"Is it safe?" he asked, eyeing its apparently flimsy state of disrepair.
"Oh yes, sir, quite safe. It will certainly take your weight, if that's not too impertinent of me, sir."
The sun had almost set, its fading light glinting off the bobbing surface of the ocean, and the red sky on the horizon casting a beautiful hue over the landscape. With the evening beginning to draw in, just for a moment Charles wondered whether he should leave the exploration of this extraordinary room until the morning, but, as he looked at the closed door at the other end of the bridge, his curiosity now got the better of him. Somewhat gingerly, he placed a foot on the bridge and, grasping the rope handrails firmly, slowly began to make the crossing. The bridge creaked and swayed a little but, as James had predicted, it did take his weight and a few moments later he had reached the far side. While James was still following across the bridge, Charles tried the door. It was locked.
"I believe," said James as he approached, that you will find the same key will open this door too."
He was correct. The key turned and the door opened to reveal a darkened room with no natural light. They entered, slowly and carefully, just being able to make out the shapes of various objects semi-hidden by the gloom. James lit an oil lamp which stood on a reading desk in the centre and its glow revealed that the octagonal room was almost completely lined with filing cabinets. Against the one area of free wall space stood a drinks cabinet which was surmounted by a number of framed photographs.
"Lord Alfred handled all his business correspondence from here," explained James.
"It would have been useful," Charles replied, controlling himself with an effort, "to have known about this just a little earlier, rather than spending all my time sorting through old utility bills."
James looked a little sheepish.
"I am sorry, sir. Once you got started on all your sorting I thought it best to leave you to it; I assumed you knew what needed to be done — what with you being a solicitor and all — so I just kept out of the way. In any case, sir, you couldn't have gained access to this room without the key."
"Well, I think that the contents of these filing cabinets are more likely to furnish me with what I need to know than most of the other documents I've seen so far. I expect that I shall be working in here for quite a while and I may as well get started right away. Would you be so kind as to bring me some tea?"
While he waited for James to return Charles familiarised himself with the room. Taking a closer look at the display of photographs he was surprised to see that Lord Alfred appeared to have been good friends with a number of notable celebrities of years gone by. There he was smiling with Ava Gardner; over here was one taken with James Stewart. He could hardly believe his eyes — Lord Alfred attending the Oscars and being photographed with Clark Gable and Judy Garland. Well, the old boy had been quite a raver after all, thought Charles.
After this brief voyage of discovery he braced himself for a late night and, by the time James returned with a pot of rich assam tea and some homemade crumbly butter shortbread, he had already opened every drawer of each filing cabinet and gained a quick overview of the likely contents. Certainly, this was what he had been searching for, but it was plain that he was in for a long haul.
Finally, he turned his attention to the desk in the centre of the room. This had only one drawer, a shallow one which ran the full length of the desk just below the writing surface. Charles sat himself in the soft leather swivel chair in front of the desk and pulled the drawer open. Inside was a large padded envelope. He lifted it out and read the spidery handwriting on the front: The Last Will and Testament of Lord Alfred Willoughby. To be opened in the event of my death.
So the old boy had already made another Will!
On reflection, this did not really surprise Charles, although he did momentarily find himself feeling a little piqued that this new Will had been made without his being consulted. Nevertheless, the fact that there was indeed a Will in existence was certainly going to save Charles a lot of time and effort. But, as he carefully opened the envelope he was rather taken aback at what he found inside: A silver metal canister, with something rattling around inside. With a puzzled frown, Charles unscrewed the lid to discover a roll of Super 8 cine-film. Nothing else; no documents or papers of any kind.
Well, if the now departed Lord Alfred had decided to commit his last wishes to celluloid that was his privilege, but it was certainly a departure from what Charles was used to. This whole business is becoming more and more bizarre, he thought to himself.
The duty of the solicitor, as executor to the deceased, is to read the Will, ascertain who the beneficiaries are and invite them to attend a formal reading. On this occasion, however, Charles was not going to read it; he was going to watch it. Despite his curiosity as to what the mysterious film contained, he decided it would probably be best to wait until the morning so he could be refreshed when he viewed it.
Charles managed a good night's sleep, though he did find himself eating breakfast quite hastily the next morning — and then having to apologise to Mrs Gillcarey for not fully savouring the subtle flavours in her delicious eggs benedict. Risking an attack of indigestion, he walked rather too briskly to the library, although he need not have hurried. When he arrived, James was still setting up the rather antiquated film projector and screen. With nothing to do but wait he glanced, idly, along the long rows of books, many of which were leather-bound volumes and clearly expensive. Some of them were first editions.
His Lordship appeared to have been a very well read gentleman. The shelves ran the full length of the room, went all the way up to the high ceiling and were completely filled with books on every subject imaginable; and, unlike some private libraries, most of the books here had the appearance of actually having been read.
The poetry section — one of Lord Alfred's favourites — was, Charles noticed, particularly well stocked. All the greats of the poetic world were here: Auden, Betjeman, Blake, Browning, Dickinson, Donne, Frost, Keats, Kipling, Owen, Rosetti, Tennyson, Yeats — the list went on and on. The one wall which was not adorned with books was filled with small paintings: Portraits of literary masters, as well as various monarchs and explorers, each in an oval frame. These were clearly not the work of an amateur artist; although Charles was aware that Lord Alfred liked to do some painting of his own, he guessed that such offerings would probably have been kept out of sight, rather than risking being inevitably compared with such fine pieces as were displayed here.
Just then, James indicated that all was ready so Charles settled himself in a large comfy armchair, positioned his legal pad on his knee and sat with pen poised. After drawing the curtains, James set the film in motion then stood quietly and respectfully in the shadows. Sitting there in the darkened library, with the flickering light from the screen dancing in front of him, Charles began to view what turned out to be the most extraordinary piece of film he had ever seen.