Magnus's senior a.s.sistant, John Willis, elected to travel down together through the Wednesday night, attend the cremation, accept our hospitality for lunch, and return to London by a night-train. The boys were sent off for the whole of Thursday for a fis.h.i.+ng expedition in charge of the obliging Tom. I remember little of the cremation service, beyond thinking how Magnus might have devised a simpler method of disposing of the dead by chemicals instead of by fire. Our companions in mourning, Herbert Dench and John Willis, were quite unlike what I had imagined. The lawyer was big, hearty, un-pompous, ate an enormous lunch, and regaled us while we consumed our funeral meats with stories of Hindu widows committing suttee on their husbands pyres. He had been born in India, and swore he had witnessed such a sacrifice as a babe in arms.

John Willis was a little mouse-like man, with intent eyes behind horn-rimmed spectacles, who would not have looked out of place behind a bank's grille; I could not picture him at Magnus's elbow, ministering to live monkeys or dissecting their brain cells. He barely uttered. Not that this signified, for the lawyer spoke enough for all. Lunch over, we walked through to the library, and Herbert Dench bent to his dispatch-case for a formal reading of the will, in which apparently John Willis figured as well as I. Vita, tactfully, was about to withdraw, but the lawyer told her to stay.

”No necessity for that, Mrs. Young,” he said cheerfully. ”It's very short and to the point.”

He was right. Legal language apart, Magnus had left whatever financial a.s.sets he possessed at the time of his death to his own college for the advancement of biophysics. His flat in London and his personal effects there were to be sold, and the money given to the same cause, with the exception of his library, which he bequeathed to John Willis in grat.i.tude for ten years of professional co-operation and personal friends.h.i.+p. Kilmarth, with all its contents, he left to me, for my own use or to dispose of as I wished, in memory of years of friends.h.i.+p dating back to undergraduate days, and because the former occupants of the house would have wished it so. And that was all. ”I take it,” said the lawyer, smiling, ”that by the former occupants he is referring to his parents, Commander and Mrs. Lane, whom I believe you knew?”

”Yes,” I said, bewildered, ”yes, I was very fond of them both.”

”Well, there we are. It's a delightful house. I hope you will be very happy here.”

I looked at Vita. She was lighting a cigarette, her usual defence in a moment of sudden shock. ”How... how extraordinarily generous of the Professor,” she said. ”I really don't know what to say. Of course it's up to d.i.c.k whether he intends to keep it or not. Our future plans are in a state of flux at present.”

There was a moment's awkward silence, as Herbert Dench looked from one to the other of us.

”Naturally,” he said, ”you will have a great deal to discuss together. You realise, of course, that the house and contents will have to be valued for probate. I would appreciate it if I could see over it, by the way, if it wouldn't be too much trouble?”

”Why, of course.”

We all rose to our feet, and Vita said, ”The Professor had a laboratory in the bas.e.m.e.nt, a most alarming place-at least, so my small sons thought. I suppose the things there would hardly go with the house but should be returned to his laboratory in London? Perhaps Mr. Willis would know what they are.”

Her face was all innocence, but I had the impression that her mention of the laboratory was deliberate, and she wanted to know what was there.

”A laboratory?” queried the lawyer. ”Did the Professor do any work down here?” He addressed himself to Willis. The little mouse-like man blinked behind his horn-rimmed spectacles. ”I very much doubt it,” he said with diffidence, ”and, if he did, it would be of little scientific importance, and have no connection with his work in London. He may have made a few experiments, just to amuse himself on a rainy day-certainly nothing more, or he would have mentioned it to me.”

Good man. If he knew anything he was not going to commit himself. I could see that Vita was on the point of saying I had told her the contents of the laboratory were of inestimable value, so I suggested that we should inspect the laboratory before visiting the rest of the house. ”Come along,” I said to Willis, ”you're the expert. The room used to be an old laundry in Commander Lane's day, and Magnus kept a lot of bottles and jars in it.” He looked at me, but said nothing. We all trooped down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and I opened the door.

”There you are,” I said. ”Nothing very exciting. Just a lot of old jars, as I told you.”

Vita's face was a study as she looked around her. Amazement, disbelief; and then a swift glance of enquiry at me.

No monkey's head, no embryo kittens, only the empty rows of bottles. She had the supreme intelligence to remain silent.

”Well, well,” said the lawyer, ”the valuer might put a price of sixpence apiece on the jars. What do you say, Willis?”

The biophysicist ventured a smile. ”I would think”, he said, ”that Professor Lane's mother may have preserved fruit here in former days.”

”A still-room, didn't they call them?” laughed the lawyer. ”The still-room maid would make preserves for the whole year. Look at the hooks in the ceiling! They probably hung the meat here too. Great sides of ham. Well, Mrs. Young, this will be your province, not your husband's. I recommend an electric was.h.i.+ng-machine in the corner to save your laundry bills. Expensive to instal, but it will pay for itself in a couple of years, with a young family.”

He turned, still laughing, back into the pa.s.sage, and we followed. I locked the door behind me. Willis, who was hovering in the rear, bent to pick up something from the stone floor. It was a label from one of the jars. He gave it to me without a word, and I put it in my pocket. Then we tramped upstairs to inspect the remainder of the house, Herbert Dench making the remarkable suggestion that if we wanted to turn the property into an investment we might split the whole place up into flatlets for summer visitors, keeping for our own use the bedroom-suite with the view of the sea. He was still extolling the idea to Vita as we wandered round the garden. I saw Willis glance at his watch.

”You must have had about enough of us,” he said. I told Dench on the way down that we would call in at Divisional Headquarters at Liskeard and answer any questions the police might want to put to us. ”If you'd telephone for a taxi we could go there straight away, and have dinner in Liskeard later before catching the night train.”

”I'll drive you myself,” I said. ”Hold on, there's something I want to show you. I went upstairs, and after a few minutes came back with the walking-stick. This was near Magnus's body. It belongs with the others in the London flat. Do you think they will let me keep it?”

”Surely,” he said, ”and the other sticks too. I'm so glad you've got this house, by the way, and I hope you won't part with it.”

”I don't intend to.” Vita and Dench were still a short distance off on the terrace.

”I think”, said Willis quietly, ”we had better tell more or less the same story at the inquest. Magnus was an enthusiastic walker, and if he wanted some exercise after hours in the train it was typical of him.”

”Yes,” I said.

”Incidentally, a young friend of mine, a student, has been looking up historical stuff for Magnus at the B.M. and the Public Record Office. Do you want him to continue?”

I hesitated. ”It might be useful. Yes... If he turns anything up ask him to send it to me here.”

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