‘Wait for the storm to end and then enjoy the sunshine,’ Holmes remarked.
‘Yes,’ Lestrade said, ‘but it’s an idea which has led many a man and woman though the devil’s door, I’ll be bound. Hull made sure his family knew both his worth and the provisions of his wijl.
They were little better than slaves.’
‘With the will as their document of indenture,’ Holmes murmured.
‘Exactly so, old boy. At the time of his death, Hull’s worth was three hundred thousand pounds. He never asked them to take his word for this; he had his chief accountant to the house quarterly to detail the balance sheets of Hull Shipping, although he kept the purse-strings firmly in his own hands and tightly closed.’
‘Devilish!’ I exclaimed, thinking of the cruel boys one sometimes sees in Eastcheap or Piccadilly, boys who will hold out a sweet to a starving dog to see it dance . . . and then gobble it themselves while the hungry animal watches. I was shortly to find this comparison even more apt than I would have thought possible.
‘On his death. Lady Rebecca was to receive one hundred and fifty thousand pund’. William, the eldest, was to receive fifty thousand; Jory, the middler, forty; and Stephen, the youngest, thirty.”
‘And the other thirty thousand?’ I asked.
‘Small bequests, Watson: to a cousin in Wales, an aunt in Brittany (not a cent for Lady Hull’s relatives, though), five thousand in assorted bequests to the servants. Oh, and — you’ll like this, Holmes — ten thousand pounds to Mrs. HemphilFs Home for Abandoned Pussies.’
‘You’re joking!’ I cried, although if Lestrade expected a similar reaction from Holmes, he was disappointed. Holmes merely re-lighted his pipe and nodded as if he had expected this . . . this or something like it. ‘With babies dying of starvation in the East End and twelve-year-old children working fifty hours a week in the mills, this fellow left ten thousand pounds to a . . . a boarding-hotel for cats?’
‘Exactly so,’ Lestrade said pleasantly. ‘Furthermore, he should have left twenty-seven times that amount to Mrs. Hemphill’s Abandoned Pussies if not for whatever happened this morning — and whoever did the business.’
I could only gape at this, and try to multiply in my head. While I was coming to the conclusion that Lord Hull had intended to disinherit both wife and children in favor of a rest-home for felines, Holmes was looking sourly at Lestrade and saying something which sounded to me like a total non sequitur. ‘ I am going to sneeze, am I not?’
Lestrade smiled. It was a smile of transcendent sweetness. ‘Yes, my dear Holmes! Often and profoundly, I fear.’
Holmes removed his pipe, which he had just gotten drawing to his satisfaction (I could tell by the way he settled back slightly in his seat), looked at it for a moment, and then held it out into the rain. More dumbfounded than ever, I watched him knock out the damp and smouldering tobacco.
‘How many?’ Holmes asked.
‘Ten,’ Lestrade said with a fiendish grin.
‘I suspected it was more than this famous locked room of yours that brought you out in the back of an open wagon on such a wet day,’ Holmes said sourly.
‘Suspect as you like,’ Lestrade said gaily. ‘I’m afraid I must go on to the scene of the crime —
duty calls, you know — but if you’d like, I could let you and the good doctor out here.’
‘You are the only man I ever met,’ Holmes said, ‘whose wit seems to be sharpened by foul weather. Does that perhaps say something about your character, I wonder? But never mind —
that is, perhaps, a subject for another day. Tell me this, Lestrade: when did Lord Hull become sure that he was going to die?’
‘Die?’ I said. ‘My dear Holmes, whatever gives you the idea that the man believed — ‘
‘It’s obvious, Watson,’ Holmes said. ‘CIB, as I have told you at least a thousand times —
character indexes behavior. It amused him to keep them in bondage by means of his will . . . ‘ He looked an aside at Lestrade. ‘No trust arrangements, I take it? No entailments of any sort?”
Lestrade shook his head. ‘None whatever.’
‘Extraordinary!’ I said.
‘Not at all, Watson; character indexes behavior, remember. He wanted them to soldier along in the belief that all would be theirs when he did them the courtesy of dying, but he never actually intended any such thing. Such behavior would, in fact, have run completely across the grain of his character. D’you agree, Lestrade?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ Lestrade replied.
‘Then we are very well to this point, Watson, are we not? All is clear? Lord Hull realizes he is dying. He waits . . . makes absolutely sure that this time it’s no mistake, no false alarm . . . and then he calls his beloved family together. When? This morning, Lestrade?’
Lestrade grunted an affirmative.
Holmes steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘He calls them together and tells them he’s made a new will, one which disinherits all of them . . . all, that is, save for the servants, his few distant relatives, and, of course, the pussies.’
I opened my mouth to speak, only to discover I was too outraged to say anything. The image, which kept returning to my mind, was that of those cruel boys, making the starving East End curs jump with a bit of pork or a crumb of crust from a meat pie. I must add it never occurred to me to ask whether such a will could be disputed before the bar. Today a man would have a deuce of a time slighting his closest relatives in favor of a cat-hotel, but in 1899, a man’s will was a
man’s will, and unless many examples of insanity — not eccentricity but outright Insanity —
could be proved, a man’s will, like God’s, was done.
‘This new will was properly witnessed?’ Holmes asked.
‘Indeed it was,’ Lestrade replied. ‘Yesterday Lord Hull’s solicitor and one of his assistants appeared at the house and were shown into Hull’s study. There they remained for about fifteen minutes. Stephen Hull says the solicitor once raised his voice in protest about something — he could not tell what — and was silenced by Hull. Jory, the middle son, was upstairs, painting, and Lady Hull was calling on a friend. But both Stephen and William Hull saw these legal fellows enter, and leave a short time later. William said that they left with their heads down, and although William spoke, asking Mr. Barnes — the solicitor — if he was well, and making some social remark about the persistence of the rain, Barnes did not reply and the assistant seemed actually to cringe. It was as if they were ashamed, William said.’
Well, so much for that possible loophole, I thought.
‘Since we are on the subject, tell me about the boys,’ Holmes invited.
‘As you like. It goes pretty much without saying that their hatred for the pater was exceeded only by the pater’s boundless contempt for them . . . although how he could hold Stephen in contempt is . . . well, never mind, I’ll keep things in their proper order.’
‘Yes, please be so kind as to do that,’ Holmes said dryly.
‘William is thirty-six. If his father had given him any sort of allowance, I suppose he would be a bounder. As he had little or none, he has spent his days in various gymnasiums, involved in what I believe is called ‘physical culture’ — he appears to be an extremely muscular fellow —
and his nights in various cheap coffee-houses, for the most part. If he did happen to have a bit of money in his pockets, he was apt to take himself off to a card-parlor, where he would lose it quickly enough. Not a pleasant man, Holmes. A man who has no purpose, no skill, no hobby, and no ambition (save to outlive his father) could hardly be a pleasant man. I had the queerest idea while talking to him that I was interrogating not a man but an empty vase upon which the face of Lord Hull had been lightly stamped.’
‘A vase waiting to be filled up with pounds sterling,’ Holmes commented.
‘Jory is another matter,’ Lestrade went on. ‘Lord Hull saved most of his contempt for him, calling him from his earliest childhood by such endearing pet-names as “Fish-Face” and “Keg-Legs” and “Stoat-Belly.” It’s not hard to understand such names, unfortunately; Jory Hull stands no more than five feet tall, if that, is bow-legged, and of a remarkably ugly countenance. He looks a bit like that poet fellow. The pouf.’
‘Oscar Wilde?’ asked I.
Holmes turned a brief, amused glance upon me. ‘I think Lestrade means Algernon Swinburne,’