A Letter and Its Consequences
One of Joan’s duties, during these troublous days, was to deal with
Sir Vernon’s private letters. The management of the Brooklyn
Corporation had passed, for the time being, into the hands of a
subordinate; but there were many private letters to be read and
answered. Ill as he was, Sir Vernon liked to be consulted about some
of these; and Joan always set aside a few to discuss with him each
morning. On the day following Ellery’s successful investigation at the
Cunningham Hotel, Joan sat opening the letters at breakfast. Most of
them contained little of interest; but there was one, marked Private,
which was clearly of importance. As Joan read it, she felt that yet
another of the clues leading to the discovery of the murderer had come
unexpectedly into her hands.
The letter was from Sir John Bunnery, the successful solicitor,
well-known in the sporting world as “the bookmaker’s attorney,” a
nickname which he had earned by his long association with legal cases
connected with the Turf. Sir John had been a friend of Sir Vernon’s in
earlier years; but the two men had quarrelled many years ago, and
since then they had seen nothing of each other. Carter Woodman,
however, was, as Joan knew, a friend of Sir John’s, and she was not
surprised when, glancing down the letter, she read his name.
Sir John Bunnery began by offering his sympathy to an old friend in
the misfortunes which had come upon him, adding that he hoped their
drifting apart of late years would not make the sympathy less welcome.
Then, having said the proper thing, he came to business. On the
previous day, he explained, a somewhat curious request had come to him
from Mr. Carter Woodman, who had asked for his help in securing a
large loan, stating that there could be no doubt about the repayment
of the money, as full security could be given that far more than the
sum asked for would be available under the will of Sir Vernon
Brooklyn. He, Carter Woodman, was one of the beneficiaries under the
will, and he was also in a position to offer, in return for the loan,
the joint guarantee of Mr. Walter Brooklyn, who had now, in tragic
circumstances, become the principal beneficiary under the will.
Woodman stated that he was Walter Brooklyn’s heir, and that he and
Walter were prepared to make themselves jointly liable for the
repayment of the sum asked for. Sir John said that he would, of
course, be most pleased to assist Mr. Woodman, who was a personal
friend; but although Woodman had approached him in confidence, and
asked him not to mention the matter even to Sir Vernon, he had felt it
necessary to write equally in confidence to Sir Vernon in order to
ascertain whether Woodman and Walter Brooklyn were in fact the heirs.
Sir Vernon would understand that he was asking for this information
only in strict confidence, and he—Sir John—would quite accept the
position if the answer was that Sir Vernon did not feel able to tell
him how matters stood. In that case, however, he would feel compelled
to decline to arrange the very large advance—£60,000—for which Woodman
had asked. A hint would be enough to tell him how he ought to act. Sir
John ended with a repetition of his condolences, and expressed the
hope, that, when Sir Vernon was well enough, their old friendship
might be renewed.
Joan read the letter right through with a feeling of bewilderment.
What could it all mean? Were her stepfather and Carter Woodman really
acting in collusion in an attempt to raise money in anticipation of
Sir Vernon’s death? And, if they were, what light did their
extraordinary proceeding throw on the murders?
The letter gave Joan a good deal to think about. The information which
Woodman had given to Sir John Bunnery might, of course, be technically
correct. She realised that, under the existing will, Walter Brooklyn
was, now that the two persons who had stood in his way had been
removed, the principal beneficiary. But he had become so entirely by
an accident, which was certainly no part of the testator’s intention,
and his chance of remaining so depended entirely on Sir Vernon’s not
making a new will in some one else’s favour. Woodman, of course, might
have a good reason for thinking that he would not do that, even if he
were able; but Joan doubted this, and was more inclined to believe
that he was relying on Sir Vernon’s speedy death without making a new
will. Walter had, in any case, only become the heir after the murders.
That was but a few days ago; and he and Woodman had, Joan reflected,
certainly been quite extraordinarily prompt in trying to take
advantage of the new position. Either they must be in some terrible
financial difficulty, or they must fear the making of a new will, and
hope to raise the money before this could come about.
What surprised Joan far more were the statements that Walter had made
Carter Woodman his heir. She knew well that Walter had no love for
Woodman; and she at once realised that he could only have taken such a
step in return for a pecuniary consideration. There was obviously, in
Woodman’s application to Sir John Bunnery, evidence of a very
unpleasant bargain. The whole letter made Joan very angry indeed.
In any case the receipt of the letter could not but considerably
strengthen Joan’s suspicions of Carter Woodman. “Of course,” she said
to herself, “he hoped to raise this money without our hearing anything
about it.” And she could not help feeling that it looked very much as
if he had deliberately planned the whole thing in order to lay hands
on the money.
But, apart from the effect of the letter upon Joan, what was likely to
be its effect on Sir Vernon? She felt that she must show it to him;
and she did not conceal from herself that she positively wanted him to
see it. For she hardly concealed from herself now her desire, her hope
for Ellery’s sake, that Sir Vernon would alter his will. The effect of
Sir John Bunnery’s letter, she thought, would certainly be to make him
very angry with both Walter Brooklyn and Carter Woodman; and she felt
sure that, ill as he was, Sir Vernon, under the circumstances, would
lose no time in making a new will. Woodman, indeed, had, she felt,
effectively destroyed his chances of getting the money for the sake of
which, if her suspicions were correct, he had probably done two men to
death. Sir John Bunnery’s breach of confidence had hoisted the
engineer with his own petard.
Taking this letter and one or two others from the heap which lay
before her, Joan went up to Sir Vernon’s room. She read him the others
first, and received his instructions, or rather his permission to deal
with them as she thought best. Then, without any previous comment, she
read him Sir John Bunnery’s letter, watching his face as she read.
The effect of the news upon him was exactly what she had expected. He
was very angry, and while she was reading he interjected indignant
comments. He was effectively roused; and, as soon as she had finished
reading, he bade her write at once to Sir John Bunnery, not answering
his question directly, but strongly advising him not to lend the
money. “Write at once,” he said, “and I will sign it myself. The
answer must be sent immediately.”
Joan needed no second invitation. She sat down at once, and having
written the answer, read it through to Sir Vernon, who signed it. She
then gave it to one of the servants, with instructions that it should
be posted immediately. When she came back into the room, Sir Vernon
was sitting up in bed. He had a pencil in his hand, and was trying to
write on the fly-leaf of a book he had taken from the table beside his
bed. As Joan came to him, he sank back, exhausted by the effort.
“Come here, my dear,” he said. “I shan’t rest now till I’ve made a new
will, and I want you to write it for me. It can be put into proper
legal form later, if there is time.”
“Shall I send for Carter Woodman?” said Joan.
“No, my dear. No more Carter Woodman for me just now. I shall have to
find a new lawyer. But never mind that now. You write what I tell
you.”
Then, slowly and painfully, the old man dictated a new will. “I have
to make it simple,” he said. The new will left Joan the whole of his
fortune, with the request that she should pay to all persons mentioned
in the previous will, and still living, the sums there left to them,
except that no sum should be paid to Carter Woodman. A further clause
appointed Joan and Henry Lucas joint executors, and a third, an
after-thought, provided for the payment of a small annuity to Helen
Woodman. “There is no need for her to suffer for what he has done,”
said Sir Vernon.
Two of the servants were then called in to witness the will, and Joan,
at Sir Vernon’s command, took it downstairs and had it placed at once
in the office safe of the Brooklyn Corporation.
“I am easier now in my mind,” said the old man, as Joan returned from
her errand. “You will have to carry on the Brooklyn tradition now,
Joan,” he added. Joan took his hand, and sat by him, and, in a few
minutes he fell asleep. Joan sat by his side for a while. Then she
quietly disengaged her hand, and left him sleeping. He was tired out;
but she believed the exertion had done him good.
In the lounge Joan found Ellery, in a high state of excitement. “News,
darling,” he said. “I have news for you, and it shows that I was
right.”
“I have some news for you, too, my boy. It’s a most extraordinary
thing that has happened. I’m not so sure as I was that you were
wrong.”
“I think my news makes it simply certain I was right.”
“Bob, Sir Vernon has made a new will, cutting out Carter.”
“My dear, you don’t mean to say he suspects?”
“No, of course he doesn’t; but this morning we found out that Carter
and my stepfather are trying—the two of them—to raise money on the
strength of the will.”
“Good Lord, how did you find out that?”
“A letter came to Sir Vernon from Sir John Bunnery, saying Woodman had
approached him in confidence for a loan of sixty thousand pounds, on
the joint security of his and my stepfather’s expectations. He said my
stepfather had made him his heir.”
“Made whom?”
“Why, Carter. So that he stood to get the money any way.”
Ellery whistled. “My word, the plot thickens. And now let me tell you
my news.”
And so the two lovers exchanged their information. Joan, in her anger
against Carter Woodman, was now a good deal easier to convince. She
admitted at once the force of Ellery’s evidence. If Woodman had lied,
it was not likely that he had lied for nothing. Her anger for the time
prevented her from realising the full horror of the position; but
presently it came home to her. “Oh, poor Helen,” she said, “what _are_
we to do? It will break her heart.”
“My dear we must clear this thing up now. We can’t leave it where it
stands. You see that.”
Joan pulled herself together. “Yes, I suppose we have to go through
with it.”
“And find positive proof.”
“I suppose we must go on.”
“We can’t prove it yet, you see,” said Ellery. “But we’ve made a
really good beginning on the job of bringing last Tuesday’s business
home to Woodman, and we mustn’t lose any time in following up that
trail to the end.”
“But how do you propose to follow it up? Haven’t you done all you can
there?”
“No. Don’t you see? We must prove that the man the servants took for
George that night when he went out of this house was really Carter
Woodman.”
“That all sounds very well; but I don’t see how you’re going to do
it.”
“Neither do I; but I mean to have a shot.”
“My dear Bob, let me try. It’s my turn to do something. I have an
idea, and I may be able to find out about it.”
“You’re very mysterious. Won’t you tell me what the idea is?”
“No, Bob. It may come to nothing; and I’d rather try it myself first.
It won’t take long to find out. You’ve done all the clever things so
far; and I think it’s my turn for a change.”
“Right you are, Joan. I only hope it’s a good ’un.”
“I hope it is; but it’s only a chance. You come back here to-night and
I’ll tell you. Besides, I want an excuse for seeing you again.”
“Darling,” said Ellery, and their conversation for the next few
minutes can be left to the experienced imagination of the reader.