“To think of it! To think of the Perthshire Erskines ending like this! All their money and all their land to come to no better finish!” Pointer pressed a button and had the will handed over to the Yard's experts to be photographed and enlarged. “Now about this Henry Carter, who is he?” “I never heard of him before in my life. He won't be a Perthshire man.” The Chief Inspector played with his fountain pen for a while. “Do you think Mrs. Erskine could come over for the adjourned inquest? It won't be till a week from Tuesday?” “I doubt it might kill her. She is a very delicate woman. Robert was her only child, you remember. Nor can I see the point. In his letter he says clearly enough that his intention is to commit suicide. And as for identification—she hasn't seen him since I have. He's never been back to Europe before. I know that.” “Did you know that he was coming?” “My dear sir, I know as little of Robert Erskine's movements these last years as I do of the Pope. Barring that receipt for the thousand pounds, and that envelope with his scrap of a will inside, we haven't heard from him since his father died these many years ago. And at that time it was my father who transacted the winding up of the estate. I was but a lad.” “Well, I hope Mrs. Erskine will come. I must run over to France, if not. She may be able to throw some light on the reasons for her son's—ah—end. Now, Mr. Russell, do you happen to know whether Mr. Robert or Mr. Ian Erskine took any interest in politics out in Canada?” “I do remember a letter my father read me, in which Mr. Erskine—Mr. Henry Erskine—spoke of difficulties his brother was having with some Communist settlers near by; but what would that have to do with young Erskine's suicide?” “Nothing probably, but we must leave no stone unturned. Well, Mrs. Erskine may know more. I should like to find out what Robert Erskine's attitude on labour questions was.” “But his letter—! Man, a young fellow is hardly likely to kill himself for such like whimsies.” “True again, Mr. Russell; but as there doesn't seem any reason lying around on the surface why a wealthy young man should kill himself, we must poke about for one. By the way, do you know how much his uncle left him?” “Mrs. Erskine wrote to the effect that he was now wealthier than she. That's all I know.” “Thanks.” The Chief Inspector drew Watts into another room. “Cable to the Toronto police for full particulars of young Erskine and Cox. And repeat to Calgary police.” Pointer turned to his desk with the air of a man who has still a full day's work before him, whatever the hands of the clock might say about it. Mr. Russell cleared his throat, but his courage apparently failed him, as with a bow and a “See you to-morrow at your hotel, Mr. Russell—at eleven, if that hour suits you,” the Chief Inspector was gone. Mr. Russell cleared his throat again.