"It seems a normal precaution in the circumstances," Sir Clinton assured him. "Naturally, if she died first, he would expect to get his own property back again—less the Death Duties, of course."
"It was a very small affair," Renard emphasised. "If I had been consulted, I should certainly have advised it. But I was not consulted. It was no business of mine, except that I was made a trustee. I am not one who mixes himself up with affairs which do not concern him."
"Where is this leading to, Mr. Renard?" Sir Clinton asked patiently. "I don’t see your difficulty as yet, I must confess."
"There is no difficulty. It is merely that I wish to lay some further information before you. Now, I proceed. My aunt had been ill for a long time. A disease of the heart, it was: angina pectoris. She was bound to die in a spasm, at a moment’s notice. One expected it, you understand? And less than three weeks ago, she had the spasm which we had so long anticipated, and she died."
Sir Clinton’s face expressed his sympathy, but he made no attempt to interrupt.
"As I told Inspector Flamborough when I saw him last," Renard continued, "the figure of her fortune came as a surprise to me. I had no idea she was so rich. She lived very simply, very parsimoniously, even. I had always thought of her as hard-up, you understand? Figure to yourself my astonishment when I learned that she had accumulated over £12,000! That is a great sum. Many people would do almost anything to acquire £12,000."
He paused for a moment as though in rapt contemplation of the figures.
"Her testament was very simple," he proceeded. "My sister Yvonne was her favourite. My aunt had always put her in front of me. I make no complaint, you understand? Someone must be preferred. I had a little bequest under my aunt’s testament; but Yvonne secured almost the whole of my aunt’s fortune. That was how things stood a fortnight ago."
He hitched himself in his chair as though preparing for a revelation.
"My sister and I were the trustees under my aunt’s testament. The lawyer who had charge of the will communicated with me and forwarded a copy of the document. These legal documents are not easy to understand. But I soon saw that my sister had acquired the whole of my aunt’s capital in stocks and shares—about a million and a half francs. I am not very good at legal affairs. It took me some time to understand what all this meant; but I thought it out. It is really quite simple, very easy. My sister had gained £12,000 under my aunt’s will; but if she died without any change in the circumstances, then under the will which she signed after her marriage, my brother-in-law would inherit the whole of that money. Figure to yourself, he had never even seen my aunt, and all that £12,000 would pour into his lap. And I, who had been almost like a son to my aunt, I would get nothing! I make no complaint, of course,"
Sir Clinton’s face betrayed nothing whatever of his views on the question. He merely waited in silence for Renard to continued his story.
"When I understood the position," Renard resumed, "I sat down and wrote a letter to my sister. ‘Here is the state of affairs,’ I said. ‘Our good aunt is dead, and she has named you as her heiress. A whole million and a half francs! To me she has left some little things, enough at least to buy a suit of mourning. I have no complaints to make: our good aunt had the right to dispose of her money as she chose.’ That was how I began, you understand? Then I went on thus: ‘Things are for the best for the present,’ I said, ‘but one must think of the future as well. Recall the will which you made at the time of your marriage. All is to go to your husband, should anything happen to you. Now,’ I wrote, ‘that seems to me hardly as it should be. If you should die—a motor accident might happen any day—then all the money of our aunt would pass into the hands of your husband, this husband with whom you have so little in common and who had no relations with our good aunt. And I, who am your nearest in kin, would receive not one penny. Think of that,’ I wrote, ‘and consider whether it would be fair. Is the fortune of our family to pass into the hands of strangers and we ourselves to be left without a share in it?’"
Renard looked from the Inspector to Sir Clinton and back to the Inspector, as though seeking for sympathy. Apparently finding nothing very satisfying in their expressions, he continued his tale.
"I put it to her that this state of affairs was not as it should be. I did not plead for myself, of course. That is not my way. I tried to show her that as things stood, injustice would be done if she should happen to die. And I urged her very strongly to make a fresh will. ‘See,’ I wrote, ‘how things would fall out. To you, it would mean nothing, very naturally. You would be far beyond all cares. But this money would be left. Would you desire that it should fall into the hands of this husband of yours, with whom you cannot find anything in common? Or would you not prefer that it should be left to your brother who has always been good to you?’ That is how I put it to her. I asked her to take swift action and to call in a lawyer who could aid her to draw up a fresh will which would be fair to both her husband and myself. I desired to be fair, you understand? merely to be fair. He would have received back his own stocks and shares which he had given to her at the time of their marriage. I would have gained the fortune which descended from my aunt. That seemed reasonable, surely."
"Yes," Sir Clinton confirmed, "it sounds quite reasonable in the circumstances. And what happened?"
"I have been to see the lawyers," Renard went on. "Figure to yourself what I discovered. My poor Yvonne was not a woman of affairs. She had no business-like habits. If a thing seemed likely to give her trouble, she would put it aside for as long as she could, before dealing with it. Affairs bored her. It was her temperament, like that. So when she received my letter, she put it aside for some days. One cannot blame her. It was not in her nature to go to great trouble over a thing like that. Besides, death was not in her thoughts. One day was as good as another."
He paused, as though wishing to heighten the interest of his narrative; for it was evident that he had produced but little impression on Sir Clinton.
"She had a good heart, my poor sister. She understood the position well enough, it seems. And she had no wish to see her good brother left out in the cold, as you English put it. But she delayed and delayed in the affair. And in the end she delayed too long."
Again he hitched himself forward in his chair, as though he were approaching something important.
"I went to the lawyers. What did I find? This. My poor Yvonne had not forgotten her good brother. She had the intention of setting things right. One day she rang up the lawyers on the telephone and made an appointment with them for the following afternoon. She informed them that she proposed to alter her will; but of course, over the telephone, she said nothing about her wishes on the point. That is to be understood. But she said she would jot down the points to be embodied in the new will and bring that paper with her. That is all the lawyers know. That is all I know myself. For before the next afternoon, when she had made her appointment with the lawyers—my poor Yvonne was dead! Is it not distressing? Twelve thousand pounds! A million and a half francs! And they slip through my fingers just by a few hours. But I make no complaint, of course. I do not grumble. It is not my way. These things happen, and one has to bear them."