Free The Thirteen Problems by Agatha Christie Page A

bitter jealousy there was of her in this country. He pointed out that Longman was forced to say he had not detected fraud. Eurydice Spragg had come to him in the darkest hour of his life, had given him help and comfort, and he was prepared to espouse her cause even if it meant quarrelling with every member of his family. She was more to him than anyone else in the world.
    ‘Philip Garrod was turned out of the house with scant ceremony; but as a result of his rage Clode’s own health took a decided turn for the worse. Forthe last month he had kept to his bed pretty continuously, and now there seemed every possibility of his being a bedridden invalid until such time as death should release him. Two days after Philip’s departure I received an urgent summons and went hurriedly over. Clode was in bed and looked even to my layman’s eye very ill indeed. He was gasping for breath.
    ‘ “This is the end of me,” he said. “I feel it. Don’t argue with me, Petherick. But before I die I am going to do my duty by the one human being who has done more for me than anyone else in the world. I want to make a fresh will.”
    ‘ “Certainly,” I said, “if you will give me your instructions now I will draft out a will and send it to you.”
    ‘ “That won’t do,” he said. “Why, man, I might not live through the night. I have written out what I want here,” he fumbled under his pillow, “and you can tell me if it is right.”
    ‘He produced a sheet of paper with a few words roughly scribbled on it in pencil. It was quite simple and clear. He left £5000 to each of his nieces and nephew, and the residue of his vast property outright to Eurydice Spragg “in gratitude and admiration”.
    ‘I didn’t like it, but there it was. There was no question of unsound mind, the old man was as sane as anybody.
    ‘He rang the bell for two of the servants. They camepromptly. The housemaid, Emma Gaunt, was a tall middle-aged woman who had been in service there for many years and who had nursed Clode devotedly. With her came the cook, a fresh buxom young woman of thirty. Simon Clode glared at them both from under his bushy eyebrows.
    ‘ “I want you to witness my will. Emma, get me my fountain pen.”
    ‘Emma went over obediently to the desk.
    ‘ “Not that left-hand drawer, girl,” said old Simon irritably. “Don’t you know it is in the right-hand one?”
    ‘ “No, it is here, sir,” said Emma, producing it.
    ‘ “Then you must have put it away wrong last time,” grumbled the old man. “I can’t stand things not being kept in their proper places.”
    ‘Still grumbling he took the pen from her and copied his own rough draught, amended by me, on to a fresh piece of paper. Then he signed his name. Emma Gaunt and the cook, Lucy David, also signed. I folded the will up and put it into a long blue envelope. It was necessarily, you understand, written on an ordinary piece of paper.
    ‘Just as the servants were turning to leave the room Clode lay back on the pillows with a gasp and a distorted face. I bent over him anxiously and Emma Gaunt came quickly back. However, the old man recovered and smiled weakly.
    ‘ “It is all right, Petherick, don’t be alarmed. At any rate I shall die easy now having done what I wanted to.”
    ‘Emma Gaunt looked inquiringly at me as if to know whether she could leave the room. I nodded reassuringly and she went out—first stopping to pick up the blue envelope which I had let slip to the ground in my moment of anxiety. She handed it to me and I slipped it into my coat pocket and then she went out.
    ‘ “You are annoyed, Petherick,” said Simon Clode. “You are prejudiced, like everybody else.”
    ‘ “It is not a question of prejudice,” I said. “Mrs Spragg may be all that she claims to be. I should see no objection to you leaving her a small legacy as a memento of gratitude; but I tell you frankly, Clode, that to disinherit your own flesh and blood in favour of a stranger is