“Why, I―I don’t know.”
“Step aside, then. Who does?”
Mrs. Sloane blew her nose daintily in a tiny scrap of lace. “It’s―oh, eighty years old if it’s a day.”
“It’s been remodelled,” said Alan eagerly. “Sure. Remodelled. Loads of times. Uncle told me.”
“Not specific enough.” Crewe was annoyed. “Are the plans still in existence?”
They looked doubtfully at each other.
“Well,” snapped Crewe, ‘does anybody know anything?”
No one, it seemed, knew anything. That is, until Joan, pursing two excellent lips, murmured, “Oh, wait a moment. Is it blueprints and things you want?”
“Come, come, young woman. Where are they?”
“I think . . . “ said Joan thoughtfully. She nodded like a very pretty bird and went to the dead man’s desk. Pepper chuckled appreciatively then she rummaged through the lowest drawer and emerged finally with a battered old cardboard filing-case bursting with yellowed papers. “An old paid-bill file,” she said. “I think . . . “ She thought clearly, for in no time at all she found a white slip of paper with a folded set of blueprints pinned to it. “Is this what you want?”
Crewe snatched the sheaf from her hand, stalked to the desk and proceeded to burrow his pinched nose into the blueprints. He nodded from time to time, then suddenly rose and without explanation left the room, the plans in his hand.
Apathy settled again, like a palling mist.
“Something you ought to know, Pepper.” Velie drew Pepper aside and grasped Woodruff’s arm with what he considered gentleness. Woodruff whitened. “Now, listen, Mr. Woodruff. The will’s been grabbed off by somebody. There’s got to be a reason. You say it was a new will. Well, who lost what by it?”
“Well―”
“On the other hand,” said Pepper thoughtfully, “I can’t see that the situation, aside from its criminal implications, is very serious. We can always establish intention of testator from your office copy of the new will, Mr. Woodruff.”
“The hell you can,” said Woodruff. He snorted. “The hell you can. Listen.” He drew them closer to him, looking around cautiously. “We can’t establish the old man’s intention! That’s the funny part of it. Now get this. Khalkis’s old will was in force up to last Friday morning. The provisions of the old will were simple: Gilbert Sloane was to inherit the Khalkis Galleries, which includes the art-and-curio business as well as the private art-gallery. There were two trust-funds mentioned―one for Khalkis’s nephew Cheney and one for his cousin Demmy, that halfwitted yokel over there. The house and personal effects were bequeathed to his sister, Mrs. Sloane. Then there were the usual things―cash bequests to Mrs. Simms and Weekes, to various employees, a detailed disposition of art-objects to museums and so on.”
“Who was named executor?” asked Pepper.
“James J. Knox.”
Pepper whistled and Velie looked bored. “You mean Knox the multi-millionaire? The art-bug?”
“That’s the one. He was Khalkis’s best customer, and I would say something of a friend, too, considering the fact that Khalkis named him executor of his estate.”
“One hell of a friend,” said Velie. “Why wasn’t he at the funeral to-day?”
“My dear Sergeant,” said Woodruff, opening his eyes, ‘don’t you read the papers? Mr. Knox is a somebody. He was notified of Khalkis’s death and intended to come to the funeral, but at the last minute he was called to Washington. This morning, in fact. Papers said it was at the personal request of the President―something to do with Federal finance.”
“When’s he get back?” demanded Velie truculently.
“No one seems to know.”
“Well, that’s unimportant,” said Pepper. “Now how about the new will?”
“The new will. Yes.” Woodruff looked very cunning. “And here is the mysterious part of it. Last Thursday night, about midnight, I got a telephone call from Khalkis. He told me to bring him on Friday morning―the next morning―the complete draft of a new will. Now get this: the new will was to be an exact duplicate of the existent will except for one change: I was to omit the name of Gilbert Sloane as beneficiary of the Khalkis Galleries and leave the space blank for the insertion of a new name.”
“Sloane, eh?” Pepper and Velie studied the man surreptitiously. He was standing like a pouter pigeon behind Mrs. Sloane’s chair staring glassily into space, and one of his hands was trembling. “Go on, Mr. Woodruff/
“Well, I had the new will drawn up first thing Friday morning and chased over here with it considerably before noon. I found Khalkis alone. He was always a pretty rocky sort of codger―cold and hard and businesslike as you please―but that morning he was upset about something. Anyway, he made it plain right away that nobody, not even your humble servant, was to know the name of the new beneficiary of his Galleries. I fixed up the will in front of him so that he’d fill in the blank space conveniently―he made me cross over and stand on the other side of the room, mind you!―and then he scribbled a name, I suppose, in the space. He blotted it himself, closed the page quickly, had Miss Brett, Weekes and Mrs. Simms witness his signature, signed the will, sealed it with my assistance, and put it into the small steel box he kept in his safe, locking the box and the safe himself. And there you are―not a soul but Khalkis himself knew who the new beneficiary was!”
They chewed upon that. Then Pepper asked: “Who knew the provisions of the old will?”
“Everybody. It was common gossip about the house. Khalkis himself didn’t make any bones about it. As for the new will, Khalkis hadn’t specifically made a point of keeping quiet about the fact that he was making a new testament, and I didn’t see any reason to hush it up. Naturally, the three witnesses knew it, and I suppose they spread the word around the house.”
“The Sloane guy know it?” rasped Velie. Woodruff nodded. “I should say he did! In fact, that afternoon he called at my office―evidently he’d already heard that Khalkis had signed a new will―and wanted to know if the change affected him in any way. Well, I told him that somebody was taking his place, who exactly nobody knew but Khalkis himself, and he―”
Pepper’s eyes flashed. “Damn it all, Mr. Woodruff, you had no right do do that!”
Woodruff said weakly: “Well, now, Pepper, mzybe it wasn’t the . . . But you see, I figured that maybe Mrs. Sloane was the new beneficiary, and in that case Sloane would get the Galleries through her, so he wouldn’t be losing anything anyway.”
“Oh, come now,” said Pepper with a snap in his voice, “it was an unethical thing to do. Ill-advised. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. When you looked at the new will in the box five minutes before the funeral, did you find out then who the new beneficiary was?”
“No. I didn’t mean to open the will until after the funeral.”
“You’re sure it was the authentic document?”
“Positive.”
“Did the new will have a revocation clause?”
“It did.”
“What’s that?” growled Velie suspiciously. “What’s that mean?
“Plenty to give us a headache,” said Pepper. “The inclusion of a revocation clause in a new will is made to establish the intention of testator to revoke all previous testaments. That means that the old will in force up to last Friday morning is voided whether the new will is found or not. And,” he added grimly, “if we don’t find the new will and can’t establish the identity of the new beneficiary for the Galleries, Khalkis will be considered to have died intestate. A rotten mess!”
“That means,” said Woodruff gloomily, ‘that Khalkis’s estate will have to be apportioned by law strictly according to the tenets of inheritance.”