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come in.’
        Mr Harcourt Grimbold was a brisk-looking man of about thirty-five. He explained that he was a stockbroker and his brother Neville an official in the Ministry of Public Health, and that they had been brought up by their uncle from the ages of eleven and ten respectively. He was aware that his uncle had had many business enemies, but for his own part he had received nothing from him but kindness.
        ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about this terrible business, as I didn’t get here till 9.45 last night, when, of course, it was all over.’
        ‘That was a little later than you hoped to be here?’
        ‘Just a little. My tail-lamp went out between Welwyn Garden City and Welwyn, and I was stopped by a bobby. I went to a garage in Welwyn, where they found that the lead had come loose. They put it right, and that delayed me for a few minutes more.’
        ‘It’s about forty miles from here to London?’
        ‘Just over. In the ordinary way, at that time of night, I should reckon an hour and a quarter from door to door. I’m not a speed merchant.’
        ‘Did you drive yourself?’
        ‘Yes. I have a chauffeur, but I don’t always bring him down here with me.’
        ‘When did you leave London?’
        ‘About 8.20, I should think. Neville went round to the garage and fetched the car as soon as he’d finished telephoning, while I put my toothbrush and so on in my bag.’
        ‘You didn’t hear about the death of your uncle before you left?’
        ‘No. They didn’t think of ringing me up, I gather, till after I had started. The police tried to get Neville later on, but he’d gone round to the club, or something. I phoned him myself after I got here, and he came down this morning.’
        ‘Well, now, Mr Grimbold, can you tell us anything about your late uncle’s affairs?’
        ‘You mean his will? Who profits, and that kind of thing? Well, I do, for one, and Neville, for another. And Mrs –. Have you heard of a Mrs Winter?’
        ‘Something, yes.’
        ‘Well, she does, for a third. And then, of course, old Hamworthy gets a nice little nest-egg, and the cook gets something, and there is a legacy of £500 to the clerk at my uncle’s London office. But the bulk of it goes to us and to Mrs Winter. I know what you’re going to ask – how much is it? I haven’t the faintest idea, but I know it must be something pretty considerable. The old man never let on to a soul how much he really was worth, and we never bothered about it. I’m turning over a good bit, and Neville’s salary is a heavy burden on a long-suffering public, so we only had a mild, academic kind of interest in the question.’
        ‘Do you suppose Hamworthy knew he was down for a legacy?’
        ‘Oh, yes – there was no secret about that. He was to get £100 and a life-interest in £200 a year, provided, of course, he was still in my uncle’s service when he – my uncle, I mean – died.’
        ‘And he wasn’t under notice, or anything?’
        ‘N-no. No. Not more than usual. My uncle gave everybody notice about once a month, to keep them up to the mark. But it never came to anything. He was like the Queen of Hearts in Alice – he never executed nobody, you know.’
        ‘I see. We’d better ask Hamworthy about that, though. Now, this Mrs Winter. Do you know anything about her?’
        ‘Oh, yes. She’s a nice woman. Of course, she was Uncle William’s mistress for donkey’s years, but her husband was practically potty with drink, and you could scarcely blame her. I wired her this morning and here’s her reply, just come.’
        He handed Parker a telegram, despatched from Paris, which read: ‘Terribly shocked and grieved. Returning immediately. Love and sympathy. Lucy.’
        ‘You are on friendly terms with her, then?’
        ‘Good Lord, yes. Why not? We were always damned sorry for her. Uncle William would have taken her