Twenty
The inquest went off much as I had prophesied¹. It was adjourned² at the re-quest of the police.
We were in good spirits, for news had come through the night beforefrom the hospital that Josephine’s injuries were much less serious thanhad been feared and that her recovery would be rapid. For the moment,Dr. Gray said, she was to be allowed no visitors—not even her mother.
“Particularly not her mother,” Sophia murmured to me. “I made thatquite clear to Dr. Gray. Anyway, he knows mother.”
I must have looked rather doubtful, for Sophia said sharply:
“Why the disapproving³ look?”
“Well—surely a mother—”
“I’m glad you’ve got a few nice old-fashioned ideas, Charles. But youdon’t quite know what my mother is capable of yet. The darling can’t helpit, but there would simply have to be a grand dramatic scene. And dra-matic scenes aren’t the best things for anyone recovering from head injur-ies.”
“You do think of everything, don’t you, my sweet.”
“Well, somebody’s got to do the thinking now that grandfather’s gone.”
I looked at her speculatively⁴. I saw that old Leonides’ acumen⁵ had notdeserted him. The mantle⁶ of his responsibilities was already on Sophia’sshoulders.
After the inquest, Gaitskill accompanied us back to Three Gables. Hecleared his throat and said pontifically⁷:
“There is an announcement it is my duty to make to you all.”
For this purpose the family assembled in Magda’s drawing room. I hadon this occasion the rather pleasurable sensations of the man behind thescenes. I knew in advance what Gaitskill had to say.
I prepared myself to observe the reactions of everyone.
Gaitskill was brief and dry. Any signs of personal feeling and annoyancewere well held in check. He read first Aristide Leonides’ letter and thenthe will itself.

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