"Poor Mrs Tim," thought Mr Entwhistle to himself.

II

"Good of you to come, Entwhistle."

Timothy raised himself up in his chair as he held out a hand. He was a big man with a marked resemblance to his brother Richard. But what was strength in Richard, in Timothy was weakness. The mouth was irresolute, the chin very slightly receding, the eyes less deep-set. Lines of peevish irritability showed on his forehead.

His invalid status was emphasised by the rug across his knees and a positive pharmacopoeia of little bottles and boxes on a table at his right hand.

"I mustn't exert myself," he said warningly. "Doctor's forbidden it. Keeps telling me not to worry! Worry! If he'd had a murder in his family he'd do a bit of worrying, I bet! It's too much for a man - first Richard's death - then hearing all about his funeral and his will - what a will! - and on top of that poor little Cora killed with a hatchet. Hatchet! Ugh! This country's full of gangsters nowadays - thugs - left over from the war!

Going about killing defenceless women. Nobody's got the guts to put these things down - to take a strong hand. What's the country coming to, I'd like to know? What's the damned country coming to?"

Mr Entwhistle was familiar with this gambit. It was a question almost invariably asked sooner or later by his clients for the last twenty years and he had his routine for answering it. The non-committal words he uttered could have been classified under the heading of soothing noises.

"It all began with that damned Labour Government," said Timothy.

"Sending the whole country to blazes. And the Government we've got now is no better. Mealy-mouthed, milk-and-water socialists! Look at the state we're in! Can't get a decent gardener, can't get servants - poor Maude here has to work herself to a shadow messing about in the kitchen (by the way, I think a custard pudding would go well with the sole tonight, my dear - and perhaps a little clear soup first?). I've got to keep my strength up - Doctor Barton said so - let me see, where was I?

Oh yes, Cora. It's a shock, I can tell you, to a man, when he hears his sister - his own sister - has been murdered! Why, I had palpitations for twenty minutes! You'll have to attend to everything for me, Entwhistle. I can't go to the inquest or be bothered by business of any kind connected with Cora's estate. I want to forget the whole thing. What happens, by the way, to Cora's share of Richard's money? Comes to me, I suppose?"

Murmuring something about clearing away tea, Maude left the room.

Timothy lay hack in his chair and said:

"Good thing to get rid of the women. Now we can talk business without any silly interruptions."

"The sum left in trust for Cora," said Mr Entwhistle, "goes equally to you and the nieces and nephew."