Gerrard was unflappable. “O’course not. Me great-great-great-great-grandfather would of changed his own name after that William Bloone got called up before just about ev’ry magistrate in London for things like nickin’ silver, car thieving, impersonating an officer of the law, and who knows what else? Yeah, they was a bad lot, that part of the fam’ly, and my great-great-et-cetera-grandad didn’t want them blotting the fam’ly name, so the ‘Gerrard’ name got added later. Prob’ly too late to get into that book.”

This reasoning was so inane Melrose knew Agatha wouldn’t be able to question it, but she did ask, “Well, what was the name originally?” She was opening the volume to her bookmarked spot as the doorbell sounded again.

“Dunno. You don’t expect me to remember that? I can ask me da though and get back to you.”

Ruthven entered then, his expression suggesting his lordship had never had such a cartload of fun as was to be had right now. He announced the arrival not only of Superintendent Richard Jury but also of Mr. Treadwell, of Yarborough, Seward and Treadwell, Melrose’s law firm.

“Richard!” Melrose’s astonishment was no match for Agatha’s.

“Mr. Treadwell!”

She didn’t care about the police, only about the possible alteration of wills and subsequent inheritances.

“Madam,” said Mr. Treadwell. No “Lady Ardry” here.

Jury was introduced to Gerrard, who, if he hadn’t been in heaven with all his buttered eggs, sausages and kippers, went straight to it now. “Scotland Yard! Wow-ow!” Not only did Scotland Yard beat an earl, it beat a butler.

As Jury wandered back to the sideboard, he said, “Nice to meet you, Gerrard. I hope you didn’t eat everything.”

“There’s sausages left, and a bit of that kipper.”

Jury forked up both and went to the table and took the chair next to Gerrard.

Melrose, out of respect for the elderly Mr. Treadwell, was still standing. “Mr. Treadwell, could I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be welcome, thank you.”

“And this is Gerrard. My cousin. Or to be more exact, his father, Benjamin Gerrard, is my cousin.”

Mr. Treadwell, trained to accept client surprises, said simply, “I wasn’t aware you had relations still living, Lord Ardry.”

“Nor were any of us!” said Agatha. “Except, of course, for me.”

“I was speaking,” said Mr. Treadwell as Ruthven poured his tea, “of blood relations.”

Scripted, it couldn’t have been better. Melrose thought he heard a thunderclap as Agatha regarded Gerrard.

“Well, I can understand that you might want to make a few changes,” said Mr. Treadwell, careful not to actually refer to Melrose’s will.

Melrose was close to believing there actually was a cousin. He rose and said, “Mr. Treadwell, if we could just have a word in the library. Ruthven will bring us more tea.”

“Of course.” Mr. Treadwell rose and they left the table.