"He had property. House property—and other matters. Now mine, gentlemen. He and I being brothers, and unmarried, we each made a will, I leaving all I had to him, he leaving all he had to me. Naturally, as soon as I heard of his death, I went to his rooms in defence of my own interests. Who wouldn't?"
"You've got all his papers, then?" asked Wedgwood.
"All that matter, mister. But—that's my business. Not yours! I shall attend the inquest, and if questioned, shall give the proper replies. But as I'm sole executor and legatee, I've a perfect right———"
"I don't want to interfere with your rights," interrupted Wedgwood. "What I want to find out is—who murdered your brother? And you might answer a question or two. When did you see your brother last—alive?"
"I couldn't say, mister. No precise recollection, you know."
"Are you aware that he's quite recently been down to Netherwell, in Derbyshire?"
"I'm aware of it now, mister. I didn't know of it this morning."
"How did you learn of it this morning?"
"I found an hotel bill of his from which I gathered that he'd been at Netherwell."
"Have you any idea why he went there?"
