Ellery had just turned on the dishwasher when he was startled by a jarring buzz. It seemed to come from what looked like an intercom. He snatched the receiver and said, “Who the devil is this?”
“Johnny,” Benedict’s voice said. “How’s the patient?”
“Johnny? I’m just beginning to unlax.” Had Benedict followed him up? “Oh, I see, this thing is hooked up to the main house. Two-way?”
“Yes. Ellery, I know I promised not to b-bother you—”
“When did you get in?”
“Late this afternoon. Look, there’s s-something I have to tell you. Is it all right if I walk down and palaver for a minute?”
“Don’t be a horse’s patoot.”
Ellery hung up and went to the bedroom the Inspector was using. The old man was just getting into his pajamas.
“Dad, Benedict’s here. Wants to talk to us. Or to me. He’s coming over from the main house now. Do you want to sit in on this?”
They looked at each other.
“You sound mysterious,” Inspector Queen said.
“I’m not looking for trouble, you and God believe you me,” Ellery said. “But there’s a smell about this.”
“All right. But I hope you’re wrong, son.”
Ten minutes later Ellery admitted a preoccupied Johnny-B — preoccupied, and something more. Worried? Whatever it is, Ellery assured himself, I’m staying out of it with both feet.
“Come in, Johnny.”
“Forgive the pajamas and robe, Mr. Benedict,” the Inspector said. “I had a strenuous day pacing off your property. I was just going to bed.”
“Drink, Johnny?”
“Not just now, thanks.” Benedict sank into a chair and looked around. His smile was perfunctory. Something was wrong, all right. The Queens did not glance at each other. “Like it up here?”
“I want to thank you properly, Johnny. I’m really beholden. This is exactly what I needed.”
“Ellery and me both,” the Inspector said.
Benedict’s fine hand fluttered. Here it comes, Ellery thought. “Ellery?”
“Yes, Johnny.”
“What I want to tell you. I’m h-having guests this w-weekend.”
“Oh?”
“No, no, I’m not booting you out! They’ll all stay at the main house. Acres of room there. Al Marsh is due up tomorrow, and Al’s secretary — girl named Susan Smith — is coming Saturday evening. Also due tomorrow—” Benedict hesitated, made a face, and shrugged “—my three exes.”
“Ex-wives?”
“Ex-wives.”
“Excuse me for gawking, Johnny. What is this, Homecoming Week?”
The Inspector decided to improve on the light note. “I’ve always read what an interesting life you lead, Mr. Benedict, but this is ridiculous!”
They all laughed, Benedict weakly. “I wish it were as funny as that. Well. The point is, I don’t want you people to be in any way discombobulated. There’s nothing social or nostalgic about this get-together. Strictly b-business, if you know w-what I mean.”
“I don’t, but that’s all right, Johnny. You don’t owe us an explanation.”
“But I can’t have you thinking I’m an Indian giver. You won’t be disturbed, I give you my w-word.”
It all seemed so unnecessary that Ellery had to fight down his curiosity. They were a long way from the Harvard Yard, and he realized suddenly that he knew very little about Johnny-B that mattered. He had thought the invitation genuine. But had Benedict had an ulterior purpose...?
Having given his word, Benedict stopped talking. He seemed hung up on a problem. The silence became depressing.
“Something wrong, Johnny?” Ellery asked. And cursed himself for having opened the door.
“Does it sh-show that much? I think I’ll take that drink now, Ellery. No, I’ll make it myself.” Benedict jumped up and activated the bar. It was of the rotating type, swiveling out of the wall. He poured himself a stiff Scotch on the rocks and when he came back he said abruptly, “I have a favor to ask of both of you. I hate asking favors, I don’t know why... but this one I have to.”
“We’re under obligation to you, Mr. Benedict,” the Inspector said, smiling, “not the other way around.”
“There’s hardly anything within reason we could refuse you, Johnny,” Ellery said. “What’s the problem?”
Benedict set his glass down. He pulled a long single sheet of white paper from his breast pocket. It was folded in three. He unfolded it.
“For the record, this is my last w-will and testament.” He said this in an oddly chill tone; to Ellery’s sensitized ears it sounded like a sentence in a capital crime. Benedict felt his pockets. “I’ve simply got to start carrying a pen,” he said. “May I borrow yours, Ellery?” He stooped over the coffee table. “I’ll sign this and date it, and I ask you b-both to w-witness. Will you?”
“Naturally.”
“Of course, Mr. Benedict.”
They noted how he concealed the holograph text with his forearm as he wrote. When he was finished he flapped the sheet over so that only the bottom lay exposed. He indicated where the Queens were to sign, and they did so. He returned Ellery’s pen, produced a long envelope, folded the will, slipped it into the envelope, sealed it, hesitated, and suddenly offered it to Inspector Queen.
“Could I ask you to k-keep this for me, Inspector? For a short w-while?”
“Well... sure, Mr. Benedict.”
“I don’t blame you for looking kind of puzzled,” Benedict said in a hearty way. “But there’s no big deal about this. Marsh is going to draw up a formal will for me over the weekend — that’s why his secretary is coming — but I wanted something down on paper in the meantime.” He laughed; it seemed forced. “I’m getting to the age when life looks more and more uncertain. Here today and here tomorrow — m-maybe. Right?”
They laughed dutifully, and when Benedict finished his Scotch he said good night and left. He seemed relieved.
Ellery was not. He shut the front door carefully and said, “Dad, what do you make of all that?”
“A lot of question marks.” The Inspector stared at the blank envelope in his hands. “With the money he’s got — and lawyers like Marsh — it’s a cinch he’s had a formal will practically from birth. So this thing he wrote out in longhand that we just witnessed supersedes the previous one.”
“Not merely supersedes it, dad,” Ellery said. “Changes it, or why a new will at all? The question is, what does it change it from, and what does it change it to?”
“Neither of which is your business,” his father pointed out.
“This obviously involves his ex-wives,” Ellery murmured; he was back at his pacing, the Inspector noted uneasily. “Business weekend... No, I don’t care for the smell of this.”
“I can see I’ll have to put off that shuteye for a while.” The Inspector went to the bar. “I think you can use one, son. What’ll it be?”