The
Inheritors Gregory, quite understandably,
had been on edge for days. "Why do you suppose he has called us here?"
he asked, nervously pacing the floor of my suite. "Only heaven can
hazard a guess, Gregory, but whatever it is, you can wager it is
important." The End
I could not help but sense the humor in the
situation. Sir Melvin, Lord of Farnsworth, hadn't seen his immediate family in
years, excluding me of course; the proximity of my dwelling to his estate did
shape a certain bond between us, and now he had summoned all of us to
Farnsworth. Gregory, who was last in succession and the Queen only knows where
in the Lord's estimation, had received his cable a day late and he strongly
suspected that it was more than a mere oversight by the aged benefactor.
Gregory fumbled in his breast pocket and
pulled out a long slender yellowish cigarette. He fumbled at lighting it and
molten tobacco fell on his lapel. "Oh, honestly," he sighed.
"First the tennis mess and now this."
Gregory was a man of circumstances - all of
them notoriously questionable. It was not that there was any maliciousness in
his makeup, it was more as though he had irreparably bruised the funny bone of
the gods at a very early age. And since that time, a sort of confettied Midas'
touch had lurkingly followed him about, showing itself only at the most
inopportune times.
There was that horribly abortive year at
Sandhurst; the abrupt exile to Brussels when his passport was held for a month;
that small affair with the housekeeper in Kent that ended in the tabloids, and
that blighted summer at Whetson when he lost his auto in the bay. Then the
growth of that square, rather rakish mustache that still adorned his face. It
was approximately two years ago, I believe, when I first noticed a stubbled
growth shadowing his forelip. As I recall, he explained it as a sort of
metabolic bandage for a rugby scar. The weekend edition of the Gazette, however,
had a far different and simpler explanation involving a cigarette burn at
Mrs.Lockwood's Rooms. And finally there was that difficult period of
readjustment after his father's death. He had expected, of course, that whatever
monies had been tied up in insurance would be at his disposal, but much to his
consternation the entire estate was put back into the barrel factory and Gregory
was left the managerialship. And in four short years he had quietly mismanaged
the company into a progressive state of bankruptcy.
As I glanced at his reflection in the mirror
I smiled. He caught my glance. "Oh, really, David, I've got a great
deal at stake here. I've been courting this inheritance for quite sometime. And
frankly if..if..."
His voice broke and he sat down.
I glanced at my watch. "Jove, Gregory,
we had better get a start on; they'll be carrying on without us."
A cab was summoned and we made our way to
Farnsworth.
The first round of cocktails had barely
disappeared when we arrived. Sir Melvin caught my eye and beckoned me to
him. Sir Melvin was a short squatty man with a very large protruding stomach.
His head was bald and his skin, which was splotched with red, hung down over his
jowls.
"Ah, David, pleasure to see you,"
he said.
Gregory, had positioned himself behind me.
Sir Melvin rose on his toes and peered over my shoulder. "And,Gregory,"
he said in a bland tone. Gregory nodded.
"This,gentlemen," said Sir Melvin,
turning to a younger man beside him, "is my solicitor, Mr. Christopher
Smail."
I extended my hand to the younger gentleman.
Gregory slid from behind my back, shook Mr.Smail's hand and then retreated
slowly. Mr. Smail was a tall man with a thin mustache. He stood very straight
and when he spoke he put his hand in and out of his coat pocket.
Sir Melvin stepped to the middle of the
room. Sensing that the moment had arrived, the assembled heirs took their chairs
and clustered - at a safe distance, of course- about him. As he studied the
design in the carpet he said "It must be evident that when I pass beyond,
each of you stands to inherit a sizeable annuity."
There was a general relaxation about the
room. Gregory sat back and crossed his legs.
"But there is," he continued,
"a frightful thing to deal with - the inheritance tax. It's rather large.
That is why I have summoned my solicitor, Mr. Smail, here tonight. He has
devised a plan whereby each of you may avoid this tax.Now, it is a bit tricky,
but I believe that if you will bear with us, you will see the wisdom in it.
Christopher, please."
Mr.Smail cleared his throat. He studied the
heirs as if he was looking for someone he knew.
"I will try to make this as elementary
as possible," he said. He scratched the side of his face and ran his
forefinger over his mustache.
"When Sir Melvin expires each of you
will inherit one eighth of his estate, and a tax on that inheritance must be
paid. Now, if Sir Melvin, instead of leaving you this money by will, were to
make you a gift of it at the present time, there would be no tax, because
Parliament does not exact a tax on gifts. Is that clear?"
He looked about the room and seeing no
questions, continued. "
"Well, with this in mind then, I have
suggested to Sir Melvin that he convert his holdings into cash immediately and
give to each of you his due share now. However," and he paused, "there
is one drawback to a gift."
A silence fell on the room. Gregory eased
himself to the edge of his chair.
Mr. Smail continued.
"This trick of avoiding the inheritance
tax has been tried before and in many instances the giver has died within a few
months of making the gift. Consequently, a few years ago Parliament
decreed that a gift will not be valid unless the giver lives for one year
thereafter. If the giver should die within that year the gift is automatically
revoked and the money passes as if given by will - and in that event the
inheritance tax must then be paid. Of course in our case, with so robust a man
as Sir Melvin this is a mere technicality. In one year from tonight the money
will be distributed free of inheritance tax."
Gregory sat quietly doubled up in the rear
of the cab running his fingers through the moisture on the window. "Do
you think the old boy can hold on for a year?"
"He ruddy-well better," I
chuckled.
Gregory turned to the window and went deeply
into thought. Two minutes passed quietly.
"Keep a lookout, David, and cable me if
his condition worsens appreciably."
** * * * * * *
The months passed. Two, three, four, then with
but five months wanting to complete the year, Sir Melvin took ill. During
dinner, he complained of
acute gastritis, then a burning pain below the sternum. Doctor Appelby was
summoned. His diagnosis was horrifying - a heart attack. Sir Melvin was expected
to expire before morning. I cabled Gregory at once. By the time he arrived Sir
Melvin had passed on.
"Much pain?"asked Gregory.
"Minimum."
"Oh, dash it, David. Let's not pretend.
He had just five months to go. What's to become of it now?"
Before I could say anything Doctor Appelby
appeared at the door of the study.
"Good morning, Gregory, nice to see
you," he said.
"Hello, doctor," Gregory mumbled.
The doctor smiled. "Pity we have to
renew our friendship on such a forbidding occasion."
"Yes, pity."
"What will you have me do with the
body, David?"
I was thinking of the annuity.
"Oh...contact Ashland and have him make the arrangements."
The doctor turned to leave and then came
back into the room, put his satchel down and stared at me with a straight, cold,
medicinal look.
"You know," he said slowly,
"it is possible to keep this death a secret for five months."
I felt as though I had been struck. I sat
down; my thoughts eddying. What is he saying? Whatever could he....
Gregory snapped to. "Go on," he
said.
"When refrigerated, a body may keep for
days, and when frozen, indefinitely," said the doctor.
Gregory began to frame a question.
"But....."
"The deepfreezer in the basement would
be suitable," said Doctor Appelby, anticipating Gregory's question.
"At the end of the five month period remove the body, allow time for it to
thaw of course, set it up in bed, and fetch the coroner."
"Brilliant," exclaimed Gregory.
"Splendid," was all I could
muster.
"Now if...," Gregory stopped short
and whirled about. "But Stephens?"
"Oh, yes," I thought - Stephens,
the manservant who had been with Sir Melvin through the ages. He would not
understand.... But. "Something should be said to him.... Suppose you talk
to him, Gregory."
"Fine, David. You help the doctor; I'll
speak with Stephens."
Stephens was seated in the vestibule.
"Oh, Stephens," I called, as I
passed him on my way upstairs, "Mr. Clot would like to speak with you for a
moment."
Stephens looked up, his eyes red and cheeks
puffed. Without saying a word he entered the parlor and stood erect. His
unheralded presence startled Gregory who was arranging his thoughts.
"Oh, Stephens - yes, yes, come in, come
in, he uttered. Stephens stood at attention as Gregory started what he had
rehearsed.
"Now,"he said by way of
introduction, "we have all sustained a severe shock this evening. No one
could have thought that so energetic, so robust a man as Sir Melvin could have -
a - could have expired so unexpectedly. Yes, it was quite a shock. But it is in
times like these that one must remain steadfast, one must-----
"Thump, thump,thump." My footsteps
and Doctor Appelby's, heavy and uncertain, echoed through the parlor. Stephens,
unmoved, stared blankly ahead.
Gregory continued. "Yes, it is in
times like these that one must ----."
"Thump, thump, thump...."
The doctor and I, with Sir Melvin's body
sprawled upon a makeshift stretcher between us, excused ourselves and passed
through the parlor to the storage room. Without a word Stephens wilted and sat
down.
We eased the body into the freezer, being
careful not to disarrange the night clothes terribly. Except for one foot, it
fit devilishly well.
"Had better dial it as low as
possible," advised the doctor.
"Right,"added Gregory with a dash
of adventure.
* * * * * * *
My next cablegram to Gregory was five months later.
"Gregory Clot, Topsworthy, stop, frightful news, stop, Sir Melvin dead,
stop, come quickly, stop,David."
"Have you notified the coroner as
yet?" asked Gregory.
"He will be here in a very few
minutes," I answered.
The coroner arrived, extended his sympathies
and explained that whereas this was death due to an unknown cause an autopsy
must be performed. We understood and agreed.
At a quarter past eleven, much to our
surprise, the coroner appeared at the door.
"Come in, come in," Gregory
begged.
"The hour is late, I will not detain
you," said the coroner. "Sir Melvin died of a heart attack - a
coronary occlusion."
"What a pity," moaned Gregory.
"He was such a robust man. Riding, hunting, tennis, there seemed to be no
activity foreign to Sir Melvin. That's why it's so difficult to believe he was
stricken so violently and quickly. At first it appeared to be merely gastritis.
Why...."
The coroner interrupted. "Then you were
here at the time, Mr. Clot?"
Gregory took the cigarette from his mouth
and flicked the ashes from it.
"Why - why- no, Mr. Whenton...,"
he said feebly, pointing to me.
"Yes," I said quickly. "Sir
Melvin complained of a slight pain. It was just after dessert. We were about
to...."
"Ah, yes, dessert," said the
coroner, squinting his eyes inquiringly, "that's one thing that bothers us,
Mr. Whenton.
I glanced quickly to Gregory.
"Upon examining the stomach," the
coroner said, "I found remains of fresh strawberries. Fresh strawberries in
January?"
The coroner looked at me. I looked at
Gregory. Gregory, taking a few seconds to regain his composure,
straightened up and smiled - the situation well in hand.
"Yes, well, you see," he said,
"we have a deep freezer."
Bill Schafer
Boppananny@aol.com
Judge Schafer's Web Site = http://hometown.aol.com/boppananny/index.html