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MOTIVE V. OPPORTUNITY
Mr. Petherick cleared his throat rather more importantly than usual.
“I am afraid my little problem will seem rather tame to you all,” he said
apologetically, “after the sensational stories we have been hearing. There
is no bloodshed in mine, but it seems to me an interesting and rather in-
genious little problem, and fortunately I am in the position to know the
right answer to it.”
“It isn’t terribly legal, is it?” asked Joyce Lemprière. “I mean points of
law and lots of Barnaby v Skinner in the year 1881, and things like that.”
Mr. Petherick beamed appreciatively at her over his eyeglasses.
“No, no, my dear young lady. You need have no fears on that score. The
story I am about to tell is a perfectly simple and straightforward one and
can be followed by any layman.”
“No legal quibbles, now,” said Miss Marple, shaking a knitting needle at
him.
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Petherick.
“Ah well, I am not so sure, but let’s hear the story.”
“It concerns a former client of mine. I will call him Mr. Clode—Simon
Clode. He was a man of considerable wealth and lived in a large house not
very far from here. He had had one son killed in the War and this son had
left one child, a little girl. Her mother had died at her birth, and on her
father’s death she had come to live with her grandfather who at once be-
came passionately attached to her. Little Chris could do anything she liked
with her grandfather. I have never seen a man more completely wrapped
up in a child, and I cannot describe to you his grief and despair when, at
the age of eleven, the child contracted pneumonia and died.
“Poor Simon Clode was inconsolable. A brother of his had recently died
in poor circumstances and Simon Clode had generously offered a home to
his brother’s children—two girls, Grace and Mary, and a boy, George. But
though kind and generous to his nephew and nieces, the old man never
expended on them any of the love and devotion he had accorded to his
little grandchild. Employment was found for George Clode in a bank
nearby, and Grace married a clever young research chemist of the name
of Philip Garrod. Mary, who was a quiet, self-contained girl, lived at home
and looked after her uncle. She was, I think, fond of him in her quiet un-
demonstrative way. And to all appearances things went on very peace-
fully. I may say that after the death of little Christobel, Simon Clode came
to me and instructed me to draw up a new will. By this will, his fortune, a
very considerable one, was divided equally between his nephew and
nieces, a third share to each.
“Time went on. Chancing to meet George Clode one day I inquired for
his uncle, whom I had not seen for some time. To my surprise George’s
face clouded over. ‘I wish you could put some sense into Uncle Simon,’ he
said ruefully. His honest but not very brilliant countenance looked
puzzled and worried. ‘This spirit business is getting worse and worse.’
“‘What spirit business?’ I asked, very much surprised.
“Then George told me the whole story. How Mr. Clode had gradually got
interested in the subject and how on the top of this interest he had
chanced to meet an American medium, a Mrs. Eurydice Spragg. This wo-
man, whom George did not hesitate to characterize as an out and out
swindler, had gained an immense ascendancy over Simon Clode. She was
practically always in the house and many séances were held in which the
spirit of Christobel manifested itself to the doting grandfather.
“I may say here and now that I do not belong to the ranks of those who
cover spiritualism with ridicule and scorn. I am, as I have told you, a be-
liever in evidence. And I think that when we have an impartial mind and
weigh the evidence in favour of spiritualism there remains much that can-
not be put down to fraud or lightly set aside. Therefore, as I say, I am
neither a believer nor an unbeliever. There is certain testimony with
which one cannot afford to disagree.
“On the other hand, spiritualism lends itself very easily to fraud and im-
posture, and from all young George Clode told me about this Mrs. Eurydice
Spragg I felt more and more convinced that Simon Clode was in bad hands
and that Mrs. Spragg was probably an imposter of the worst type. The old
man, shrewd as he was in practical matters, would be easily imposed on
where his love for his dead grandchild was concerned.
“Turning things over in my mind I felt more and more uneasy. I was
fond of the young Clodes, Mary and George, and I realized that this Mrs.
Spragg and her influence over their uncle might lead to trouble in the fu-
ture.
“At the earliest opportunity I made a pretext for calling on Simon Clode.
I found Mrs. Spragg installed as an honoured and friendly guest. As soon
as I saw her my worst apprehensions were fulfilled. She was a stout wo-
man of middle age, dressed in a flamboyant style. Very full of cant phrases
about ‘Our dear ones who have passed over,’ and other things of the kind.
“Her husband was also staying in the house, Mr. Absalom Spragg, a thin
lank man with a melancholy expression and extremely furtive eyes. As
soon as I could, I got Simon Clode to myself and sounded him tactfully on
the subject. He was full of enthusiasm. Eurydice Spragg was wonderful!
She had been sent to him directly in answer to a prayer! She cared noth-
ing for money, the joy of helping a heart in affliction was enough for her.
She had quite a mother’s feeling for little Chris. He was beginning to re-
gard her almost as a daughter. Then he went on to give me details—how
he had heard his Chris’s voice speaking—how she was well and happy
with her father and mother. He went on to tell other sentiments expressed
by the child, which in my remembrance of little Christobel seemed to me
highly unlikely. She laid stress on the fact that ‘Father and Mother loved
dear Mrs. Spragg.’
“‘But, of course,’ he broke off, ‘you are a scoffer, Petherick.’
“‘No, I am not a scoffer. Very far from it. Some of the men who have
written on the subject are men whose testimony I would accept unhesitat-
ingly, and I should accord any medium recommended by them respect
and credence. I presume that this Mrs. Spragg is well vouched for?’
“Simon went into ecstasies over Mrs. Spragg. She had been sent to him
by Heaven. He had come across her at the watering place where he had
spent two months in the summer. A chance meeting, with what a wonder-
ful result!
“I went away very dissatisfied. My worst fears were realized, but I did
not see what I could do. After a good deal of thought and deliberation I
wrote to Philip Garrod who had, as I mentioned, just married the eldest
Clode girl, Grace. I set the case before him—of course, in the most care-
fully guarded language. I pointed out the danger of such a woman gaining
ascendancy over the old man’s mind. And I suggested that Mr. Clode
should be brought into contact if possible with some reputable spiritual-
istic circles. This, I thought, would not be a difficult matter for Philip Gar-
rod to arrange.
“Garrod was prompt to act. He realized, which I did not, that Simon
Clode’s health was in a very precarious condition, and as a practical man
he had no intention of letting his wife or her sister and brother be de-
spoiled of the inheritance which was so rightly theirs. He came down the
following week, bringing with him as a guest no other than the famous
Professor Longman. Longman was a scientist of the first order, a man
whose association with spiritualism compelled the latter to be treated
with respect. Not only a brilliant scientist; he was a man of the utmost up-
rightness and probity.
“The result of the visit was most unfortunate. Longman, it seemed, had
said very little while he was there. Two séances were held—under what
conditions I do not know. Longman was noncommittal all the time he was
in the house, but after his departure he wrote a letter to Philip Garrod. In
it he admitted that he had not been able to detect Mrs. Spragg in fraud,
nevertheless his private opinion was that the phenomena were not genu-
ine. Mr. Garrod, he said, was at liberty to show this letter to his uncle if he
thought fit, and he suggested that he himself should put Mr. Clode in touch
with a medium of perfect integrity.
“Philip Garrod had taken this letter straight to his uncle, but the result
was not what he had anticipated. The old man flew into a towering rage. It
was all a plot to discredit Mrs. Spragg who was a maligned and injured
saint! She had told him already what bitter jealousy there was of her in
this country. He pointed out that Longman was forced to say he had not
detected fraud. Eurydice Spragg had come to him in the darkest hour of
his life, had given him help and comfort, and he was prepared to espouse
her cause even if it meant quarrelling with every member of his family.
She was more to him than anyone else in the world.
“Philip Garrod was turned out of the house with scant ceremony; but as
a result of his rage Clode’s own health took a decided turn for the worse.
For the last month he had kept to his bed pretty continuously, and now
there seemed every possibility of his being a bedridden invalid until such
time as death should release him. Two days after Philip’s departure I re-
ceived an urgent summons and went hurriedly over. Clode was in bed and
looked even to my layman’s eye very ill indeed. He was gasping for
breath.
“‘This is the end of me,’ he said. ‘I feel it. Don’t argue with me, Petherick.
But before I die I am going to do my duty by the one human being who has
done more for me than anyone else in the world. I want to make a fresh
will.’
“‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘if you will give me your instructions now I will draft
out a will and send it to you.’
“‘That won’t do,’ he said. ‘Why, man, I might not live through the night. I
have written out what I want here,’ he fumbled under his pillow, ‘and you
can tell me if it is right.’
“He produced a sheet of paper with a few words roughly scribbled on it
in pencil. It was quite simple and clear. He left £5000 to each of his nieces
and nephew, and the residue of his vast property outright to Eurydice
Spragg ‘in gratitude and admiration.’
“I didn’t like it, but there it was. There was no question of unsound
mind, the old man was as sane as anybody.
“He rang the bell for two of the servants. They came promptly. The
housemaid, Emma Gaunt, was a tall middle-aged woman who had been in
service there for many years and who had nursed Clode devotedly. With
her came the cook, a fresh buxom young woman of thirty. Simon Clode
glared at them both from under his bushy eyebrows.
“‘I want you to witness my will. Emma, get me my fountain pen.’
“Emma went over obediently to the desk.
“‘Not that left-hand drawer, girl,’ said old Simon irritably. ‘Don’t you
know it is in the right-hand one?’
“‘No, it is here, sir,’ said Emma, producing it.
“‘Then you must have put it away wrong last time,’ grumbled the old
man. ‘I can’t stand things not being kept in their proper places.’
“Still grumbling he took the pen from her and copied his own rough
draught, amended by me, onto a fresh piece of paper. Then he signed his
name. Emma Gaunt and the cook, Lucy David, also signed. I folded the will
up and put it into a long blue envelope. It was necessarily, you under-
stand, written on an ordinary piece of paper.
“Just as the servants were turning to leave the room Clode lay back on
the pillows with a gasp and a distorted face. I bent over him anxiously and
Emma Gaunt came quickly back. However, the old man recovered and
smiled weakly.
“‘It is all right, Petherick, don’t be alarmed. At any rate I shall die easy
now having done what I wanted to.’
“Emma Gaunt looked inquiringly at me as if to know whether she could
leave the room. I nodded reassuringly and she went out—first stopping to
pick up the blue envelope which I had let slip to the ground in my moment
of anxiety. She handed it to me and I slipped it into my coat pocket and
then she went out.
“‘You are annoyed, Petherick,’ said Simon Clode. ‘You are prejudiced,
like everybody else.’
“‘It is not a question of prejudice,’ I said. ‘Mrs. Spragg may be all that she
claims to be. I should see no objection to you leaving her a small legacy as
a memento of gratitude; but I tell you frankly, Clode, that to disinherit
your own flesh and blood in favour of a stranger is wrong.’
“With that I turned to depart. I had done what I could and made my
protest.
“Mary Clode came out of the drawing room and met me in the hall.
“‘You will have tea before you go, won’t you? Come in here,’ and she led
me into the drawing room.
“A fire was burning on the hearth and the room looked cosy and cheer-
ful. She relieved me of my overcoat just as her brother, George, came into
the room. He took it from her and laid it across a chair at the far end of
the room, then he came back to the fireside where we drank tea. During
the meal a question arose about some point concerning the estate. Simon
Clode said he didn’t want to be bothered with it and had left it to George to
decide. George was rather nervous about trusting to his own judgment. At
my suggestion, we adjourned to the study after tea and I looked over the
papers in question. Mary Clode accompanied us.
“A quarter of an hour later I prepared to take my departure. Remember-
ing that I had left my overcoat in the drawing room, I went there to fetch
it. The only occupant of the room was Mrs. Spragg, who was kneeling by
the chair on which the overcoat lay. She seemed to be doing something
rather unnecessary to the cretonne cover. She rose with a very red face as
we entered.
“‘That cover never did sit right,’ she complained. ‘My! I could make a
better fit myself.’
“I took up my overcoat and put it on. As I did so I noticed that the envel-
ope containing the will had fallen out of the pocket and was lying on the
floor. I replaced it in my pocket, said goodbye, and took my departure.
“On arrival at my office, I will describe my next actions carefully. I re-
moved my overcoat and took the will from the pocket. I had it in my hand
and was standing by the table when my clerk came in. Somebody wished
to speak to me on the telephone, and the extension to my desk was out of
order. I accordingly accompanied him to the outer office and remained
there for about five minutes engaged in conversation over the telephone.
“When I emerged, I found my clerk waiting for me.
“‘Mr. Spragg has called to see you, sir. I showed him into your office.’
“I went there to find Mr. Spragg sitting by the table. He rose and greeted
me in a somewhat unctuous manner, then proceeded to a long discursive
speech. In the main it seemed to be an uneasy justification of himself and
his wife. He was afraid people were saying etc., etc. His wife had been
known from her babyhood upwards for the pureness of her heart and her
motives. . . and so on and so on. I was, I am afraid, rather curt with him.
In the end I think he realized that his visit was not being a success and he
left somewhat abruptly. I then remembered that I had left the will lying on
the table. I took it, sealed the envelope, and wrote on it and put it away in
the safe.
“Now I come to the crux of my story. Two months later Mr. Simon Clode
died. I will not go into long-winded discussions, I will just state the bare
facts. When the sealed envelope containing the will was opened it was found to
contain a sheet of blank paper.”
He paused, looking round the circle of interested faces. He smiled him-
self with a certain enjoyment.
“You appreciate the point, of course? For two months the sealed envel-
ope had lain in my safe. It could not have been tampered with then. No,
the time limit was a very short one. Between the moment the will was
signed and my locking it away in the safe. Now who had had the oppor-
tunity, and to whose interests would it be to do so?
“I will recapitulate the vital points in a brief summary: The will was
signed by Mr. Clode, placed by me in an envelope—so far so good. It was
then put by me in my overcoat pocket. That overcoat was taken from me
by Mary and handed by her to George, who was in full sight of me whilst
handling the coat. During the time that I was in the study Mrs. Eurydice
Spragg would have had plenty of time to extract the envelope from the
coat pocket and read its contents and, as a matter of fact, finding the en-
velope on the ground and not in the pocket seemed to point to her having
done so. But here we come to a curious point: she had the opportunity of
substituting the blank paper, but no motive. The will was in her favour,
and by substituting a blank piece of paper she despoiled herself of the her-
itage she had been so anxious to gain. The same applied to Mr. Spragg. He,
too, had the opportunity. He was left alone with the document in question
for some two or three minutes in my office. But again, it was not to his ad-
vantage to do so. So we are faced with this curious problem: the two
people who had the opportunity of substituting a blank piece of paper had
no motive for doing so, and the two people who had a motive had no oppor-
tunity. By the way, I would not exclude the housemaid, Emma Gaunt, from
suspicion. She was devoted to her young master and mistress and detested
the Spraggs. She would, I feel sure, have been quite equal to attempting
the substitution if she had thought of it. But although she actually handled
the envelope when she picked it up from the floor and handed it to me,
she certainly had no opportunity of tampering with its contents and she
could not have substituted another envelope by some sleight of hand (of
which anyway she would not be capable) because the envelope in ques-
tion was brought into the house by me and no one there would be likely to
have a duplicate.”
He looked round, beaming on the assembly.
“Now, there is my little problem. I have, I hope, stated it clearly. I should
be interested to hear your views.”
To everyone’s astonishment Miss Marple gave vent to a long and pro-
longed chuckle. Something seemed to be amusing her immensely.
“What is the matter, Aunt Jane? Can’t we share the joke?” said Raymond.
“I was thinking of little Tommy Symonds, a naughty little boy, I am
afraid, but sometimes very amusing. One of those children with innocent
childlike faces who are always up to some mischief or other. I was think-
ing how last week in Sunday School he said, ‘Teacher, do you say yolk of
eggs is white or yolk of eggs are white?’ And Miss Durston explained that
anyone would say ‘yolks of eggs are white, or yolk of egg is white’—and
naughty Tommy said: ‘Well, I should say yolk of egg is yellow!’ Very
naughty of him, of course, and as old as the hills. I knew that one as a
child.”
“Very funny, my dear Aunt Jane,” Raymond said gently, “but surely that
has nothing to do with the very interesting story that Mr. Petherick has
been telling us.”
“Oh yes, it has,” said Miss Marple. “It is a catch! And so is Mr. Petherick’s
story a catch. So like a lawyer! Ah, my dear old friend!” She shook a re-
proving head at him.
“I wonder if you really know,” said the lawyer with a twinkle.
Miss Marple wrote a few words on a piece of paper, folded them up and
passed them across to him.
Mr. Petherick unfolded the paper, read what was written on it and
looked across at her appreciatively.
“My dear friend,” he said, “is there anything you do not know?”
“I knew that as a child,” said Miss Marple. “Played with it too.”
“I feel rather out of this,” said Sir Henry. “I feel sure that Mr. Petherick
has some clever legal legerdemain up his sleeve.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Petherick. “Not at all. It is a perfectly fair straight-
forward proposition. You must not pay any attention to Miss Marple. She
has her own way of looking at things.”
“We should be able to arrive at the truth,” said Raymond West a trifle
vexedly. “The facts certainly seem plain enough. Five persons actually
touched that envelope. The Spraggs clearly could have meddled with it but
equally clearly they did not do so. There remains the other three. Now,
when one sees the marvellous ways that conjurers have of doing a thing
before one’s eyes, it seems to me that the paper could have been extracted
and another substituted by George Clode during the time he was carrying
the overcoat to the far end of the room.”
“Well, I think it was the girl,” said Joyce. “I think the housemaid ran
down and told her what was happening and she got hold of another blue
envelope and just substituted the one for the other.”
Sir Henry shook his head. “I disagree with you both,” he said slowly.
“These sort of things are done by conjurers, and they are done on the stage
and in novels, but I think they would be impossible to do in real life, espe-
cially under the shrewd eyes of a man like my friend Mr. Petherick here.
But I have an idea—it is only an idea and nothing more. We know that
Professor Longman had just been down for a visit and that he said very
little. It is only reasonable to suppose that the Spraggs may have been very
anxious as to the result of that visit. If Simon Clode did not take them into
his confidence, which is quite probable, they may have viewed his sending
for Mr. Petherick from quite another angle. They may have believed that
Mr. Clode had already made a will which benefited Eurydice Spragg and
that this new one might be made for the express purpose of cutting her
out as a result of Professor Longman’s revelations, or alternatively, as you
lawyers say, Philip Garrod had impressed on his uncle the claims of his
own flesh and blood. In that case, suppose Mrs. Spragg prepared to effect
a substitution. This she does, but Mr. Petherick coming in at an unfortu-
nate moment she had no time to read the real document and hastily des-
troys it by fire in case the lawyer should discover his loss.”
Joyce shook her head very decidedly.
“She would never burn it without reading it.”
“The solution is rather a weak one,” admitted Sir Henry. “I suppose—er
—Mr. Petherick did not assist Providence himself.”
The suggestion was only a laughing one, but the little lawyer drew him-
self up in offended dignity.
“A most improper suggestion,” he said with some asperity.
“What does Dr. Pender say?” asked Sir Henry.
“I cannot say I have any very clear ideas. I think the substitution must
have been effected by either Mrs. Spragg or her husband, possibly for the
motive that Sir Henry suggests. If she did not read the will until after Mr.
Petherick had departed, she would then be in somewhat of a dilemma,
since she could not own up to her action in the matter. Possibly she would
place it among Mr. Clode’s papers where she thought it would be found
after his death. But why it wasn’t found I don’t know. It might be a mere
speculation this—that Emma Gaunt came across it—and out of misplaced
devotion to her employers—deliberately destroyed it.”
“I think Dr. Pender’s solution is the best of all,” said Joyce. “Is it right,
Mr. Petherick?”
The lawyer shook his head.
“I will go on where I left off. I was dumbfounded and quite as much at
sea as all of you are. I don’t think I should ever have guessed the truth—
probably not—but I was enlightened. It was cleverly done too.
“I went and dined with Philip Garrod about a month later and in the
course of our after-dinner conversation he mentioned an interesting case
that had recently come to his notice.”
“‘I should like to tell you about it, Petherick, in confidence, of course.’
“‘Quite so,’ I replied.
“‘A friend of mine who had expectations from one of his relatives was
greatly distressed to find that that relative had thoughts of benefiting a
totally unworthy person. My friend, I am afraid, is a trifle unscrupulous in
his methods. There was a maid in the house who was greatly devoted to
the interests of what I may call the legitimate party. My friend gave her
very simple instructions. He gave her a fountain pen, duly filled. She was
to place this in a drawer in the writing table in her master’s room, but not
the usual drawer where the pen was generally kept. If her master asked
her to witness his signature to any document and asked her to bring him
his pen, she was to bring him not the right one, but this one which was an
exact duplicate of it. That was all she had to do. He gave her no other in-
formation. She was a devoted creature and she carried out his instructions
faithfully.’
“He broke off and said:
“‘I hope I am not boring you, Petherick.’
“‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I am keenly interested.’
“Our eyes met.
“‘My friend is, of course, not known to you,’ he said.
“‘Of course not,’ I replied.
“‘Then that is all right,’ said Philip Garrod.
“He paused then said smilingly, ‘You see the point? The pen was filled
with what is commonly known as Evanescent Ink—a solution of starch in
water to which a few drops of iodine has been added. This makes a deep
blue-black fluid, but the writing disappears entirely in four or five days.’”
Miss Marple chuckled.
“Disappearing ink,” she said. “I know it. Many is the time I have played
with it as a child.”
And she beamed round on them all, pausing to shake a finger once more
at Mr. Petherick.
“But all the same it’s a catch, Mr. Petherick,” she said. “Just like a law-
yer.”
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