# Simon/Chapter 14

XIV
THE QUESTION OF MOTIVE
Two days later Mr. Ison entered Mr. Simon Rattar's room and informed him that Mr. Cromarty of Stanesland wished to see him on particular business. The lawyer was busy and this interruption seemed for the moment distinctly unwelcome. Then he grunted:
"Show him in."
In the minute or two that passed before the laird's entrance, Simon seemed to be thinking intently and finally to come to a decision, which, to judge from his reception of his client, was on rather different lines from his first thoughts when Mr. Cromarty's name was announced. To describe Simon Rattar at any time as genial would be an exaggeration, but he showed his nearest approach to geniality as he bade his client good-morning.
"Sorry to interrupt you," said Ned, "but I can't get this business out of my head, night or day. Whether you want me or not, I've got to play a hand in this game; but it's on your side, Mr. Rattar, and maybe I might be able to help a little if I could get something to go on."
The lawyer nodded.
​"I quite understand. Glad to have your help, Mr. Cromarty. Dreadful affair. We're all trying to get to the bottom of it, I can assure you."
"I believe you," said Ned. "There never was a man better worth avenging than Sir Reginald."
"Quite so," said Simon briefly, his eyes fixed on the other's face.
"Any fresh facts?"
Simon drew a sheet of paper from his desk.
"Superintendent Sutherland has given me a note of three—for what they are worth, discovered by the butler. The first is about that table. It seems a leg has been broken."
"Bisset told me that before I left the house."
"And thought it was an important fact, I suppose?"
"What its importance is, it's hard to say, but it's a fact, and seems to me well worth noting."
"It is noted," said the Procurator Fiscal drily. "But I can't see that it leads anywhere."
"Bisset maintains it implies Sir Reginald fell over it when he was struck down; and that seems to me pretty likely."
Simon shook his head.
"How do we know Sir Reginald hadn't broken it himself previously and then set it up against the wall—assuming it ever stood anywhere else, which seems to want confirmation?"
"A dashed thin suggestion!" said Ned. "However, what are the other discoveries?"
"The second is that one or two small fragments of dried mud were found under the edge ​of the curtain, and the third is that the hearth brush was placed in an unusual position—according to Bisset."
"And what are Bisset's conclusions?"
"That the man, whoever he was, had brought mud into the room and then swept it up with the hearth brush; these fragments being pieces that he had swept accidentally under the curtain and so overlooked."
"Good for Bisset!" exclaimed Ned. "He has got there this time, I do believe."
Simon smiled sceptically.
"Sir Reginald was in the library in his walking boots that afternoon. Naturally he would leave mud, and quite likely he swept it up himself then, though the only evidence of sweeping is Bisset's statement about the brush. And what proof is that of anything? Does your hearth brush always stay in the same position?"
"Never noticed," said Ned.
"And I don't believe anybody notices sufficiently closely to make their evidence on such a point worth a rap!" said Simon.
"A servant would."
"Well, Mr. Cromarty, make the most of the hearth brush then."
There seemed for an instant to be a defiant note in the Procurator Fiscal's voice that made Ned glance at him sharply. But he saw nothing in his face but the same set and steady look.
"We're on the same side in this racket, Mr. ​Rattar," said Ned. "I'm only trying to help—same as you."
Simon's voice seemed now to have exactly the opposite note. For him, his tone of acquiescence was even eager.
"Quite so; quite so, Mr. Cromarty. We are acting together; exactly."
"That's all the new evidence then?"
Simon nodded, and a few moments of silence followed.
"Tell me honestly," demanded Ned at last, "have you actually no clue at all? No suspicion of any kind? Haven't you got on the track of any possible reason for the deed?"
"Reason?" repeated Simon. "Now we come to business, Mr. Cromarty. What's the motive? That's the point."
"Have you found one?"
Simon looked judicially discreet.
"At this moment all I can tell you is to answer the question: 'Who benefits by Sir Reginald Cromarty's death?'"
"Well—who did? Seems to me every one who knew him suffered."
"Sentimentally perhaps—but not financially."
Ned looked at him in silence, as if an entirely new point of view were dawning on his mind. But he compressed his lips and merely asked:
"Well?"
"To begin with, nothing was stolen from the house. Therefore no outside thief or burglar gained anything. I may add also that the police ​have made enquiries throughout the whole county, and no bad characters are known to be in the place. Therefore there is no ground for supposing the deed was the work of a robber, and to my mind, no evidence worth considering to support that view. The only people that gained anything, Mr. Cromarty, are those who will benefit under Sir Reginald's will."
Cromarty's expression did not change again. This was evidently the new point of view.
Simon opened a drawer and took from it a document.
"In the ordinary course of events Sir Reginald's will would not be known till after his funeral to-morrow, but if I may regard this conversation as confidential, I can tell you the principal facts so far as they affect this case."
"I don't want you to do anything you shouldn't," said Ned quickly. "If it's not the proper game to read the will now, don't."
But Silent Simon seemed determined to oblige this morning.
"It is a mere matter of form delaying till to-morrow, and I shall not read it now; merely tell you the pertinent facts briefly."
"Fire away then. The Lord knows I want to learn every derned pertinent fact—want to badly!"
"In the first place," the lawyer began, "Lady Cromarty is life rented in the mansion and property, less certain sums to be paid to other people, which I am coming to. She therefore lost her ​husband and a certain amount of income, and gained nothing that we know of."
"That's a cold-blooded way of putting it," said Ned with something like a shiver. "However, what next?"
"Sir Malcolm gets £1,000 a year to support him during the life time of Lady Cromarty, and afterwards falls heir to the whole estate. He therefore gains a baronetcy and £1,000 a year immediately, and the estate is brought a stage nearer him. Miss Farmond gets a legacy of £2,000. She therefore gained £2,000."
"Not that she'll need it," said Ned quickly. "That item doesn't count."
Simon looked at him curiously.
"Why not?" he enquired.
Ned hesitated a moment.
"Perhaps I oughtn't to have said anything," he said, "but this conversation is confidential, and anyhow the fact will be known soon enough now, I guess. She is engaged to Sir Malcolm."
For a moment Simon continued to look at him very hard. Then he merely said:
"Indeed?"
"Of course you won't repeat this till they care to make it known themselves. I told you so that you'd see a legacy of two thousand pounds wouldn't count much. It only means an income of—what?"
"One hundred pounds at five per cent; eighty pounds at four."
"Well, that will be neither here nor there now."
​Again Simon stared in silence for a moment, but rather through than at his visitor, it seemed. Then he glanced down at the document again.
"James Bisset gets a legacy of three hundred pounds. There are a few smaller legacies to servants, but the only two that might have affected this case do not actually do so. One is John Robertson, Sir Reginald's chauffeur, but on the night of the crime he was away from home and an alibi can be established till two in the morning. The other is Donald Mackay, the gardener, but he is an old man and was in bed with rheumatism that night."
"I see," observed Ned, "you are giving everybody mentioned in the will credit for perhaps having committed the murder, supposing it was physically possible?"
"I am answering the question—who that could conceivably have committed it, had a motive for doing so? And also, what was that motive?"
"Is that the whole list of them?"
Mr. Rattar glanced at the will again.
"Sir Reginald has cancelled your own debt of twelve hundred pounds, Mr. Cromarty."
"What!" exclaimed Ned, and for a moment could say no more. Then he said in a low voice: "It's up to me more than ever!"
"That is the full list of persons within the vicinity two nights ago who gained by Sir Reginald's death," said Simon in a dry voice, as he put away the will.
"Including me?" said Ned. "Well, all I've got ​to say is this, Mr. Rattar, that my plain common sense tells me that those are no motives at all. For who knew what they stood to gain by this will? Or that they stood to gain any blessed thing at all? I hadn't the foggiest notion Sir Reginald meant to cancel that debt!"
"You may not have known," said Simon still very drily, "and it is quite possible that Bisset may not have known of his legacy. Though, on the other hand, it is likely enough that Sir Reginald mentioned the fact that he would be remembered. But Lady Cromarty presumably knew his arrangements. And it is most unlikely that he should have said nothing to his heir about his intention to make him an adequate allowance if he came into the title and Lady Cromarty was still alive and life rented in the place. Also, it is highly probable that either Sir Reginald or Lady Cromarty told Miss Farmond that some provision would be made for her."
Ned Cromarty said nothing for a few moments, but he seemed to be thinking very hard. Then he rose from his chair and remarked:
"Well, I guess this has all got to be thought over."
He moved slowly to the door, while Simon gazed silently into space. His hand was on the handle when the lawyer turned in his chair and asked:
"Why was nothing said about Sir Malcolm's engagement to Miss Farmond?"
"Well," said Ned, "the whole thing is no ​business of mine, but Sir Reginald had pretty big ideas in some ways and probably one of them was connected with his heir's marriage."
"A clandestine engagement then?"
Ned Cromarty seemed to dislike the term.
"It's none of my business," he said shortly. "There was no blame on anyone, anyhow; and mind you, this is absolutely confidential."
The door closed behind him and Simon was left still apparently thinking.