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legal points governing this are most explicit, the entire estate is to
pass to Dr. Linke. Tell me, when Wickham said he intended
leaving you twenty thousand, did he say, or even hint, that he had
informed the others of his intention concerning them?
 Yes, replied Mr. Luton.  Said he had told them what he
had done in his latest will. Excepting one thing. He didn t tell
 em who was to have his weather records and papers and
things. I think I can see why he put in that bit sayin if any of
them contested the will Linke was to get the lot. One or other,
according to Ben, might argue the point about leaving the
weather secrets to Linke.
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 What of Mrs. Loxton, the car driver Jackson, and Knocker
Harris? D you know if he told them?
 Ben didn t mention them.
 The will doesn t state who drew up the document. Do
you know who the solicitors are?
 Parker & Parker, in Cowdry, as far as I know. Ben said
that the present Parker s father was his father s law man. Eh!
Don t the Reverend Weston get anything?
 Not mentioned.
 He ll snort. What ll we do with the will?
 Put it back in the squire s old chest.
 All right! But . . .
 You have been trying hard to convince me that Ben
Wickham was poisoned in this very house, Mr. Luton. You
knew about that cedarwood chest, and that Ben Wickham
added papers to it as late as the day he came to join you on
that last bender. You could have a key to that chest, or have
opened it as easily as I did with wire. You could thus have
gained access to the will, have learned its provisions, learned
that you inherit twenty thousand pounds and this property,
including  what is under the house .
 You could have murdered Ben Wickham. None but your-
self had such opportunities. That you have tried to convince
me, that you have convinced Harris, that you tried to convince
Dr. Maltby and the policeman that Wickham did not die as
the result of alcoholic poisoning, would amount to very little,
because the body no longer exists. All that you know. Nothing
can be proved against you, and this you must know also. But
the facts that you had easy access to the will, that the testator
died under extraordinary circumstances in your own house,
would make you a very strong suspect with the police and
most especially with the relatives. You understand all that?
 I didn t kill Ben, Luton said, quietly.
 I would be the most disillusioned man of this century
should I become convinced that you had, Bony murmured.
 So, until I can produce a very much stronger suspect than
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you, and thus save you from much annoyance, the will shall
remain in the chest. Agreed?
 Whatever you say.
 Be advised. Henceforth, do not put forward the assertion
that Wickham was poisoned, not to anyone.
Mr. Luton seemed a trifle less willing to agree, but did so.
Bony glanced at his wrist-watch. He pointed out that it was
close to midnight, and persuaded Mr. Luton to go to bed and
leave him for an hour or so to delve among the records in the
chest. To this the old man readily agreed, and departed with-
out a glance at the whisky bottle.
Bony sat on the cases beside the bar counter, and automatic-
ally rolled a cigarette and applied a match. On only one point
was he convinced, and that was Mr. Luton s innocence of
murder. But there was the opportunity for someone else to
have murdered Wickham, the time of that opportunity being
between four in the morning when Luton visited his friend to
give him the dose of  medicine , and six twenty-five when
Luton was wakened by hearing Wickham laughing. A time
period of approximately an hour and a half. Someone could
have entered the front room where Wickham was being
tortured by the hoo-jahs and offered him a drink containing
poison. Wickham must have known who that someone was,
trusted him or her and, not as strong-willed as Luton,
have succumbed to the temptation to accept the drink.
Who? Any person mentioned in the will? The foreigners
who appeared, at least, to have begun negotiations for
Wickham s weather secrets; the office burglars, even the
person or persons who had met Wickham in the private rooms
of the bank manager; even a hired assassin paid by those
powerful interests opposed to Wickham, fantastic though this
thought might seem to be?
The  who was of less importance than the  why , if the
dead man had been poisoned. Mr. Luton did have both motive
and opportunity. Then again, Dr. Maltby, Mrs. Maltby, Jessica
Lawrence, Mrs. Parsloe, had many thousands of pounds
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worth of motive, while the ex-housekeeper, the chauffeur,
Knocker Harris, all had motive worth a thousand pounds.
There was no beginning. There was nobody to begin with.
There was nothing that a man could get his teeth into.
Bony shuddered and abruptly went to the chest and fell to
real work.
The green notebook baffled him from cover to cover. He
could not understand the diagrams nor the terms used to
explain them.  Baric surfaces ,  synoptic codes , baffled him,
and the algebraic problems led him nowhere.
The files, however, did interest him. There were seven of
them, one for each of the last seven years, and apparently they
contained correspondence which Wickham had carefully
excluded from his secretary. The letters were written from
America, from France and Germany, from Finland and Italy.
They contained offers of financial support, ranging from a
high Government appointment at Washington to the sum of
one million pounds from a man signing himself Edward Tilly,
and giving an address in Lisbon.
There were newspaper cuttings either praising Wickham
or condemning him, and it could not but be noted that
encouragement came chiefly from the United States and
vilification from Australia. Only on the last file, and during
the last six months of Wickham s life, was recognition
grudgingly conceded by professional meteorologists and any
interest taken in his achievements by the various Australian
Governments.
If ever there was a prophet who had received no honour in
his own country, and no support in his efforts to improve the
lot of agriculturists, and therefore of the world, it was the late
Benjamin Wickham. Bony was sickened by the petty jealousy
in human hearts, and by the lack of imagination in men of
high estate. He experienced relief when Mr. Luton descended
with a huge jug of coffee and a dish piled high with buttered
toast.
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