Chapter V
Jeffrey Blackmore's Will
My arrival at Thorndyke's chambers was not unexpected, having beenheralded by a premonitory post-card. The "oak" was open and anapplication of the little brass knocker of the inner door immediatelyproduced my colleague himself and a very hearty welcome.
"At last," said Thorndyke, "you have come forth from the house ofbondage. I began to think that you had taken up your abode in Kenningtonfor good."
"I was beginning, myself, to wonder when I should escape. But here I am;and I may say at once that I am ready to shake the dust of generalpractice off my feet for ever--that is, if you are still willing to haveme as your assistant."
"Willing!" exclaimed Thorndyke, "Barkis himself was not more willingthan I. You will be invaluable to me. Let us settle the terms of ourcomradeship forthwith, and to-morrow we will take measures to enter youas a student of the Inner Temple. Shall we have our talk in the open airand the spring sunshine?"
I agreed readily to this proposal, for it was a bright, sunny day andwarm for the time of year--the beginning of April. We descended to theWalk and thence slowly made our way to the quiet court behind thechurch, where poor old Oliver Goldsmith lies, as he would surely havewished to lie, in the midst of all that had been dear to him in hischequered life. I need not record the matter of our conversation. ToThorndyke's proposals I had no objections to offer but my ownunworthiness and his excessive liberality. A few minutes saw ourcovenants fully agreed upon, and when Thorndyke had noted the points ona slip of paper, signed and dated it and handed it to me, the businesswas at an end.
"There," my colleague said with a smile as he put away his pocket-book,"if people would only settle their affairs in that way, a good part ofthe occupation of lawyers would be gone. Brevity is the soul of wit; andthe fear of simplicity is the beginning of litigation."
"And now," I said, "I propose that we go and feed. I will invite you tolunch to celebrate our contract."
"My learned junior is premature," he replied. "I had already arranged alittle festivity--or rather had modified one that was already arranged.You remember Mr. Marchmont, the solicitor?"
"Yes."
"He called this morning to ask me to lunch with him and a new client atthe 'Cheshire Cheese.' I accepted and notified him that I should bringyou."
"Why the 'Cheshire Cheese'?" I asked.
"Why not? Marchmont's reasons for the selection were, first, that hisclient has never seen an old-fashioned London tavern, and second, thatthis is Wednesday and he, Marchmont, has a gluttonous affection for areally fine beef-steak pudding. You don't object, I hope?"
"Oh, not at all. In fact, now that you mention it, my own sensationsincline me to sympathize with Marchmont. I breakfasted rather early."
"Then come," said Thorndyke. "The assignation is for one o'clock, and,if we walk slowly, we shall just hit it off."
We sauntered up Inner Temple Lane, and, crossing Fleet Street, headedsedately for the tavern. As we entered the quaint old-world dining-room,Thorndyke looked round and a gentleman, who was seated with a companionat a table in one of the little boxes or compartments, rose and salutedus.
"Let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Stephen Blackmore," he said as weapproached. Then, turning to his companion, he introduced us by ourrespective names.
"I engaged this box," he continued, "so that we might be private if wewished to have a little preliminary chat; not that beef-steak pudding isa great help to conversation. But when people have a certain businessin view, their talk is sure to drift towards it, sooner or later."
Thorndyke and I sat down opposite the lawyer and his client, and wemutually inspected one another. Marchmont I already knew; an elderly,professional-looking man, a typical solicitor of the old school;fresh-faced, precise, rather irascible, and conveying a not unpleasantimpression of taking a reasonable interest in his diet. The other manwas quite young, not more than five-and-twenty, and was a fineathletic-looking fellow with a healthy, out-of-door complexion and anintelligent and highly prepossessing face. I took a liking to him at thefirst glance, and so, I saw, did Thorndyke.
"You two gentlemen," said Blackmore, addressing us, "seem to be quiteold acquaintances. I have heard so much about you from my friend, ReubenHornby."
"Ah!" exclaimed Marchmont, "that was a queer case--'The Case of the RedThumb Mark,' as the papers called it. It was an eye-opener toold-fashioned lawyers like myself. We've had scientific witnessesbefore--and bullied 'em properly, by Jove! when they wouldn't give theevidence that we wanted. But the scientific lawyer is something new. Hisappearance in court made us all sit up, I can assure you."
"I hope we shall make you sit up again," said Thorndyke.
"You won't this time," said Marchmont. "The issues in this case of myfriend Blackmore's are purely legal; or rather, there are no issues atall. There is nothing in dispute. I tried to prevent Blackmore fromconsulting you, but he wouldn't listen to reason. Here! Waiter! How muchlonger are we to be waiters? We shall die of old age before we get ourvictuals!"
The waiter smiled apologetically. "Yessir!" said he. "Coming now, sir."And at this very moment there was borne into the room a Gargantuanpudding in a great bucket of a basin, which being placed on athree-legged stool was forthwith attacked ferociously by thewhite-clothed, white-capped carver. We watched the process--as did everyone present--with an interest not entirely gluttonous, for it added apleasant touch to the picturesque old room, with its sanded floor, itshomely, pew-like boxes, its high-backed settles and the friendlyportrait of the "great lexicographer" that beamed down on us from thewall.
"This is a very different affair from your great, glittering modernrestaurant," Mr. Marchmont remarked.
"It is indeed," said Blackmore, "and if this is the way in which ourancestors lived, it would seem that they had a better idea of comfortthan we have."
There was a short pause, during which Mr. Marchmont glared hungrily atthe pudding; then Thorndyke said:
"So you refused to listen to reason, Mr. Blackmore?"
"Yes. You see, Mr. Marchmont and his partner had gone into the matterand decided that there was nothing to be done. Then I happened tomention the affair to Reuben Hornby, and he urged me to ask your adviceon the case."
"Like his impudence," growled Marchmont, "to meddle with my client."
"On which," continued Blackmore, "I spoke to Mr. Marchmont and he agreedthat it was worth while to take your opinion on the case, though hewarned me to cherish no hopes, as the affair was not really within yourspecialty."
"So you understand," said Marchmont, "that we expect nothing. This isquite a forlorn hope. We are taking your opinion as a mere formality, tobe able to say that we have left nothing untried."
"That is an encouraging start," Thorndyke remarked. "It leaves meunembarrassed by the possibility of failure. But meanwhile you arearousing in me a devouring curiosity as to the nature of the case. Is ithighly confidential? Because if not, I would mention that Jervis has nowjoined me as my permanent colleague."
"It isn't confidential at all," said Marchmont. "The public are in fullpossession of the facts, and we should be only too happy to put them instill fuller possession, through the medium of the Probate Court, if wecould find a reasonable pretext. But we can't."
Here the waiter charged our table with the fussy rapidity of theoverdue.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. Rather early, sir. Wouldn't like itunderdone, sir."
Marchmont inspected his plate critically and remarked:
"I sometimes suspect these oysters of being mussels; and I'll swear thelarks are sparrows."
"Let us hope so," said Thorndyke. "The lark is better employed 'atHeaven's gate singing' than garnishing a beef-steak pudding. But youwere telling us about your case."
"So I was. Well it's just a matter of--ale or claret? Oh, claret, Iknow. You despise the good old British John Barleycorn."
"He that drinks beer thinks beer," retorted Thorndyke. "But you weresaying that it is just a matte
r of--?"
"A matter of a perverse testator and an ill-drawn will. A peculiarlyirritating case, too, because the defective will replaces a perfectlysound one, and the intentions of the testator were--er--were--excellentale, this. A little heady, perhaps, but sound. Better than your sourFrench wine, Thorndyke--were--er--were quite obvious. What he evidentlydesired was--mustard? Better have some mustard. No? Well, well! Even aFrenchman would take mustard. You can have no appreciation of flavour,Thorndyke, if you take your victuals in that crude, unseasoned state.And, talking of flavour, do you suppose that there is really anydifference between that of a lark and that of a sparrow?"
Thorndyke smiled grimly. "I should suppose," said he, "that they wereindistinguishable; but the question could easily be put to the test ofexperiment."
"That is true," agreed Marchmont, "and it would really be worth trying,for, as you say, sparrows are more easily obtainable than larks. But,about this will. I was saying--er--now, what was I saying?"
"I understood you to say," replied Thorndyke, "that the intentions ofthe testator were in some way connected with mustard. Isn't that so,Jervis?"
"That was what I gathered," said I.
Marchmont gazed at us for a moment with a surprised expression and then,laughing good-humouredly, fortified himself with a draught of ale.
"The moral of which is," Thorndyke added, "that testamentarydispositions should not be mixed up with beef-steak pudding."
"I believe you're right, Thorndyke," said the unabashed solicitor."Business is business and eating is eating. We had better talk over ourcase in my office or your chambers after lunch."
"Yes," said Thorndyke, "come over to the Temple with me and I will giveyou a cup of coffee to clear your brain. Are there any documents?"
"I have all the papers here in my bag," replied Marchmont; and theconversation--such conversation as is possible "when beards wag all"over the festive board--drifted into other channels.
As soon as the meal was finished and the reckoning paid, we trooped outof Wine Office Court, and, insinuating ourselves through the line ofempty hansoms that, in those days, crawled in a continuous processionon either side of Fleet Street, betook ourselves by way of Mitre Courtto King's Bench Walk. There, when the coffee had been requisitioned andour chairs drawn up around the fire, Mr. Marchmont unloaded from his baga portentous bundle of papers, and we addressed ourselves to thebusiness in hand.
"Now," said Marchmont, "let me repeat what I said before. Legallyspeaking, we have no case--not the ghost of one. But my client wished totake your opinion, and I agreed on the bare chance that you might detectsome point that we had overlooked. I don't think you will, for we havegone into the case very thoroughly, but still, there is theinfinitesimal chance and we may as well take it. Would you like to readthe two wills, or shall I first explain the circumstances?"
"I think," replied Thorndyke, "a narrative of the events in the order oftheir occurrence would be most helpful. I should like to know as much aspossible about the testator before I examine the documents."
"Very well," said Marchmont. "Then I will begin with a recital of thecircumstances, which, briefly stated, are these: My client, StephenBlackmore, is the son of Mr. Edward Blackmore, deceased. EdwardBlackmore had two brothers who survived him, John, the elder, andJeffrey, the younger. Jeffrey is the testator in this case.
"Some two years ago, Jeffrey Blackmore executed a will by which he madehis nephew Stephen his executor and sole legatee; and a few months laterhe added a codicil giving two hundred and fifty pounds to his brotherJohn."
"What was the value of the estate?" Thorndyke asked.
"About three thousand five hundred pounds, all invested in Consols. Thetestator had a pension from the Foreign Office, on which he lived,leaving his capital untouched. Soon after having made his will, he leftthe rooms in Jermyn Street, where he had lived for some years, storedhis furniture and went to Florence. From thence he moved on to Rome andthen to Venice and other places in Italy, and so continued to travelabout until the end of last September, when it appears that he returnedto England, for at the beginning of October he took a set of chambers inNew Inn, which he furnished with some of the things from his old rooms.As far as we can make out, he never communicated with any of hisfriends, excepting his brother, and the fact of his being in residenceat New Inn or of his being in England at all became known to them onlywhen he died."
"Was this quite in accordance with his ordinary habits?" Thorndykeasked.
"I should say not quite," Blackmore answered. "My uncle was a studious,solitary man, but he was not formerly a recluse. He was not much of acorrespondent but he kept up some sort of communication with hisfriends. He used, for instance, to write to me sometimes, and, when Icame down from Cambridge for the vacations, he had me to stay with himat his rooms."
"Is there anything known that accounts for the change in his habits?"
"Yes, there is," replied Marchmont. "We shall come to that presently. Toproceed with the narrative: On the fifteenth of last March he was founddead in his chambers, and a more recent will was then discovered, datedthe twelfth of November of last year. Now no change had taken place inthe circumstances of the testator to account for the new will, nor wasthere any appreciable alteration in the disposition of the property. Asfar as we can make out, the new will was drawn with the idea of statingthe intentions of the testator with greater exactness and for the sakeof doing away with the codicil. The entire property, with the exceptionof two hundred and fifty pounds, was, as before, bequeathed to Stephen,but the separate items were specified, and the testator's brother, JohnBlackmore, was named as the executor and residuary legatee."
"I see," said Thorndyke. "So that your client's interest in the willwould appear to be practically unaffected by the change."
"Yes. There it is," exclaimed the lawyer, slapping the table to addemphasis to his words. "That is the pity of it! If people who have noknowledge of law would only refrain from tinkering at their wills, whata world of trouble would be saved!"
"Oh, come!" said Thorndyke. "It is not for a lawyer to say that."
"No, I suppose not," Marchmont agreed. "Only, you see, we like themuddle to be made by the other side. But, in this case, the muddle is onour side. The change, as you say, seems to leave our friend Stephen'sinterests unaffected. That is, of course, what poor Jeffrey Blackmorethought. But he was mistaken. The effect of the change is absolutelydisastrous."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. As I have said, no alteration in the testator's circumstances hadtaken place at the time the new will was executed. But only two daysbefore his death, his sister, Mrs. Edmund Wilson, died; and on her willbeing proved it appeared that she had bequeathed to him her entirepersonalty, estimated at about thirty thousand pounds."
"Heigho!" exclaimed Thorndyke. "What an unfortunate affair!"
"You are right," said Mr. Marchmont; "it was a disaster. By the originalwill this great sum would have accrued to our friend Mr. Stephen,whereas now, of course, it goes to the residuary legatee, Mr. JohnBlackmore. And what makes it even more exasperating is the fact thatthis is obviously not in accordance with the wishes and intentions ofMr. Jeffrey, who clearly desired his nephew to inherit his property."
"Yes," said Thorndyke; "I think you are justified in assuming that. Butdo you know whether Mr. Jeffrey was aware of his sister's intentions?"
"We think not. Her will was executed as recently as the third ofSeptember last, and it seems that there had been no communicationbetween her and Mr. Jeffrey since that date. Besides, if you considerMr. Jeffrey's actions, you will see that they suggest no knowledge orexpectation of this very important bequest. A man does not makeelaborate dispositions in regard to three thousand pounds and then leavea sum of thirty thousand to be disposed of casually as the residue ofthe estate."
"No," Thorndyke agreed. "And, as you have said, the manifest intentionof the testator was to leave the bulk of his property to Mr. Stephen. Sowe may take it as virtually certain that Mr. Jeffrey had no kno
wledge ofthe fact that he was a beneficiary under his sister's will."
"Yes," said Mr. Marchmont, "I think we may take that as nearly certain."
"With reference to the second will," said Thorndyke, "I suppose there isno need to ask whether the document itself has been examined; I mean asto its being a genuine document and perfectly regular?"
Mr. Marchmont shook his head sadly.
"No," he said, "I am sorry to say that there can be no possible doubt asto the authenticity and regularity of the document. The circumstancesunder which it was executed establish its genuineness beyond anyquestion."
"What were those circumstances?" Thorndyke asked.
"They were these: On the morning of the twelfth of November last, Mr.Jeffrey came to the porter's lodge with a document in his hand. 'This,'he said, 'is my will. I want you to witness my signature. Would you minddoing so, and can you find another respectable person to act as thesecond witness?' Now it happened that a nephew of the porter's, apainter by trade, was at work in the Inn. The porter went out andfetched him into the lodge and the two men agreed to witness thesignature. 'You had better read the will,' said Mr. Jeffrey. 'It is notactually necessary, but it is an additional safeguard and there isnothing of a private nature in the document.' The two men accordinglyread the document, and, when Mr. Jeffrey had signed it in theirpresence, they affixed their signatures; and I may add that the painterleft the recognizable impressions of three greasy fingers."
"And these witnesses have been examined?"
"Yes. They have both sworn to the document and to their own signatures,and the painter recognized his finger-marks."
"That," said Thorndyke, "seems to dispose pretty effectually of anyquestion as to the genuineness of the will; and if, as I gather, Mr.Jeffrey came to the lodge alone, the question of undue influence isdisposed of too."
"Yes," said Mr. Marchmont. "I think we must pass the will as absolutelyflawless."
"It strikes me as rather odd," said Thorndyke, "that Jeffrey should haveknown so little about his sister's intentions. Can you explain it, Mr.Blackmore?"
"I don't think that it is very remarkable," Stephen replied. "I knewvery little of my aunt's affairs and I don't think my uncle Jeffrey knewmuch more, for he was under the impression that she had only a lifeinterest in her husband's property. And he may have been right. It isnot clear what money this was that she left to my uncle. She was a verytaciturn woman and made few confidences to anyone."
"So that it is possible," said Thorndyke, "that she, herself, may haveacquired this money recently by some bequest?"
"It is quite possible," Stephen answered.
"She died, I understand," said Thorndyke, glancing at the notes that hehad jotted down, "two days before Mr. Jeffrey. What date would that be?"
"Jeffrey died on the fourteenth of March," said Marchmont.
"So that Mrs. Wilson died on the twelfth of March?"
"That is so," Marchmont replied; and Thorndyke then asked:
"Did she die suddenly?"
"No," replied Stephen; "she died of cancer. I understand that it wascancer of the stomach."
"Do you happen to know," Thorndyke asked, "what sort of relationsexisted between Jeffrey and his brother John?"
"At one time," said Stephen, "I know they were not very cordial; but thebreach may have been made up later, though I don't know that it actuallywas."
"I ask the question," said Thorndyke, "because, as I dare say you havenoticed, there is, in the first will, some hint of improved relations.As it was originally drawn that will makes Mr. Stephen the sole legatee.Then, a little later, a codicil is added in favour of John, showing thatJeffrey had felt the necessity of making some recognition of hisbrother. This seems to point to some change in the relations, and thequestion arises: if such a change did actually occur, was it thebeginning of a new and further improving state of feeling between thetwo brothers? Have you any facts bearing on that question?"
Marchmont pursed up his lips with the air of a man considering anunwelcome suggestion, and, after a few moments of reflection, answered:
"I think we must say 'yes' to that. There is the undeniable fact that,of all Jeffrey's friends, John Blackmore was the only one who knew thathe was living in New Inn."
"Oh, John knew that, did he?"
"Yes, he certainly did; for it came out in the evidence that he hadcalled on Jeffrey at his chambers more than once. There is no denyingthat. But, mark you!" Mr. Marchmont added emphatically, "that does notcover the inconsistency of the will. There is nothing in the second willto suggest that Jeffrey intended materially to increase the bequest tohis brother."
"I quite agree with you, Marchmont. I think that is a perfectly soundposition. You have, I suppose, fully considered the question as towhether it would be possible to set aside the second will on the groundthat it fails to carry out the evident wishes and intentions of thetestator?"
"Yes. My partner, Winwood, and I went into that question very carefully,and we also took counsel's opinion--Sir Horace Barnaby--and he was ofthe same opinion as ourselves; that the court would certainly uphold thewill."
"I think that would be my own view," said Thorndyke, "especially afterwhat you have told me. Do I understand that John Blackmore was the onlyperson who knew that Jeffrey was in residence at New Inn?"
"The only one of his private friends. His bankers knew and so did theofficials from whom he drew his pension."
"Of course he would have to notify his bankers of his change ofaddress."
"Yes, of course. And a propos of the bank, I may mention that themanager tells me that, of late, they had noticed a slight change in thecharacter of Jeffrey's signature--I think you will see the reason of thechange when you hear the rest of his story. It was very trifling; notmore than commonly occurs when a man begins to grow old, especially ifthere is some failure of eyesight."
"Was Mr. Jeffrey's eyesight failing?" asked Thorndyke.
"Yes, it was, undoubtedly," said Stephen. "He was practically blind inone eye and, in the very last letter that I ever had from him, hementioned that there were signs of commencing cataract in the other."
"You spoke of his pension. He continued to draw that regularly?"
"Yes; he drew his allowance every month, or rather, his bankers drew itfor him. They had been accustomed to do so when he was abroad, and theauthorities seem to have allowed the practice to continue."
Thorndyke reflected a while, running his eye over the notes on the slipsof paper in his hand, and Marchmont surveyed him with a malicious smile.Presently the latter remarked:
"Methinks the learned counsel is floored."
Thorndyke laughed. "It seems to me," he retorted, "that your proceedingsare rather like those of the amiable individual who offered the bear aflint pebble, that he might crack it and extract the kernel. Yourconfounded will seems to offer no soft spot on which one could commencean attack. But we won't give up. We seem to have sucked the will dry.Let us now have a few facts respecting the parties concerned in it; and,as Jeffrey is the central figure, let us begin with him and the tragedyat New Inn that formed the starting-point of all this trouble."