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The sight had driven him to poetic language, snow melting off mountains. David Mackenzie’s own chamber was shipshape.
    â€˜It might be that the will is buried somewhere among those mounds at the Regent’s Park house,’ continued Mackenzie, ‘but it will take weeks, months even, to go through them.’
    â€˜In the meantime . . .’
    â€˜Yes, in the meantime, Tom, we are faced with a problem.
    The possibility that my old friend and partner, Alexander James Lye, seasoned man of law that he was and wily old bird that I believe him to have been, has gone and died without leaving instructions as to the final disposition of his property.’
    â€˜That is the very subject which Mr Lye was talking to me about. The irresponsibility of those who die intestate. The burden they leave to their heirs. It’s odd.’
    At last David Mackenzie permitted himself a small smile. He leaned back in his chair. He drew on his pipe. ‘Not odd at all. If there’s one lesson that my law years have taught me, it is that there is no consistency in human beings, none at all.’
    â€˜Is it really such a problem, though? Mr Lye shared a house with his sister. You say his wife is long-dead and that there are no children. Surely his title in the house and the rest of his estate will simply pass to Miss Lye?’
    â€˜To Edith. Well, if only it were so straightforward. But before we come to that, imagine the damage to the reputation of Scott, Lye & Mackenzie when it emerges that one of the partners has been careless enough to die intestate. No one would say anything openly, not to me at least, but I can imagine the gossip and sniggers among the clerks in other law firms. It’s a genuine instance of “Physician, heal thyself”, isn’t it? Such information is not going to endear us to our clients, either. Would you have confidence in a lawyer whose private affairs were such a . . . such a shambles?’
    â€˜Perhaps not,’ said Tom. ‘But Mr Lye has not done much in recent years as I understand it.’
    â€˜The good name of a law firm depends on the good name of all its partners. This has been troubling me ever since we found poor Lye, or rather ever since we failed to find his will. Of course it may turn up, probably when we have stopped searching for it. There was a mischievous streak to Alexander. He was a nonconformist, you know. But there is more than the riddle of this metal box and its miscellany. Alexander Lye had a wider family than himself and his Regent’s Park sister. That is where the real problem may come . . .’
    â€˜The problem,’ said Tom to Helen that evening at dinner, ‘is that Alexander Lye did not have only the single sibling, the sister he shared his Regent’s Park house with. There are others, a brother and a second sister, I think, who live in Ely. Or rather just outside Ely in a large old house.’
    â€˜All of whom might be entitled to a share of his estate?’ said Helen.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Tom, spearing the last piece of veal cutlet on his plate. ‘I cannot believe that he did not make a will. I think it much more likely that he did make one and neglected to tell anyone where it is.’
    â€˜At least he had the power to make one.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Not all of us have that power.’
    â€˜But you have made a will, Helen.’
    â€˜With your consent,’ she said. ‘It is absurd that a married woman has to obtain her husband’s agreement before making a will.’
    Such talk made Tom uncomfortable, as Helen did sometimes when she aired her advanced views. He changed the subject.
    â€˜So there is a possibility that Alexander Lye might have left a copy of his will in the Ely house. Mr Mackenzie has asked me to go and make some discreet enquiries there.’
    â€˜Why you, Tom? Why doesn’t he go himself?’
    â€˜He made a remark about sharper eyes, quicker