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There was a moment of complete silence, with everyone holding their breath, or so it seemed to me. There was a series of rustling noises as the Judge opened interior compartments and felt around the lining. "It's empty," he exclaimed, his judicial detachment momentarily collapsing. In anticipation, I was already scanning the faces, looked around the assembled company. Clunie's face showed a wide-eyed fascination, with collapsed to sulky sullenness in an instant, like a child being told there would be no Christmas present this year. Logan looked as if he wondered what all the fuss was about and the Vale family seemed confused, unsure as the importance or relevance of the revelation. Madderfy senior kept a professional poker face throughout - I could read nothing from his visage - while his son looked distinctly relieved, although he made an attempt to conceal his reactions. A guilty coincience there, I thought. Alva's reaction was the most interesting - she didn't react at all. No surprise, no alarm, not even any interest - quite a contrast to her performance when Clunie had arrived. It was almost as if she knew what to expect. The Judge looked puzzled and faintly irritated, as if he knew that there was some hidden agenda here, but was powerless to discover what it was. "Well," he said finally, pushing the empty case away and nodding to his clerk to resume his seat at the table, "Perhaps we should press on with the reading of the will." The rest of the session was uneventful and the results unsurprising. The will and testament - dated several years before, apparently - was authenticated and the provisions read out. Vale's house, and most of the possessions and money, went to Alva, which would make her a rich as well as a merry widow. There were a few specific bequests to distant relatives and charities I had never heard of, and the interests in the Accountancy partnership were transferred to Logan and Madderfy junior, in line with their partnership agreement. Clunie sat quietly, almost hunched in her chair and dabbing at her eyes, as the provisions were read out by Millearme. The Judge made notes and interrupted occasionally to ask for a repetition or to confer with one of his clerks. When the concluding phrases were reached, Clunie could contain herself no longer. She burst into a further fountain of tears and rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her. I stood up and caught the Judge's eye. He nodded once without speaking, then returned immediately to his notes and a hushed conversation with one of the clerks. I hurried after Clunie, catching up with her slumped on a bench half-way down the hall. I sat on the same bench, close without touching, wondering how to begin a conversation. I didn't need to. Clunie sniffed and dried her eyes again. "I've made a fool of myself," she said, fixing me with tearful eyes, "I know I have. But Merton said he would look after me. I believed him. And I'm sure that briefcase wasn't empty before the poor man died." "I think you're right," I agreed gently, "I think the briefcase contained important documents, a more recent will, perhaps, copies of accounts, maybe other things. But they're gone now, taken." What I didn't say was that somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to empty the case in such a way that I hadn't noticed. Somebody had de-activated the protective glamours, removed whatever had been inside, and restarted the magic. Somebody who knew exactly what they were doing, and what I was doing, too. Clunie sat up straighter, moving closer to me so that our knees were touching. She leant forward with the child-like intensity she exhibited when she was being very serious, and presented me with another fifty dollar bill, this time producing it from the expensive-looking handbag. "Find out what was in that briefcase," she told me, pressing the banknote into my hand and folding my fingers around it, like a child being presented with a special treat for later, "Find out what dear Merton promised for me."
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Part 45