"Just how and when did he sign it?"
Roger looked round at his wife in an appealing way.
Clemency spoke in answer to that look.
The rest of the family seemed content for her to do so.
"You want to know exactly what took place?"
"If you please, Mrs Roger."
"My father-in-law laid the will down on his desk and requested one of us - Roger, I think - to ring the bell.
Roger did so.
When Johnson came in answer to the bell, my father-in-law requested him to fetch Janet Woolmer, the parlourmaid.
When they were both there, he signed the will and requested them to sign their own names beneath his signature."
"The correct procedure," said Mr Gaitskill. "A will must be signed by the testator in the presence of two witnesses who must affix their own signatures at the same time and place."
"And after that?" asked Taverner.
"My father-in-law thanked them, and they went out.
My father-in-law picked up the will, put it in a long envelope and mentioned that he would send it to Mr Gaitskill on the following day."
"You all agree," said Inspector Taverner, looking round, "that this is an accurate account of what happened?"
There were murmurs of agreement.
"The will was on the desk, you said.
How near were any of you to that desk?"
"Not very near. Five or six yards, perhaps, would be the nearest."
"When Mr Leonides read you the will was he himself sitting at the desk?"
"Yes."
"Did he get up, or leave the desk, after reading the will and before signing it?"
"No."
"Could the servants read the document when they signed their names?"
"No," said Clemency. "My father-in-law placed a sheet of paper across the upper part of the document."
"Quite properly," said Philip. "The contents of the will were no business of the servants."
"I see," said Taverner. "At least - I don't see."
With a brisk movement he produced a long envelope and leaned forward to hand it to the lawyer.
"Have a look at that," he said. "And tell me what it is."
Mr Gaitskill drew a folded document out of the envelope. He looked at it with lively astonishment, turning it round and round in his hands.
"This," he said, "is somewhat surprising. I do not understand it at all.
Where was this, if I may ask?"
"In the safe, amongst Mr Leonides's other papers."
"But what is it?" demanded Roger. "What's all the fuss about?"
"This is the will I prepared for your father's signature, Roger - but - I can't understand it after what you have all said - it is not signed."
"What?
Well, I suppose it is just a draft."
"No," said the lawyer. "Mr Leonides returned me the original draft. I then drew up the will - this will," he tapped it with his finger, "and sent it to him for signature.
According to your evidence he signed the will in front of you all - and the two witnesses also appended their signatures - and yet this will is unsigned."
"But that's impossible," exclaimed Philip Leonides, speaking with more animation than I had yet heard from him.
Taverner asked: "How good was your father's eyesight?"
"He suffered from glaucoma.
He used strong glasses, of course, for reading."
"He had those glasses on that evening?"
"Certainly.
He didn't take his glasses off until after he had signed.
I think I am right?"
"Quite right," said Clemency.
"And nobody - you are all sure of that - went near the desk before the signing of the will?"
"I wonder now," said Magda, screwing up her eyes. "If one could only visualise it all again."