'It was the young Duke of No -' She broke off. 'I really mustn't mention names. It isn't fair.' But she knew that the tide had turned in her favour. It was doubtful if Mr Spragge could have forgiven a mere vicar's son such audacity, but his weakness for noble names led him to look softly on the impertinences of a duke. His benign manner returned.
'Oh! you Bright Young People - You Bright Young People,' he murmured, wagging a forefinger. 'What trouble you land yourselves in. You would be surprised. Lady Frances, at the amount of legal complication that may ensue from an apparently harmless practical joke determined upon on the spur of the moment. Just high spirits - but sometimes extremely difficult to settle out of court.' 'I think you're too marvellous, Mr Spragge,' said Frankie earnestly. 'I do, really. Not one person in a thousand would have taken it as you have done. I feel really terribly ashamed.' 'No, no. Lady Frances,' said Mr Spragge paternally.
'Oh, but I do. I suppose it was the Rivington woman - what exactly did she tell you?' 'I think I have the letter here. I opened it only half an hour ago.' Frankie held out a hand and Mr Spragge put the letter into it with the air of one saying: 'There, see for yourself what your foolishness has led you into.' Dear Mr Spragge (Mrs Rivington had written). It's really too stupid of me, but I've just remembered something that might have helped you the day you called on me. Alan Car stairs mentioned that he was going to a place called Chipping Somerton. I don't know whether this will be any help to you.
I was so interested in what you told me about the Maltravers case. With kind regards, Yours sincerely, Edith Rivington.
'You can see that the matter might have been very grave,' said Mr Spragge severely, but with a severity tempered by benevolence. 'I took it that some extremely questionable business was afoot. Whether connected with the Maltravers case or with my client, Mr Carstairs -' Frankie interrupted him.
'Was Alan Carstairs a client of yours?' she inquired excitedly.
'He was. He consulted me when he was last in England a month ago. You know Mr Carstairs, Lady Frances?' 'I think I may say I do,' said Frankie.
'A most attractive personality,' said Mr Spragge. 'He brought quite a breath of the - er - wide open spaces into my office.' 'He came to consult you about Mr Savage's will, didn't he?' said Frankie.
'Ah!' said Mr Spragge. 'So it was you who advised him to come to me? He couldn't remember just who it was. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for him.' 'Just what did you advise him to do?' asked Frankie. 'Or would it be unprofessional to tell me?' 'Not in this case,' said Mr Spragge smiling. 'My opinion was that there was nothing to be done - nothing, that is, unless Mr Savage's relatives were prepared to spend a lot of money on fighting the case - which I gather they were not prepared, or indeed in a position, to do. I never advise bringing a case into court unless there is every hope of success. The law. Lady Frances, is an uncertain animal. It has twists and turns that surprise the non-legal mind. Settle out of court has always been my motto.' 'The whole thing was very curious,' said Frankie thoughtfully.
She had a little of the sensation of walking barefoot over a floor covered with tin tacks. At any minute she might step on one - and the game would be up.
'Such cases are less uncommon than you might think,' said Mr Spragge.
'Cases of suicide?' inquired Frankie.
'No, no, I meant cases of undue influence. Mr Savage was a hard-headed business man, and yet he was clearly as wax in this woman's hands. I've no doubt she knew her business thoroughly.' 'I wish you'd tell me the whole story properly,' said Frankie boldly. 'Mr Carstairs was - well, was so heated, that I never seemed to get the thing clearly.' 'The case was extremely simple,' said Mr Spragge. 'I can run over the facts to you - they are accessible to everyone - so there is no objection to my doing so.' 'Then tell me all about it,' said Frankie.
'Mr Savage happened to be travelling back from the United States to England in November of last year. He was, as you know, an extremely wealthy man with no near relations. On this voyage he made the acquaintance of a certain lady - a - er - Mrs Templeton. Nothing much is known about Mrs Templeton except that she was a very good-looking woman and had a husband somewhere conveniently in the background.' 'The Caymans,' thought Frankie.
'These ocean trips are dangerous,' went on Mr Spragge, smiling and shaking his head. 'Mr Savage was clearly very much attracted. He accepted the lady's invitation to come down and stay at her little cottage at Chipping Somerton.
Exactly how often he went there I have not been able to ascertain, but there is no doubt that he came more and more under this Mrs Templeton's influence.
'Then came the tragedy. Mr Savage had for some time been uneasy about his state of health. He feared that he might be suffering from a certain disease ' 'Cancer?' said Frankie.
'Well, yes, as a matter of fact, cancer. The subject became quite an obsession with him. He was staying with the Templetons at the time. They persuaded him to go up to London and consult a specialist. He did so. Now here. Lady Frances, I preserve an open mind. That specialist - a very distinguished man who has been at the top of his profession for many years - swore at the inquest that Mr Savage was not suffering from cancer and that he had told him so, but that Mr Savage was so obsessed by his own belief that he could not accept the truth when he was told it. Now, strictly without prejudice. Lady Frances, and knowing the medical profession, I think things may have gone a little differently.
'If Mr Savage's symptoms puzzled the doctor he may have spoken seriously, pulled a long face, spoken of certain expensive treatments and while reassuring him as to cancer yet have conveyed the impression that something was seriously wrong.
Mr Savage, having heard that doctors usually conceal from a patient the fact that he is suffering from that disease, would interpret this according to his own lights. The doctor's reassuring words were not true - he had got the disease he thought he had.
'Anyway, Mr Savage came back to Chipping Somerton in a state of great mental distress. He saw ahead of him a painful and lingering death. I understand some members of his family had died of cancer and he determined not to go through what he had seen them suffer. He sent for a solicitor - a very reputable member of an eminently respectable firm - and the latter drew up a will there and then which Mr Savage signed and which he then delivered over to the solicitor for safe keeping. On that same evening Mr Savage took a large overdose of chloral, leaving a letter behind in which he explained that he preferred a quick and painless death to a long and painful one.
'By his will Mr Savage left the sum of seven hundred thousand pounds free of legacy duty to Mrs Templeton and the remainder to certain specified charities.' Mr Spragge leaned back in his chair. He was now enjoying himself.
'The jury brought in the usual sympathetic verdict of Suicide while of Unsound Mind, but I do not think that we can argue from that that he was necessarily of unsound mind when he made the will. I do not think that any jury would take it so.
The will was made in the presence of a solicitor in whose opinion the deceased was undoubtedly sane and in possession of his senses. Nor do I think we can prove undue influence. Mr Savage did not disinherit anyone near and dear to him - his only relatives were distant cousins whom he seldom saw. They actually lived in Australia, I believe.' Mr Spragge paused.
'Mr Carstairs' contention was that such a will was completely uncharacteristic of Mr Savage. Mr Savage had no liking for organized charities and had always held very strong opinions as to money passing by blood relationship. However, Mr Carstairs had no documentary proof of these assertions and, as I pointed out to him, men change their opinions. In contesting such a will, there would be the charitable organizations to deal with as well as Mrs Templeton. Also, the will had been admitted to probate.' 'There was no fuss made at the time?' asked Frankie.
'As I say, Mr Savage's relatives were not living in this country and they knew very little about the matter. It was Mr Carstairs who took the matter up. He returned from a trip into the interior of Africa, gradually leamt the details of this business and came over to this country to see if something could be done about it. I was forced to tell him that in my view there was nothing to be done. Possession is nine points of the law, and Mrs Templeton was in possession. Moreover, she had left the country and gone, I believe, to the South of France to live. She refused to enter into any communication on the matter. I suggested getting counsel's opinion but Mr Carstairs decided that it was not necessary and took my view that there was nothing to be done - or, alternatively, that whatever might have been done at the time, and in my opinion that was exceedingly doubtful, it was now too late to do it.' 'I see,' said Frankie. 'And nobody knows anything about this Mrs Templeton?' Mr Spragge shook his head and pursed his lips.
'A man like Mr Savage, with his knowledge of life, ought to have been less easily taken in - but -' Mr Spragge shook his head sadly as a vision of innumerable clients who ought to have known better and who had come to him to have their cases settled out of court passed across his mind.
Frankie rose.
Then are extraordinary creatures,' she said.
She held out a hand.
'Goodbye, Mr Spragge,' she said. 'You've been wonderful simply wonderful. I feel too ashamed.' 'You Bright Young People must be more careful,' said Mr Spragge, shaking his head at her.
'You've been an angel,' said Frankie.
She squeezed his hand fervently and departed.
Mr Spragge sat down again before his table.
He was thinking.
'The young Duke of ' There were only two dukes who could be so described.
Which was it?
He picked up a Peerage.
CHAPTER 26 Nocturnal Adventure
The inexplicable absence of Moira worried Bobby more than he cared to admit. He told himself repeatedly that it was absurd to jump to conclusions - that it was fantastic to imagine that Moira had been done away with in a house full of possible witnesses - that there was probably some perfectly simple explanation and that at the worst she could only be a prisoner in the Grange.
That she had left Staverley of her own free will Bobby did not for one minute believe. He was convinced that she would never have gone off like that without sending him a word of explanation. Besides, she had stated emphatically that she had nowhere to go.
No, the sinister Dr Nicholson was at the bottom of this.
Somehow or other he must have become aware of Moira's -activities and this was his counter move. Somewhere within the sinister walls of the Grange Moira was a prisoner, unable to communicate with the outside world.
But she might not remain a prisoner long. Bobby believed implicitly every word Moira had uttered. Her fears were neither the result of a vivid imagination not yet of nerves. They were simple stark truth.
Nicholson meant to get rid of his wife. Several times his plans had miscarried. Now, by communicating her fears to others, she had forced his hand. He must act quickly or not at all. Would he have the nerve to act?
Bobby believed he would. He must know that, even if these strangers had listened to his wife's fears, they had no evidence.
Also, he would believe that he had only Frankie to deal with. It was possible that he had suspected her from the first - his pertinent questioning as to her 'accident' seemed to point to that - but as Lady Frances' chauffeur, Bobby did not believe that he himself was suspected of being anything other than he appeared to be.
Yes, Nicholson would act. Moira's body would probably be found in some district far from Staverley. It might, perhaps, be washed up by the sea. Or it might be found at the foot of a cliff.
The thing would appear to be, Bobby was almost sure, an 'accident'. Nicholson specialized in accidents.
Nevertheless, Bobby believed that the planning and carrying out of such an accident would need time - not much time, but a certain amount. Nicholson's hand was being forced - he had to act quicker than he had anticipated. It seemed reasonable to suppose that twenty-four hours at least must elapse before he could put any plan into operation.
