ber that emerald she always wore? It wasn't on the dead body."
"Oh, God!" said Gordon, and with unsteady hands turned over the papers. "That's her script. More or less all there, I should say. Where's the will? I know she had her will. Drew it myself."
"What's that?" Reggie said.
The one untidy thing in that very tidy room, a paper lay by the fireplace. Gordon picked it up. "Here we are! Yes, 'May Grace Weston, my companion.' That's the document. Crumpled up and torn!" He whistled. "As if Birdie was destroying it and then—biff!"
"Just as if she'd been destroying it," Reggie agreed.
"That puts the lid on, don't it!" said the little Jew. "Miss Weston—oh, lor, there's a soft kid if you ever had one. Just shows you you never know with girls, doctor. Girls, girls, girls! Well, we'd better tell these bally policemen."
So Inspector Mordan, vastly to his satisfaction, was told, and Superintendent Bell, appearing from nowhere, heard, and agreed to search the house for the stolen jewels. "You gentlemen come too, please." He cocked an eye at Reggie.
"Want to keep me under observation?" Reggie grinned back.
"Want you to identify what we find," said the Inspector.
