4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [51]
Craddock nodded. He suggested a line of further inquiries—though he had little hope of success from them.
After some thought, he rang up Wimborne, Henderson and Carstairs and asked for an appointment with Mr. Wimborne.
In due course, he was ushered into a particularly airless room where Mr. Wimborne was sitting behind a large old-fashioned desk covered with bundles of dusty-looking papers. Various deed boxes labelled Sir John ffouldes, dec., Lady Derrin, George Rowbottom, Esq., ornamented the walls; whether as relics of a bygone era or as part of present-day legal affairs, the inspector did not know.
Mr. Wimborne eyed his visitor with the polite wariness characteristic of a family lawyer towards the police.
“What can I do for you, Inspector?”
“This letter…” Craddock pushed Martine’s letter across the table. Mr. Wimborne touched it with a distasteful finger but did not pick it up. His colour rose very slightly and his lips tightened.
“Quite so,” he said; “quite so! I received a letter from Miss Emma Crackenthorpe yesterday morning, informing me of her visit to Scotland Yard and of—ah—all the circumstances. I may say that I am at a loss to understand—quite at a loss—why I was not consulted about this letter at the time of its arrival! Most extraordinary! I should have been informed immediately….”
Inspector Craddock repeated soothingly such platitudes as seemed best calculated to reduce Mr. Wimborne to an amenable frame of mind.
“I’d no idea that there was ever any question of Edmund’s having married,” said Mr. Wimborne in an injured voice.
Inspector Craddock said that he supposed—in war time—and left it to trail away vaguely.
“War time!” snapped Mr. Wimborne with waspish acerbity. “Yes, indeed, we were in Lincoln’s Inn Fields at the outbreak of war and there was a direct hit on the house next door, and a great number of our records were destroyed. Not the really important documents, of course; they had been removed to the country for safety. But it caused a great deal of confusion. Of course, the Crackenthorpe business was in my father’s hands at that time. He died six years ago. I dare say he may have been told about this so-called marriage of Edmund’s—but on the face of it, it looks as though that marriage, even if contemplated, never took place, and so, no doubt, my father did not consider the story of any importance. I must say, all this sounds very fishy to me. This coming forward, after all these years, and claiming a marriage and a legitimate son. Very fishy indeed. What proofs had she got, I’d like to know?”
“Just so,” said Craddock. “What would her position, or her son’s position be?”
“The idea was, I suppose, that she would get the Crackenthorpes to provide for her and for the boy.”
“Yes, but I meant, what would she and the son be entitled to, legally speaking—if she could prove her claim?”
“Oh, I see.” Mr. Wimborne picked up his spectacles which he had laid aside in his irritation, and put them on, staring through them at Inspector Craddock with shrewd attention. “Well, at the moment, nothing. But if she could prove that the boy was the son of Edmund Crackenthorpe, born in lawful wedlock, then the boy would be entitled to his share of Josiah Crackenthorpe’s trust on the death of Luther Crackenthorpe. More than that, he’d inherit Rutherford Hall, since he’s the son of the eldest son.”
“Would anyone want to inherit the house?”
“To live in? I should say, certainly not. But that estate, my dear Inspector, is worth a considerable amount of money. Very considerable. Land for industrial and building purposes. Land which is now in the heart of Brackhampton. Oh, yes, a very considerable inheritance.”
“If Luther Crackenthorpe dies, I believe you told me that Cedric gets it?”
“He inherits the real estate—yes, as the eldest living son.”
“Cedric Crackenthorpe, I have been given to understand, is not interested in money?”
Mr. Wimborne gave