The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants

The Will of Stanley Brooke

As a close acquaintance of Stanley Brooke's rather than a friend, Ernest Bond probably noticed his oddities the more readily.

These oddities became apparent soon after Brooke learned that he was dying of cancer. First he sent out to the libraries for medical books and journals, in an obvious attempt to find some cure the doctors had overlooked. Then, when he found no solace in orthodox medicine, he began to search volumes of faith-healing, and Bond realised how desperate he was becoming. It was not until the final phase that Bond began to worry; but he was disturbed by Brooke's quest through ancient grimoires for some answer. He watched Brooke slide gradually into depression, and knew of nothing he could do to help.

He was all the more surprised, therefore, when he arrived at Brooke's house one afternoon in response to a call, and found the owner sitting up in bed smiling.

Brooke placed a bookmark in the yellowed volume he had been reading, and put it down beside him. 'Sit down, Bond, sit down,' he grinned. 'I'm afraid I didn't ask you round just for your company — there's some business we have to discuss, but I told you that on the 'phone.'

'Yes — well, what can I do for you?'

'I want to dictate a will,' Brooke told him.

Bond wondered if the man's condition had brought on amnesia. 'But you've already made one.'

He had indeed made a will, and at his death five people would receive an appreciable legacy. His three sisters and his brother would come into a few thousand pounds each — while Emily, one of the sisters, and his niece Pamela, who had insisted on being his housekeeper for some years, would also come into possession of the large house. Strangely, Brooke was notoriously mean, and remarked that the vultures could pick up what they liked once he was dead, but he could not afford to be generous while alive.

'I know I've already made one,' he said impatiently. 'My mind hasn't gone yet, you know. I want to make a new one. The people next door are going to act as witnesses — they're probably downstairs now. It's completely different from the old one — you see, I've found out something—'

He reached for the book beside him, hesitated, and left it where it was.

'But first you must promise not to tell anyone any of the terms of the will until after I'm dead… All right? Good. Now let's get the witnesses up here.'

As Brooke dictated, the lawyer realised why he had been made to promise. The terms of the will shocked him exceedingly; and for some time he debated whether he should keep that promise — whether he should not at least hint the amendments to Brooke's sister Emily. But she would be bound to have it out with Brooke; and, besides revealing Bond's indiscretion, this was surely not the kind of barrage to which a dying man should be subjected. So the lawyer continued to debate.

The decision was taken out of his hands when, on August 6, 1962, Brooke died.

He was buried four days later in St Mark's churchyard, Brichester, and on the afternoon of that day Bond described the general terms of the will to the expectant relatives.

'Impossible,' said Terence Brooke, the dead man's brother. 'I flatly refuse to believe it.'

'I'm afraid it's true all the same,' the lawyer insisted. 'I can't give you the details until the beneficiary arrives, but I can tell you that under the terms of the new will none of you will benefit—'

'The worm!' Emily said. 'After all I did for him, and what my daughter did too—'

Pamela James, her daughter, was obviously upset by the whole business. 'I wish you wouldn't use that horrible word, mother,' she protested. 'After all, this man's going to get Uncle's money, and there's nothing we can do—'

'Oh, shut up, girl!' snapped Emily. 'I don't know about the rest of you, but I'll be here when Mr Bond reads the will — maybe when this man sees how we were all expecting something, he'll give us all some money. I think that's the least he can do.'

'And how are you going to recognise this fellow,' Terence Brooke inquired, 'when nobody's ever seen him before?'

'That's the queerest thing about all this,' Bond replied. 'This man — William Collier, he calls himself — is the exact double of the late Mr Brooke. If that isn't enough, he'll be carrying a letter proving his identity written by Mr Brooke, in an unfranked envelope with his name on it also in Brooke's script.'

'When are you expecting him to arrive?' Joyce, another of the sisters, put in.

'That's odd, too,' said Bond. 'I asked him that — because, as you know, I can't open the will until Collier arrives — and he just said "he'll be here about a week after the burial." What that means I don't know.'

On August 17 the lawyer was invited round to the house on King Edward's Way, into which, in spite of protests, Emily and Pamela James had moved. He arrived just before five o'clock, and joined them at tea. Not long after, Terence, Joyce and Barbara, the third sister, arrived.

Quite soon the real reason for this gathering became apparent.

'Mr Bond,' asked Emily, 'do you think it would be ethical for you to point out to this man how distressed we all are by this new will? We don't want all his legacy — it wouldn't be right to interfere with Stanley's wishes like that — but maybe if the six of us got equal shares—'

'Oh, please, mother!' Pamela cried. 'Must you be such a vulture?'

'I must say I agree with the girl,' Terence said. 'We didn't know we were coming to this, you know.'

'Will you all please be quiet!' Emily shouted, striking the table. 'Mr Bond, what have you got to say?'

The lawyer was saved from the quarrel he would have caused by a knock at the door.

'Don't get up — I'll go,' he said quickly, and opened the door for William Collier.

Bond recognised him at once, yet for a moment it had been as if the dead had returned. Every detail was reminiscent of the dead man except one, and that only added to the unpleasant illusion; for the man's skin was almost white, and abnormally translucent.

'I'm William Collier,' he introduced himself. 'I heard Stanley Brooke was dead, and came as soon as I could.'

'Yes — won't you come in?' Bond invited. 'Have you had a long journey? Perhaps you'd like something to eat — we're just having tea.'

"Thank you, but first—' Collier hesitated. 'Well, I have had a long journey, and I'd like to, ah—'

'Yes, of course,' said the lawyer. 'It's the door right at the top of the stairs. But here, let me take your coat.'

As he hung up the coat, Terence Brooke appeared in the dining-room doorway. They watched the figure to the top of the stairs.

'I like the way you make him feel at home!' Brooke remarked. 'So that's the new tenant, is it? My God, it's going to be like dining with a corpse!'

'The resemblance certainly is striking,' Bond began, but was interrupted by the arrival of Emily.

'You two can go back inside,' she told them. 'I want to meet him when he comes down, and then introduce everybody.'

As he sat down again at the table the lawyer heard footsteps on the stairs, then an inaudible conversation outside the door. Soon Emily ushered in Collier, and introduced those present, adding: 'We all expect to get something under the will,' at which Collier's face briefly took on an odd expression.

A rather uncomfortable silence ensued. Barbara, who was notoriously fond of macabre humour, took advantage of an offer from Emily of cold meat to remark:

'No, thanks, I don't care for meat very much. I always think that if you eat pieces of animal, you'll get to look like them.'

'How do you make that out?' Pamela prompted.

'Well, you know… if you eat too much pork you'll get like a pig, and I suppose you'll get pretty fishy if you eat nothing but fish… In fact, if you concentrate on one food, I think pretty soon you'll look exactly like it.'

There was a thud. Everybody looked up.

'It's all right,' Collier said with a curious expression, 'I just dropped my spoon, that's all. If I could have another one—'

'I always like vegetables,' Bond interrupted quickly, 'so what does that make me?'

'Well, Mr Bond,' said Barbara, 'nobody could call you exactly vital…'

'Here's a spoon, Mr Collier,' Emily said. 'Have all the rest of you finished? — What, don't want any more either, Mr Collier? In that case, we may as well all go into the lounge.'

The lawyer was the last to leave the dining-room, and he found Terence waiting for him in the hall.

'You know, I think there's something wrong about that fellow,' Brooke confided. 'I have a feeling he may be an imposter.'

'But what about his appearance? And the letter, if he has it.'

'As for the letter—' Brooke lowered his voice. 'Suppose if when we went upstairs, he got it from somewhere Stanley had hidden it?'

'Hardly. Besides,' Bond pointed out, 'surely that proves his claim must be genuine, or he wouldn't have known where to find the letter.'

They entered the lounge. Bond decided to get the night's business over at once.

'Mr Collier,' he asked, 'do you have any proof of your identity?'

'Why, yes. I believe this is what you want.' And the lawyer took from the pale fat hand an envelope which, he found, contained the appropriate document.

'Yes, this seems right enough,' he admitted. 'Well, then, I'd better get the reading over with.'

Collier showed no emotion when Bond reached the relevant passage:

'To my closest friend, William Collier: the property at 19 King Edward's Way, the furnishings thereof, and any others of my possessions remaining after payment of death duties, &c.'

'But — is that all?' Emily asked, seemingly incredulous.

'Yes,' replied Bond rather coldly, 'I'm afraid it is.'

'You were his closest friend?' Emily said to Collier. 'Surely you're shocked that he was so mean — I realise it's natural to see your friends are provided for, but we were his family, and we did quite a bit for him too…'

'Oh, please don't try to be subtle,' Collier advised her. 'I know what you're after, and I can tell you now that I wouldn't dream of splashing my money about.'

'Why, you worm—' began Emily. Collier recoiled and collided with the sideboard, overturning a vase.

'My God,' Bond said tonelessly.

'What's wrong, Mr Bond?' asked Pamela.

'It doesn't matter now — nothing… I don't think you need me here any more tonight — I'd better be off… But could I just speak to you a minute, Mr Collier? Alone?'

Collier followed him into the hall, and the lawyer remarked:

'I'm afraid they don't feel very friendly towards you at the moment. I'm driving into the town centre, so if you'd like a lift somewhere to let them simmer down… Yes?' He called into the lounge: 'Mr Collier's leaving with me — he'll be back in a couple of hours.'

They drove away into the night. Collier dozed in the back seat but woke when the car began to slow down.

'But surely we're not in Brichester now! Haven't you come the wrong way?'

'Oh, no,' Bond said, stopping the car at the edge of a quarry. 'I assure you this is the right way.'

Two weeks later, Terence Brooke arrived at the lawyer's house in Almshouse Gardens, and found the owner at work in the greenhouse.

'Why, hello,' Bond greeted him. 'Any word about Collier yet?'

'No, none,' said Brooke. 'Nobody seems to know what to do about it.'

'Well, as I told the police at the time,' Bond went on, 'I took him to my office and told him how generally hated he'd be if he did you all out of your legacies, and he left, and that was the last I saw of him.'

'Somehow,' Brooke mused, 'I have the feeling he won't be back… But anyway, I didn't really come here about that-what-?'

'Bloody worms,' said Bond, driving his spade down again and again while something pale writhed. 'I can't stand the things… Oh, sorry. Go on.'

'I was going to say that my car's broken down just at the end of the road,' continued Brooke, looking away from the still descending spade, 'and I was wondering if you had a spanner I could borrow.'

'Well, I've got a heavy one in the back of the car,' began the lawyer, '…oh — oh, no, I'm afraid I lost it some time ago.'

'Never mind,' Brooke said, 'I'll have it towed to the nearest garage. But you ought to get yourself a new spanner, you know.'

'Oh, it doesn't really matter,' Bond assured him, wrenching his spade at last out of the ground. 'I never use it except in an emergency.'