Chapter 3

_Hearts Count More Than Diamonds_

About ten days after that notable Armistice Day, Lord Peter Wimsey was
sitting in his library, reading a rare fourteenth century manuscript of
Justinian. It gave him particular pleasure, being embellished with a
large number of drawings in sepia, extremely delicate in workmanship,
and not always equally so in subject. Beside him on a convenient
table stood a long-necked decanter of priceless old port. From time
to time he stimulated his interest with a few sips, pursing his lips
thoughtfully, and slowly savoring the balmy after-taste.

A ring at the front door of the flat caused him to exclaim "Oh, hell!"
and cock an attentive ear for the intruder's voice. Apparently the
result was satisfactory, for he closed the Justinian and had assumed a
welcoming smile when the door opened.

"Mr. Murbles, my lord."

The little elderly gentleman who entered was so perfectly the family
solicitor as really to have no distinguishing personality at all,
beyond a great kindliness of heart and a weakness for soda-mint
lozenges.

"I am not disturbing you, I trust, Lord Peter."

"Good lord, no, sir. Always delighted to see you. Bunter, a glass for
Mr. Murbles. Very glad you've turned up, sir. The Cockburn '80 always
tastes a lot better in company--discernin' company, that is. Once knew
a fellow who polluted it with a Trichinopoly. He was not asked again.
Eight months later, he committed suicide. I don't say it was on that
account. But he was earmarked for a bad end, what?"

"You horrify me," said Mr. Murbles, gravely. "I have seen many men sent
to the gallows for crimes with which I could feel much more sympathy.
Thank you, Bunter, thank you. You are quite well, I trust?"

"I am in excellent health, I am obliged to you, sir."

"That's good. Been doing any photography lately?"

"A certain amount, sir. But merely of a pictorial description, if
I may venture to call it so. Criminological material, sir, has been
distressingly deficient of late."

"Perhaps Mr. Murbles has brought us something," suggested Wimsey.

"No," said Mr. Murbles, holding the Cockburn '80 beneath his nostrils
and gently agitating the glass to release the ethers, "no, I can't say
I have, precisely. I will not disguise that I have come in the hope of
deriving benefit from your trained habits of observation and deduction,
but I fear--that is, I trust--in fact, I am confident--that nothing of
an undesirable nature is involved. The fact is," he went on, as the
door closed upon the retreating Bunter, "a curious question has arisen
with regard to the sad death of General Fentiman at the Bellona Club,
to which, I understand, you were a witness."

"If you understand that, Murbles," said his lordship, cryptically, "you
understand a damn sight more than I do. I did not witness the death--I
witnessed the discovery of the death--which is a very different thing,
by a long chalk."

"By how long a chalk?" asked Mr. Murbles, eagerly. "That is just what I
am trying to find out."

"That's very inquisitive of you," said Wimsey. "I think perhaps it
would be better ..." he lifted his glass and tilted it thoughtfully,
watching the wine coil down in thin flower-petallings from rim to
stem ... "if you were to tell me exactly what you want to know ... and
why. After all ... I'm a member of the Club ... family associations
chiefly, I suppose ... but there it is."

Mr. Murbles looked up sharply, but Wimsey's attention seemed focussed
upon the port.

"Quite so," said the solicitor. "Very well. The facts of the matter are
these. General Fentiman had, as you know, a sister Felicity, twelve
years younger than himself. She was very beautiful and very willful
as a girl, and ought to have made a very fine match, but for the fact
that the Fentimans, though extremely well-descended, were anything
but well-off. As usual at that period, all the money there was went
to educating the boy, buying him a commission in a crack regiment and
supporting him there in the style which was considered indispensable
for a Fentiman. Consequently there was nothing left to furnish a
marriage-portion for Felicity, and that was rather disastrous for a
young woman sixty years ago.

"Well, Felicity got tired of being dragged through the social round
in her darned muslins and gloves that had been to the cleaners--and
she had the spirit to resent her mother's perpetual strategies in the
match-making line. There was a dreadful, decrepit old viscount, eaten
up with diseases and dissipations, who would have been delighted to
totter to the altar with a handsome young creature of eighteen, and I
am sorry to say that the girl's father and mother did everything they
could to force her into accepting this disgraceful proposal. In fact,
the engagement was announced and the wedding-day fixed, when, to the
extreme horror of her family, Felicity calmly informed them one morning
that she had gone out before breakfast and actually got married, in the
most indecent secrecy and haste, to a middle-aged man called Dormer,
very honest and abundantly wealthy, and--horrid to relate--a prosperous
manufacturer. Buttons, in fact--made of papier mâché or something, with
a patent indestructible shank--were the revolting antecedents to which
this head-strong young Victorian had allied herself.

"Naturally there was a terrible scandal, and the parents did their
best--seeing that Felicity was a minor--to get the marriage annulled.
However, Felicity checkmated their plans pretty effectually by escaping
from her bedroom--I fear, indeed, that she actually climbed down a
tree in the back-garden, crinoline and all--and running away with her
husband. After which, seeing that the worst had happened--indeed,
Dormer, a man of prompt action, lost no time in putting his bride in
the family way--the old people put the best face they could on it in
the grand Victorian manner. That is, they gave their consent to the
marriage, forwarded their daughter's belongings to her new home in
Manchester, and forbade her to darken their doors again."

"Highly proper," murmured Wimsey. "I'm determined never to be a
parent. Modern manners and the break-up of the fine old traditions
have simply ruined the business. I shall devote my life and fortune to
the endowment of research on the best method of producin' human beings
decorously and unobtrusively from eggs. All parental responsibility to
devolve upon the incubator."

"I hope not," said Mr. Murbles. "My own profession is largely
supported by domestic entanglements. To proceed. Young Arthur Fentiman
seems to have shared the family views. He was disgusted at having a
brother-in-law in buttons, and the jests of his mess-mates did nothing
to sweeten his feelings toward his sister. He became impenetrably
military and professional, crusted over before his time, and refused
to aknowledge the existence of anybody called Dormer. Mind you, the
old boy was a fine soldier, and absolutely wrapped up in his Army
associations. In due course he married--not well, for he had not the
means to entitle himself to a noble wife, and he would not demean
himself by marrying money, like the unspeakable Felicity. He married
a suitable gentlewoman with a few thousand pounds. She died (largely,
I believe, owing to the military regularity with which her husband
ordained that she should perform her maternal functions), leaving a
numerous but feeble family of children. Of these, the only one to
attain maturity was the father of the two Fentimans you know--Major
Robert and Captain George Fentiman."

"I don't know Robert very well," interjected Wimsey. "I've met him.
Frightfully hearty and all that--regular army type."

"Yes, he's of the old Fentiman stock. Poor George inherited a weakly
strain from his grandmother, I'm afraid."

"Well, nervous, anyhow," said Wimsey, who knew better than the old
solicitor the kind of mental and physical strain George Fentiman had
undergone. The War pressed hardly upon imaginative men in responsible
positions. "And then he was gassed and all that, you know," he added,
apologetically.

"Just so," said Mr. Murbles. "Robert, you know, is unmarried and still
in the Army. He's not particularly well-off, naturally, for none of the
Fentimans ever had a bean, as I believe one says nowadays; but he does
very well. George----"

"Poor old George! All right, sir, you needn't tell me about him. Usual
story. Decentish job--imprudent marriage--chucks everything to join up
in 1914--invalided out--job gone--health gone--no money--heroic wife
keeping the home-fires burning--general fed-upness. Don't let's harrow
our feelings. Take it as read."

"Yes, I needn't go into that. Their father is dead, of course, and
up till ten days ago there were just two surviving Fentimans of the
earlier generation. The old General lived on the small fixed income
which came to him through his wife and his retired pension. He had a
solitary little flat in Dover Street and an elderly man-servant, and
he practically lived at the Bellona Club. And there was his sister,
Felicity."

"How did she come to be Lady Dormer?"

"Why, that's where we come to the interesting part of the story. Henry
Dormer----"

"The button-maker?"

"The button-maker. He became an exceedingly rich man indeed--so rich,
in fact, that he was able to offer financial assistance to certain
exalted persons who need not be mentioned and so, in time, and in
consideration of valuable services to the nation not very clearly
specified in the Honors List, he became Sir Henry Dormer, Bart. His
only child--a girl--had died, and there was no prospect of any further
family, so there was, of course, no reason why he should not be made a
baronet for his trouble."

"Acid man you are," said Wimsey. "No reverence, no simple faith or
anything of that kind. Do lawyers ever go to heaven?"

"I have no information on that point," said Mr. Murbles, dryly. "Lady
Dormer----"

"Did the marriage turn out well otherwise?" inquired Wimsey.

"I believe it was perfectly happy," replied the lawyer, "an unfortunate
circumstance in one way, since it entirely precluded the possibility
of any reconciliation with her relatives. Lady Dormer, who was a fine,
generous-hearted woman, frequently made overtures of peace, but the
General held sternly aloof. So did his son--partly out of respect for
the old boy's wishes, but chiefly, I fancy, because he belonged to an
Indian regiment and spent most of his time abroad. Robert Fentiman,
however, showed the old lady a certain amount of attention, paying
occasional visits and so forth, and so did George at one time. Of
course they never let the General know a word about it, or he would
have had a fit. After the War, George rather dropped his great-aunt--I
don't know why."

"I can guess," said Wimsey. "No job--no money, y' know. Didn't want to
look pointed. That sort of thing, what?"

"Possibly. Or there may have been some kind of quarrel. I don't know.
Anyway, those are the facts. I hope I am not boring you, by the way?"

"I am bearing up," said Wimsey, "waiting for the point where the Money
comes in. There's a steely legal glitter in your eye, sir, which
suggests that the thrill is not far off."

"Quite correct," said Mr. Murbles. "I now come--thank you, well, yes--I
will take just one more glass. I thank Providence I am not of a gouty
constitution. Yes. Ah!--We now come to the melancholy event of November
11th last, and I must ask you to follow me with the closest attention."

"By all means," said Wimsey, politely.

"Lady Dormer," pursued Mr. Murbles, leaning earnestly forward, and
punctuating every sentence with sharp little jabs of his gold-mounted
eye-glasses, held in his right finger and thumb, "was an old woman,
and had been ailing for a very long time. However, she was still the
same head-strong and vivacious personality that she had been as a girl,
and on the fifth of November she was suddenly seized with a fancy to
go out at night and see a display of fireworks at the Crystal Palace
or some such place--it may have been Hampstead Heath or the White
City--I forget, and it is of no consequence. The important thing is,
that it was a raw, cold evening. She insisted on undertaking her little
expedition nevertheless, enjoyed the entertainment as heartily as
the youngest child, imprudently exposed herself to the night air and
caught a severe cold which, in two days' time, turned to pneumonia.
On November 10th she was sinking fast, and scarcely expected to live
out the night. Accordingly, the young lady who lived with her as her
ward--a distant relative, Miss Ann Dorland--sent a message to General
Fentiman that if he wished to see his sister alive, he should come
immediately. For the sake of our common human nature, I am happy to
say that this news broke down the barrier of pride and obstinacy that
had kept the old gentleman away so long. He came, found Lady Dormer
just conscious, though very feeble, stayed with her about half an hour
and departed, still stiff as a ramrod, but visibly softened. This was
about four o'clock in the afternoon. Shortly afterwards, Lady Dormer
became unconscious, and, indeed, never moved or spoke again, passing
peacefully away in her sleep at half-past ten the following morning.

"Presumably the shock and nervous strain of the interview with his
long-estranged sister had been too much for the old General's feeble
system, for, as you know, he died at the Bellona Club at some time--not
yet clearly ascertained--on the same day, the eleventh of November.

"Now then, at last--and you have been very patient with my tedious way
of explaining all this--we come to the point at which we want your
help."

Mr. Murbles refreshed himself with a sip of port, and, looking a little
anxiously at Wimsey, who had closed his eyes and appeared to be nearly
asleep, he resumed.

"I have not mentioned, I think, how I come to be involved in this
matter myself. My father was the Fentimans' family solicitor, a
position to which I naturally succeeded when I took over the business
at his death. General Fentiman, though he had little enough to leave,
was not the sort of disorderly person who dies without making a proper
testamentary disposition. His retired pension, of course, died with
him, but his small private estate was properly disposed by will. There
was a small legacy--fifty pounds--to his man-servant (a very attached
and superior fellow); then one or two trifling bequests to old military
friends and the servants at the Bellona Club (rings, medals, weapons
and small sums of a few pounds each). Then came the bulk of his estate,
about £2,000, invested in sound securities, and bringing in an income
of slightly over £100 per annum. These securities, specifically named
and enumerated, were left to Captain George Fentiman, the younger
grandson, in a very proper clause, which stated that the testator
intended no slight in thus passing over the elder one, Major Robert,
but that, as George stood in the greater need of monetary help, being
disabled, married, and so forth, whereas his brother had his profession
and was without ties, George's greater necessity gave him the better
claim to such money as there was. Robert was finally named as executor
and residuary legatee, thus succeeding to all such personal effects and
monies as were not specifically devised elsewhere. Is that clear?"

"Clear as a bell. Was Robert satisfied with that arrangement?"

"Oh dear, yes; perfectly. He knew all about the will beforehand and had
agreed that it was quite fair and right."

"Nevertheless," said Wimsey, "it appears to be such a small matter,
on the face of it, that you must be concealing something perfectly
devastating up your sleeve. Out with it, man, out with it! Whatever the
shock may be, I am braced to bear it."

"The shock," said Mr. Murbles, "was inflicted on me, personally, last
Friday by Lady Dormer's man of business--Mr. Pritchard of Lincoln's
Inn. He wrote to me, asking if I could inform him of the exact hour and
minute of General Fentiman's decease. I replied, of course, that, owing
to the peculiar circumstances under which the event took place, I was
unable to answer his question as precisely as I could have wished, but
that I understood Dr. Penberthy to have given it as his opinion that
the General had died some time in the forenoon of November 11th. Mr.
Pritchard then asked if he might wait upon me without delay, as the
matter he had to discuss was of the most urgent importance. Accordingly
I appointed a time for the interview on Monday afternoon, and when Mr.
Pritchard arrived he informed me of the following particulars.

"A good many years before her death, Lady Dormer--who, as I said
before, was an eminently generous-minded woman--made a will. Her
husband and her daughter were then dead. Henry Dormer had few
relations, and all of them were fairly wealthy people. By his own
will he had sufficiently provided for these persons, and had left the
remainder of his property, amounting to something like seven hundred
thousand pounds, to his wife, with the express stipulation that she
was to consider it as her own, to do what she liked with, without any
restriction whatsoever. Accordingly, Lady Dormer's will divided this
very handsome fortune--apart from certain charitable and personal
bequests with which I need not trouble you--between the people who,
for one reason and another, had the greatest claims on her affection.
Twelve thousand pounds were to go to Miss Ann Dorland. The whole of the
remainder was to pass to her brother, General Fentiman, if he was still
living at her death. If, on the other hand, he should pre-decease her,
the conditions were reversed. In that case, the bulk of the money came
to Miss Dorland, and fifteen thousand pounds were to be equally divided
between Major Robert Fentiman and his brother George."

Wimsey whistled softly.

"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Murbles. "It is a most awkward
situation. Lady Dormer died at precisely 10:37 A.M. on November 11th.
General Fentiman died that same morning at some time, presumably after
10 o'clock, which was his usual hour for arriving at the Club, and
certainly before 7 P.M. when his death was discovered. If he died
immediately on his arrival, or at any time up to 10:36, then Miss
Dorland is an important heiress, and my clients the Fentimans get only
seven thousand pounds or so apiece. If, on the other hand, his death
occurred even a few seconds after 10:37, Miss Dorland receives only
twelve thousand pounds, George Fentiman is left with the small pittance
bequeathed to him under his father's will--while Robert Fentiman, the
residuary legatee, inherits a very considerable fortune of well over
half a million."

"And what," said Wimsey, "do you want me to do about it?"

"Why," replied the lawyer, with a slight cough, "it occurred to me that
you, with your--if I may say so--remarkable powers of deduction and
analysis might be able to solve the extremely difficult and delicate
problem of the precise moment of General Fentiman's decease. You were
in the Club when the death was discovered, you saw the body, you know
the places and the persons involved, and you are, by your standing
and personal character, exceptionally well fitted to carry out the
necessary investigations without creating any--ahem!--public agitation
or--er--scandal, or, in fact, notoriety, which would, I need hardly
say, be extremely painful to all concerned."

"It's awkward," said Wimsey, "uncommonly awkward."

"It is indeed," said the lawyer with some warmth, "for as we are now
situated, it is impossible to execute either will or--or in short do
anything at all. It is most unfortunate that the circumstances were
not fully understood at the time, when the--um--the body of General
Fentiman was available for inspection. Naturally, Mr. Pritchard was
quite unaware of the anomalous situation, and as I knew nothing about
Lady Dormer's will, I had no idea that anything beyond Dr. Penberthy's
certificate was, or ever could become, necessary."

"Couldn't you get the parties to come to some agreement?" suggested
Wimsey.

"If we are unable to reach any satisfactory conclusion about the time
of the death, that will probably be the only way out of the difficulty.
But at the moment there are certain obstacles----"

"Somebody's being greedy, eh?--You'd rather not say more definitely,
I suppose? No? H'm, well! From a purely detached point of view it's a
very pleasin' and pretty little problem, you know."

"You will undertake to solve it for us then, Lord Peter?"

Wimsey's fingers tapped out an intricate fugal passage on the arm of
his chair.

"If I were you, Murbles, I'd try again to get a settlement."

"Do you mean," asked Mr. Murbles, "that you think my clients have a
losing case?"

"No--I can't say that. By the way, Murbles, who is your client--Robert
or George?"

"Well, the Fentiman family in general. I know, naturally, that Robert's
gain is George's loss. But none of the parties wishes anything but that
the actual facts of the case should be determined."

"I see. You'll put up with anything I happen to dig out?"

"Of course."

"However favorable or unfavorable it may be?"

"I should not lend myself to any other course," said Mr. Murbles,
rather stiffly.

"I know that, sir. But--well!--I only mean that--Look here, sir! when
you were a boy, did you ever go about pokin' sticks and things into
peaceful, mysterious lookin' ponds, just to see what was at the bottom?"

"Frequently," replied Mr. Murbles. "I was extremely fond of natural
history and had a quite remarkable collection (if I may say so at this
distance of time) of pond fauna."

"Did you ever happen to stir up a deuce of a stink in the course of
your researches?"

"My dear Lord Peter--you are making me positively uneasy."

"Oh, I don't know that you need be. I am only giving you a general
warning, you know. Of course, if you wish it, I'll investigate this
business like a shot."

"It's very good of you," said Mr. Murbles.

"Not at all. _I_ shall enjoy it all right. If anything odd comes of it,
that's your funeral. You never know, you know."

"If you decide that no satisfactory conclusion can be arrived at," said
Mr. Murbles, "we can always fall back on the settlement. I am sure all
parties wish to avoid litigation."

"In case the estate vanishes in costs? Very wise. I hope it may be
feasible. Have you made any preliminary inquiries?"

"None to speak of. I would rather you undertook the whole investigation
from the beginning."

"Very well. I'll start to-morrow and let you know how it gets on."

The lawyer thanked him and took his departure. Wimsey sat pondering for
a short time--then rang the bell for his man-servant.

"A new notebook, please, Bunter. Head it 'Fentiman' and be ready to
come round with me to the Bellona Club to-morrow, complete with camera
and the rest of the outfit."

"Very good, my lord. I take it your lordship has a new inquiry in hand?"

"Yes, Bunter--quite new."

"May I venture to ask if it is a promising case, my lord?"

"It has its points. So has a porcupine. No matter. Begone, dull care!
Be at great pains, Bunter, to cultivate a detached outlook on life.
Take example by the bloodhound, who will follow up with equal and
impartial zest the trail of a parricide or of a bottle of aniseed."

"I will bear it in mind, my lord."

Wimsey moved slowly across to the little black baby grand that stood in
the corner of the library.

"Not Bach this evening," he murmured to himself. "Bach for to-morrow
when the gray matter begins to revolve." A melody of Parry's formed
itself crooningly under his fingers. 'For man worketh in a vain
shadow ... he heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them.'
He laughed suddenly, and plunged into an odd, noisy, and painfully
inharmonious study by a modern composer in the key of seven sharps.