“Well, that’s all right,” said Shelley, and glanced at the will again. Then he whistled softly to himself.

“What’s the matter?” Violet Arnell sensed that he was suddenly surprised and uneasy about something.

“Look at this again,” commanded Shelley.

She looked. “I don’t see anything curious,” she said.

“Then you probably don’t know that Professor Wilkinson died in the British Museum some six months ago, and that Dr. Crocker was stabbed there last night,” said Shelley.

“How dreadful!” She was horrified, and yet puzzled at the same time.

“But I don’t see…” she murmured.

“Take another look at your father’s will,” Shelley commanded.

“At the will?” There was still a tone of puzzlement in her voice, but she obediently picked up the document and read it through with the utmost care, as if resolved that now whatever peculiar circumstance had struck Shelley should not escape her eager scrutiny.

“But I still don’t see…” she said again.

“Look at it once more,” commanded the detective. “If you don’t see it then, I shall have to explain it to you. But somehow I fancy that you will realise what I’m getting at in a moment.”

She looked. Then she uttered a little scream of terror. “Professor Wilkinson,” she said. “Dr Crocker.”

“Yes,” said Shelley sternly. “I don’t know what it means. It doesn’t seem to make sense somehow. But Professor Wilkinson, who died at the British Museum six months ago, and Dr. Crocker, who died there last night, are the witnesses of your father’s will!”

Chapter IX

Chapter IX

Moses Moss, Esquire

While Shelley was thus chasing a somewhat elusive document, Cunningham was on the trail of an almost equally elusive gentleman. He had felt highly honoured that his chief was giving him so much independent work to do, for this was the first big murder case in which he had pursued investigations of anything like this importance on his own. Yet, before the end of the morning, he began to wonder if an honour which involved so much work was really worth while, after all.

First of all, since young Baker had given him to understand that Moss lived somewhere in Bloomsbury, he made his way to the Tottenham Court Road Police Station, and was soon in close confabulation with the inspector in charge.

“Know a young fellow called Moses Moss?” he asked, as soon as he had introduced himself, and had chatted for a few minutes in order to get on friendly terms.

“Why, what’s young Moss been doing to attract the attention of the Yard?” asked the inspector in surprised tones.

“So you do know him?”

“Yes,” answered the inspector willingly. “Know him professionally, as you might say.”

“A crook?”