Young Cavendish didn't; this was all strange, confusing.

"The will," resumed Mr. Enright, "was drawn in proper form and duly
witnessed."

"There can't be such a will. None was found. You phoned me shortly
before midnight, and twenty minutes later Frederick was in his
apartments. He had no time to deposit it elsewhere. There is no such
will."

Enright smiled, not pleasantly by any means.

"Possibly not," he said with quiet sinister gravity. "It was probably
destroyed and it was to gain possession of that will that Frederick
Cavendish was killed."

John leaped to his feet, his face bloodless: "My God!" he muttered
aghast, "do you mean to say----"

"Sit down, John; this is no cause for quarrel. Now listen. I am not
accusing you of crime; not intentional crime, at least. There is no
reason why you should not naturally have desired to gain possession of
the will. If an accident happened, that was your misfortune. I merely
mention these things because I am your friend. Such friendship leads
me first to inform you what had happened over the phone. I realised
that Frederick's hasty determination to devise his property elsewhere
was the result of a quarrel. I believed it my duty to give you
opportunity to patch that quarrel up with the least possible delay.
Perhaps this was not entirely professional on my part, but the claims