Lord Peter Views the Body · The Fascinating Problem of Uncle Meleager’s Will (3/3)

“Shall we try the main staircase, or the little one up to the porch?”

“Oh, the main one, I think. I hope it won’t mean pulling it down. No. Somebody would have noticed if Uncle Meleager had done anything drastic in that way. It’s probably quite a simple hiding-place. Wait a minute. Let’s ask the housekeeper.”

Mrs. Meakers was called, and perfectly remembered that about nine months previously Mr. Finch had pointed out to her a “kind of a crack like” on the under surface of the staircase, and had had a man in to fill it up. Certainly, she could point out the exact place. There was the mark of the plaster filling quite clear.

“Hurray!” cried Lord Peter. “Bunter⁠—a chisel or something. Uncle Meleager, Uncle Meleager, we’ve got you! Miss Marryat, I think yours should be the hand to strike the blow. It’s your staircase, you know⁠—at least, if we find the will, so if any destruction has to be done it’s up to you.”

Breathless they stood around, while with a few blows the new plaster flaked off, disclosing a wide chink in the stonework. Hannah Marryat flung down the hammer and chisel and groped in the gap.

“There’s something,” she gasped. “Lift me up; I can’t reach. Oh, it is! it is! it is it!” And she withdrew her hand, grasping a long, sealed envelope, bearing the superscription:

Positively the Last Will and Testament of Meleager Finch.

Miss Marryat gave a yodel of joy and flung her arms round Lord Peter’s neck.

Mary executed a joy-dance. “I’ll tell the world,” she proclaimed.

“Come and tell mother!” cried Miss Marryat.

Mr. Bunter interposed.

“Your lordship will excuse me,” he said firmly, “but your lordship’s face is all over charcoal.”

“Black but comely,” said Lord Peter, “but I submit to your reproof. How clever we’ve all been. How topping everything is. How rich you are going to be. How late it is and how hungry I am. Yes, Bunter, I will wash my face. Is there anything else I can do for anybody while I feel in the mood?”

“If your lordship would be so kind,” said Mr. Bunter, producing a small paper from his pocket, “I should be grateful if you could favour me with a South African quadruped in six letters, beginning with Q.”