The Dutch Shoe Mystery

Morehouse replied dryly, “I think you’ll find it interesting... You see, despite Abby’s grand old heart and wise old head, she was still a woman. Mighty changeable, Inspector... And so I wasn’t particularly surprised when, two weeks ago, she told me to draw up a new will!”

“By the Pentateuch!” moaned Ellery, “this case is simply overrun with technicalities. First it’s anatomy, then it’s metallurgy, now it’s law...”

“Don’t get the idea there was anything wrong with the first will!” interrupted Morehouse hastily. “She’d merely had a change of mind about a certain bequest...”

“Janney’s, I suppose?” asked Ellery.

Morehouse gave him a startled glance. “Yes, Janney’s. Oh, not Abby’s personal bequest to him, but the one providing the working fund for the Janney-Kneisel researches. She wanted that clause stricken out entirely. It wouldn’t have necessarily demanded a new will, but there were additional bequests to servants and a few charities and things, since the first will was two years old.”

Ellery was sitting up quite straight “And the new will was drawn up?”

“Oh yes. Executed preliminarily — but not signed,” replied Morehouse with a grimace. “This coma business, and now the murder, intervened. You see, if only I’d known she’d be taken this way! But of course none of us had the slightest warning. In fact, I was intending to present the will for Abby’s signature to-morrow. Now it’s too late. The first will remains in force.”

“This will have to be looked into,” grumbled the Inspector. “Wills always cause trouble in a homicide... Did the old lady sink a lot of money into Janney’s metallic ventures?”

“Sink is right,” retorted Morehouse. “I’m inclined to think we could all live very comfortably indeed on the money Abby turned over to Janney for those mysterious experiments of his.”

“You said,” put in Ellery, “that no one except the surgeon and Kneisel knows the nature of the research. Didn’t Mrs. Doorn know? It doesn’t seem possible, with the old lady reputed so astute in business affairs, that she would finance a project without knowing pretty much everything about it first.”

“There’s a fault in every strong structure,” said Morehouse sententiously. “Abby’s weakness was Janney. She hung on his words. I’ll give the devil his due and say that to my knowledge, Janney has never abused her devotion. She certainly didn’t know much about this project in its scientific details, anyway. You know, Janney and Kneisel have been working away at this thing, whatever it is, for two and a half years.”

“Whew!” Ellery grinned. “Drachmas to doughnuts the old lady wasn’t as weak as you make her out. Wasn’t it because they were taking too long that she wanted to omit the fund from the second will?”

Morehouse raised his eyebrows. “Smart guess, Queen. That’s exactly the point. They promised to complete the work in six months originally, and it’s dragged out to five times that. Although she was still as crazy about Janney as ever, she said — these are her exact words — ‘I’m through subsidizing such a tenuous and experimental undertaking. Money’s tight these days.’”

The Inspector rose suddenly. “Thank you, Mr. Morehouse. I don’t think there’s anything else. Get along.”

Morehouse leaped from his chair, like a cramped prisoner unexpectedly released from his bonds. ‘Thanks! I’m on my way to the Doorns’,” he called over his shoulder. He stopped at the door and grinned boyishly. “And don’t bother to tell me to keep in town, Inspector. I’m used to that sort of thing.”

And he was gone.

Dr. Minchen whispered to Ellery, bowed to the Inspector, and slipped out.

A commotion in the corridor turned Velie sharply about. He opened the door and wagged his huge head.

“D.A.!” he exclaimed. The Inspector trotted across the room. Ellery rose, fingering his pince-nez...

Three men walked into the room.