“Well, let’s have a look at the paper.” Henry held it up to the light, and made a note on a pad that was before him.

“1937 Bond. Barnes and Co., Chiswick,” he said. “That doesn’t tell us very much, does it? Might be worth enquiring of them if they could identify it, but it really doesn’t seem likely.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Violet Arnell was getting excited once more.

“What’s worrying you now?” Henry grunted out the question. This business of detection, he told himself, was not all milk and honey, by any means.

“1937 Bond,” she said quietly.

“What about that?”

“The will is dated 1936, remember.”

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Henry waved away the suggestion with an airy wave of his hand “Those figures don’t mean anything. My note-paper is called ‘1718 Bond,’ but that doesn’t mean that it was made in the year 1718, or anywhere near it. Probably the figure is just a trade-mark, and that’s all there is to it.”

“I’m not so sure. I think it’s worth finding out, anyhow,” Violet Arnell objected.

Henry sighed. “Very well,” he agreed. “I suppose that there’s no harm in ringing them up, and just asking them about it.”

He drew the telephone towards him, dialled a number, and then waited.

“That Barnes and Co.?” he asked. “I wonder if you can tell me at what date you commenced putting your ‘1937 Bond’ paper on the market? When? Oh, yes, that settles my problem very well, thank you. Thank you very much. Good-bye.”

He turned to face the others, and his complexion was the colour of milk.

“Your idea was right, Miss Arnell,” he said quietly.

“It is a forgery,” she announced.

“Quite right. It is a forgery. That paper was originally intended to be called ‘Coronation Bond,’ in celebration of the coronation of King George VI, but another firm took the name first. They therefore decided to call it ‘1937 Bond.’”

“And when was it first put on the market?” she asked.

“On February 10, 1937, two months after the will was supposed to have been written!”

“Again, Mr. Fairhurst?” Shelley almost laughed as the little man twisted awkwardly in the chair at Scotland Yard.

“Again, Inspector.” Henry found the subject very difficult to broach.

“Well, what’s the meaning of this visit?”

“I have found something very important, sir. Something which may alter the whole complexion of this case.”

“Still think young Baker is not guilty?”

“I don’t know what bearing this has on his guilt, but it is something that I think you should know. After that, you can do what you like about it.”

“Well, carry on,” announced Shelley cheerfully.

“The will of the late Professor Arnell is a forgery,” announced Henry in his grimmest tones.

“Sure?” Shelley snapped out the monosyllable.

“Certain.” And Henry told briefly of their investigations of an hour or two before. Then he had a revelation of the astounding efficiency of Scotland Yard.