"I will," I promised and stood up to go. "And thank you."
I had reached the door when he said, "Miss Jones." I stopped and turned.
He was polishing his reading glasses with an immaculate white handkerchief but now he paused and looked at me, and although his face was stern his eyes were kind. "You are not writing a biography of Hannah Gruble." It was a statement, not a question.
"No, sir."
He nodded. "I didn't, for more than one or two moments, assume so."
"Then you've been very patient with me, sir."
He said dryly, "No, Miss Jones, grateful. For years I've lived with the mystery of Hannah Meerloo's last will and I can now exchange that mystery for another: why a young woman scarcely out of her teens has suddenly begun asking the questions about Hannah's will that were never properly answered in 1965."
"Questions were asked, then, in 1965?" I asked curiously.
"A few," he said. "But as I also mentioned, we are surrounded here, Miss Jones, by Pritchetts and Tuttles, Liptons and Gerards. The questions were only—unfortunately—tolerated."
"Mr. Mason," I said impulsively, "what was she like?"
"Hannah?" He looked at me and then his gaze moved to the corner of the room, and probably into the past as well. He said thoughtfully, "I always find it difficult to describe her, Miss Jones. I could tell you that she had dark hair, gray eyes, small regular features, nothing distinguishing about either them or her. I think in 1965 she would have been called a plain-looking woman, although fashions in beauty change, as you may be too young to realize yet. Possibly she was even a woman you would have passed by on the street without a second glance—I've been told that she was—but I will say this," he added with a slight smile, "that ever since knowing her I have never ceased to give a second glance, even a third, to every plain woman I see on the street."
"Meaning what?" I asked, caught by something in his voice.
"Meaning that I am an old man, Miss Jones, nearing eighty. I have met a great many people in my lifetime and what has impressed me about the majority of them is the smallness of their souls. Pinched, shrunken, undernourished. Hannah Meerloo was in fact—literally— the most beautiful woman I have ever known."
"Beautiful," I whispered, nodding.
"She had an eager, childlike quality which, Miss Jones, if I may say so, I see somewhat repeated in yourself. But there was added to it a kind of magic: if you once spoke to her you never forgot her. She never lost a sense of wonder, she made one notice things. She was a woman who loved life."
"Loved life," I repeated, and then, very quietly, I said, "Thank you very much, Mr. Mason. Thank you very much."
"Amelia," Joe said when I joined him in the van, "you look funny again. You have these interviews and you come out of them looking the way people do when they've seen a Hitchcock or a Bergman film."
"It's possible," I said. "Joe, he knew her. She was a plain woman, he said, but the most beautiful he's ever known."
"That will take time to puzzle out," Joe said. "What about facts? And what's that enormous envelope you're carrying?"
"A copy of the court hearing that Robin asked for," I told him breathlessly, "and it should prove a heck of a lot more interesting to read than Astronomy for the Layman, Joe, because they only have probate hearings when an heir protests a will. And, Joe—Mr. Mason says Hannah had just finished writing a second book, In the Land of the Golden Warriors—and he did not draw up this will for her, he was in his office that day, July 2, but never contacted, and in all the other wills the residual or whatever it is was divided between only Robin and Nora. And Joe, he'd drawn up a will for Hannah only two months before this one."
"We've hit paydirt again," Joe said, starting up the van.
"No," I said suddenly, "I think we've just entered the maze in the heart of the castle. Joe, where are you taking us?"
"Back to the motel to start reading," he said, and headed the van out into traffic.
We sat next each other on the bed in unit 18 with doughnuts and coffee on the table beside us. "Skip the preliminaries," Joe said as I removed the pages from their envelope. "Find the important parts and read them aloud."
"Mmmmm," I murmured, scanning the first page.
"Well, here we go," I said eagerly. "Robin is definitely accusing John Tuttle, boy chauffeur, of exercising undue influence on the testatrix, or Hannah."
"Hooray," Joe said, pulling out a pillow and punching it. "The plot thickens."
"Or sickens," I reminded him. "Robin points out that Hannah had drawn up that new will in April, carefully prepared by her attorney, Garwin Mason, but that this new will of July 2 was written without the knowledge of her lawyer, that two of its witnesses are unknown to him—this is Robin speaking—and that all previous wills made by his aunt were always discussed with him and Nora, and they were sent copies. Copies, Joe."
"Okay, go on...."
"That the contents of the July 2 will were unknown to his cousin Nora when she signed as a witness— hmmm, that's interesting—and that this sudden inclusion of John Tuttle, his aunt's chauffeur—even though his aunt had a very real interest in his career and had financed his college education—has deprived him and his cousin Nora of their rightful, legal, and previously stipulated legacies."
"The lines are drawn," Joe said, nodding. "The operative word is now Undue Influence."
"Oboy, here we go," I said, reaching page four. "Hubert Holton testifies."
Joe slid flat on the bed and placed the pillow across his stomach. "Every word, Amelia. Every nuance."
"They don't provide nuances," I said crossly. "In fact it's just question and answer, with the names of the witness and lawyer at the top of the page. But here I go, it's Mr. Gerard questioning Mr. Holton."
Q. Mr. Holton, would you explain, please, how you came to be staying at Mrs. Hannah Meerloo's home during the month of July? A. Certainly, sir. I was on vacation, touring Maine. Passing through Anglesworth I thought I'd stop in or at least telephone Jay Tuttle to say hello. John Tuttle, that is. John was a student of mine at Union College—a brilliant student—and I'd become very interested in his future, an interest, I might add, that was obviously shared by Mrs. Meerloo, who had seen his potential when he was at the Orphanage she founded.
Q. But you had never met Mrs. Hannah Meerloo before?
A. No, sir. I telephoned Jay—John Tuttle, that is—from Anglesworth on July second. He suggested my coming out to Carle-ton for an evening of talk, he explained that he occupied the apartment over the garage and how to find him. In turn I suggested my arriving earlier than that and taking him back to Anglesworth for dinner. I arrived at his apartment about five o'clock, we had a drink or two and before leaving for dinner he wanted Mrs. Meerloo to meet me.
"Suspicious amount of detail there," interposed Joe. "He sounds as if he's on trial for murder."
"Perhaps he thought he was," I said dryly, and continued.
A. After meeting Mrs. Meerloo she very kindly insisted that I have dinner there with her and Miss Harrington and Jay—John Tuttle—who apparently dined regularly with them. He was not the usual chauffeur, you see, he drove for her summers as a way of paying her back for her kindness.
Q. So you would say that summers Mr. John Tuttle was more or less a member of the family?
A. Well, it all seemed very informal, and they were certainly on very friendly terms.
Q. Mrs. Meerloo then invited you to remain as a house guest?
A. I believe it was actually Nora's idea, sir. Miss Nora Harrington. We did have a particularly stimulating and interesting evening discussing books and politics—I teach political science—and Nora somewhat impulsively asked her aunt if I couldn't stay the weekend. They had a tennis court, you see, and I play tennis. Nora pointed out that with Robin not there she'd have a tennis partner and also she could show me the local sights.
Q. But you stayed longer than the weekend, Mr. Holton?
A. Yes. I was there until—until the tragic and mos
t regrettable accident that happened on the twenty-fifth of July.
Q. Also at Nora's invitation?
A. I don't really recall, sir. I would mention leaving, and no one would hear of it, and frankly I was enjoying their company very much. It was much pleasanter than idle sightseeing and staying alone in motels.
Q. Mr. Holton, how would you describe John Turtle's relationship with Mrs. Meerloo?
A. Oh, charming, absolutely charming. He obviously thought the world of Miss Hannah, as he called her.
Q. Would you describe any incident in which, in your estimation, John Tuttle might have exercised "undue influence" upon Mrs. Meerloo in changing her will to his benefit?
A. I must remind you, sir, that I was asked to sign the will as a witness that very first evening I came to see John and stayed over for dinner. That is to say, I have carefully checked my diary on this matter of dates. I arrived in Anglesworth the night of July 1 and phoned Jay—John, that is—on the morning of the second of July, which is the same day that I met Mrs. Meerloo for the first time. But I was after this a member of the household for three weeks—as house guest—and I frankly cannot imagine on what Mr. Robert Gruble bases this alleged undue influence unless—
Q. Unless what, Mr. Holton?
A. Unless it was the fact that the relationship between Jay Tuttle and Mrs. Meerloo was more like that of mother and son, and some jealousy might have been involved, but that is, of course, only speculation.
Q. Yes it is, Mr. Holton, and quite unsolicited and uncalled for. The court is interested only in facts, not speculation.
A. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.
"Ha," intervened Joe, sitting up and leaning closer to look at the page. "He got that in very smoothly; neat little touch, what? Robin, the displaced son-nephew, jealous of the interloper, Charming Jay. Or John, that is, as Holton kept saying. Who testifies next?"
"Nora," I said, "and I don't understand the tennis business, or the drives, if Nora was going to leave soon afterward. Move a little, Joe, you're throwing a shadow across the page."
"Read on," he said, removing himself two inches.
"Okay, here's Nora: Leonora Hannah Harrington of Boston, daughter of Patience Gruble, Hannah's sister, questioned by Gerard."
Q. Now, Miss Harrington'... A statement was made by you to the newspapers that you had arrived at your aunt's house only a few hours before her tragic accident on July 25?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. Yet at the inquest it was stated by Mrs. Morneau, your aunt's housekeeper, that you arrived in June, a week early for your usual July visit with your aunt. You were not with your aunt then for the major part of July?
A. Oh yes, I was there. I joined Aunt Hannah on June 26, and was with her until her accident, with the exception of two days when I drove to my apartment in Boston on July 23 for more clothes. You see, there was talk of us going to New York City late in July to see Robin in his new play, and I needed city clothes for that. Except—except
of course we never drove to New York That
awful night happened instead.
I read this statement and then I read it again. Of course I knew that Nora's signature was on the will but I'd given her the benefit of every doubt. To do anything else would have struck me as monstrous, inhuman. It still did. I couldn't believe it.
"I can't believe it," Joe said, voicing my own thought. "Nora was there—all through July—except for two days?"
"She couldn't have been so cruel," I said flatly. "Joe, she couldn't have been in on it, there has to be an explanation."
"Like what?" asked Joe.
"They could have made her a prisoner, too. Or blackmailed her."
Joe took the transcript from me and read aloud the remainder of Nora's testimony.
Q. This will, Miss Harrington. Can you tell us about the circumstances under which it was signed and witnessed?
A. Yes, sir. We'd finished dinner—it was about nine o'clock that night—the second of July, was it?—and Aunt Hannah asked if Mr. Holton and I would come into her study to witness her signature on a document. We went into the study and there was a typed sheet of paper on her desk. Through the window we could see Danny Lipton mowing the lawn and she called to Jay—John Tuttle—to ask Mr. Lipton to come inside and be a witness, too. Jay went out and got Danny, and then Jay went off somewhere, and Aunt Hannah explained to the three of us that she'd just written a new will, changing a few small details in the former one. She wanted me to sign, too, she said, just in case three signatures proved necessary in a home-drawn will.
"Lies, Joe," I said indignantly. "Lies, every word, Joe. How did they persuade her to say all this?"
"Hold on," Joe said, "there's more, and all of it equally interesting."
Q. But did you not find it odd that Mrs. Meerloo's will had been changed to include John Tuttle as beneficiary?
A. Well, of course I had no way of knowing at the time that she'd done this, sir. She didn't show me the will, or tell me what was in it. But she was very fond of Jay, and very proud of him. He'd graduated Phi Beta Kappa and magna cum laude from Union College, and he was doing splendidly in graduate school. I think she looked on him as something of the son she'd never had.
Q. So you feel no bitterness that in this will—constructed without a lawyer—she reduced your own personal legacy by a third, which, in an estate this size, represented a great deal of money?
A. Well, sir, it was Aunt Hannah's money, and her wish, obviously. How could I be bitter?
Q. Your cousin Robert Gruble has suggested that John Tuttle may have used undue influence upon your aunt, Miss Harrington. I would like now to ask you—and remind you at the same time that you are under oath: you were in the house at the time that your aunt conceived the will, and you witnessed her' signing of the will. Did John Tuttle at any time use undue influence—any persuasion of any kind—on your aunt, to encourage this change in her will?
A. No, sir. Absolutely not, sir.
Q. Thank you, Miss Harrington.
"Phew," I whistled, sinking back into the pillows. Nora's testimony just happened to end at the bottom of a page and I sat there digesting once and for all the fact that Hannah's niece had been in the house all the time, and therefore must have known what was happening upstairs to her aunt. In 1965 she had submitted to verifying and even enlarging upon Holton's testimony, and she had done so under oath. By what means had they kept her from going to the police instead?
Joe said soberly, "This is the sleight-of-hand you predicted, Amelia, right here in the transcript we're reading. The magic trick they pulled out of their hats: Nora."
I said incredulously, "If it weren't for Hannah's note in the hurdy-gurdy, Joe—it all sounds so plausible, and yet we know that every damn word is a lie."
I sat bolt upright as another fact struck me. "Joe," I gasped, "Joe, if every word about the signing and witnessing of this will is a lie, then do you realize it's possible that Hannah never met Hubert Holton at dinner on July 2, and may never have met Holton at all?"
Joe whistled. "Not bad, Amelia. Sleight-of-hand is right."
I said with growing excitement, "Wipe it all out, Joe, and Danny Lipton was not mowing the lawn that evening around nine o'clock. He was not called in on the spur of the moment. Hannah did not invite anyone to her study to witness the signing of a will. And Holton, besides not spending that evening with Hannah talking about books and politics, was never invited to stay for the weekend."
"You realize," Joe said grimly, "what that makes of Holton, don't you?"
I nodded, pleased. "One of the faceless ones!"
Joe was silent and then he said softly, "It makes sense, you know, it makes a frightening kind of sense. Someone unknown to Hannah, someone unfamiliar, and we have only their word for it that Holton was the man who came to dinner and charmed Hannah." He shook his head. "Maybe we've been going about this backward, Amelia. Maybe we should have begun by finding out exactly what happened to each of these people after they murdered Hannah. Daniel Li
pton had his throat cut by persons unknown five months later.... Nora's in a hospital and has been for years.... I'd certainly be interested in knowing what's happened to John Tuttle and Hubert Holton, wouldn't you?"
"But what about Nora?" I demanded. "Joe, I've met her—"
"In a psychiatric hospital," he pointed out dryly.
I brushed this aside. "Of course something tragic happened to her back in 1965. That's obvious. What I want to know, Joe, is what. What did they do to her, what hold did they have over her?"
Joe scowled. "The one point in her favor—and there aren't many, Amelia—is that she lost a great deal of money by the change in wills and by her aunt's death."
"And the second point in her favor," I pointed out indignantly, "is that she spent every summer of her life with her aunt, Joe—willingly—and she had to have cared."
"I wonder what this John Tuttle was like," mused Joe. "We've only Hubert Holton's description of him as a brilliant student and a charming substitute son to Hannah, but he was also a boy who grew up in an orphanage with no money, apparently no Tuttle relatives who would claim him—and with all the Tuttles around that must have stung—and so no family. He was an outsider, an outcast, and yet somehow he ends up with about $700,000, Amelia. That's a lot of money."
"Which means," I said cynically, "that he could very well have been charming and brilliant. Or clever."
Joe reached for the phone beside the bed. "There's one person we've not reached yet, and that's Mrs. Morneau."
"Her testimony comes next," I said, glancing down at the records, and he put down the phone, waiting. "And very cautious and wary it sounds, Joe." I read:
Q. Did you know Mr. Hubert Holton?
A. No, sir. I said before I'd heard the name somewhere, and I've remembered now. When John Tuttle was away at his college he'd write Miss Hannah a letter now and then and she'd mention how taken Jay was with this one professor, Mr. Holton, and how nice it was this professor had taken an interest in Jay. But know him, no sir.
Q. Would you describe for us, please, the relationship that Mr. John Tuttle had with your employer Mrs. Meerloo?
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