have been making inquiries about them.’
‘Ah, yes – the papers. Mr Craig has some sort of note about that. But perhaps you can give me a fuller view of that aspect of the affair. If, indeed, it can conceivably have anything to do with Dr Sutch’s death. The police, you know, and for that matter I myself, are concerned solely with that.’
‘No doubt. I have to confess that I was not well-informed about the papers once possibly in the possession of Adrian Digitt. It is not my sort of thing. I was slow to appreciate the point that this merely literary material might be very valuable indeed.’
‘And so well worth intriguing about.’ It was Geraldine who unexpectedly offered this contribution to the debate.
‘Exactly so. My sister makes the vital point, Sir John. Skillet at one time talked about them in such a vein, although he has not latterly done so. I was inclined to discount his remarks.’
‘Archie, you see,’ Geraldine said as if by way of explanatory aside, ‘talks a good deal.’
‘It may be said,’ Grace went on, ‘that we were in a weak situation. We had no certainty that these papers existed at all, whether at Treskinnick or anywhere else. Sutch, if he came upon them, would have been in a position to misappropriate the lot. But to dispose of them he would presumably have required accomplices of some sort. It is in this context that I speak of the possibility of intrigue.’
‘I see.’ Appleby paused, aware that Grace Digitt was no fool – and aware, too, that here was a point at which caution was required. ‘But suppose we make a contrary supposition. Suppose Dr Sutch to have been an honest man…’
‘As it is incumbent upon us to do, so long as we lack evidence to disprove it.’ Predictably (Appleby told himself) Geraldine had pounced at last.
‘Quite so, Lady Geraldine. So let me continue. Imagine Dr Sutch to have found the papers, and to have taken them straight to Lord Ampersand. Might there then have been any dispute as to their ownership?’
‘Indeed there might.’ Grace spoke without hesitation. ‘I have discussed the issue on the telephone with our family solicitor, Sir John. It is his opinion that the papers, regarded as physical objects merely, might be adjudged to be the property of my father. But since they have never been published, the copyright in them continues in being indefinitely, and may at this moment be the legal property of some legitimate descendant of Adrian Digitt’s, supposing such a person to exist. So your question is answered, Sir John. There might well be dispute about the matter. It would, of course, be a disgraceful thing.’
Appleby didn’t quite see that it need be a disgraceful thing. But he did see that a point of substance had emerged about those hypothetical Ampersand Papers.
‘Lady Grace,’ he asked, ‘do you yourself possess any information as to whether or not a descendant of Adrian Digitt’s is alive today?’
‘I have discussed the question with a cousin, Charles Digitt. As it happens, he is staying at the castle now. But I first raised the problem with him a considerable time ago, when this fuss about Adrian Digitt arose. He appeared at that time disinclined to treat it seriously, and had nothing to say about it. Indeed, I cannot say that he was wholly civil to me. But now, and no doubt as a consequence of this shocking affair, he has been more communicative. We have a distant relation, an elderly woman named Deborah Digitt, who lives at Budleigh Salterton. Charles believes her to be Adrian Digitt’s great-granddaughter, and his only living descendant. So the copyright of which we have been speaking may well be her property.’
‘Might not the papers be her property too – and actually in her possession? She would appear to be the natural person to have inherited them. Has inquiry been made of this Miss Digitt?’
‘It shall be made, of course.’ Grace said this grimly. ‘We haven’t got round to it yet.’
‘I
‘Ah, yes – the papers. Mr Craig has some sort of note about that. But perhaps you can give me a fuller view of that aspect of the affair. If, indeed, it can conceivably have anything to do with Dr Sutch’s death. The police, you know, and for that matter I myself, are concerned solely with that.’
‘No doubt. I have to confess that I was not well-informed about the papers once possibly in the possession of Adrian Digitt. It is not my sort of thing. I was slow to appreciate the point that this merely literary material might be very valuable indeed.’
‘And so well worth intriguing about.’ It was Geraldine who unexpectedly offered this contribution to the debate.
‘Exactly so. My sister makes the vital point, Sir John. Skillet at one time talked about them in such a vein, although he has not latterly done so. I was inclined to discount his remarks.’
‘Archie, you see,’ Geraldine said as if by way of explanatory aside, ‘talks a good deal.’
‘It may be said,’ Grace went on, ‘that we were in a weak situation. We had no certainty that these papers existed at all, whether at Treskinnick or anywhere else. Sutch, if he came upon them, would have been in a position to misappropriate the lot. But to dispose of them he would presumably have required accomplices of some sort. It is in this context that I speak of the possibility of intrigue.’
‘I see.’ Appleby paused, aware that Grace Digitt was no fool – and aware, too, that here was a point at which caution was required. ‘But suppose we make a contrary supposition. Suppose Dr Sutch to have been an honest man…’
‘As it is incumbent upon us to do, so long as we lack evidence to disprove it.’ Predictably (Appleby told himself) Geraldine had pounced at last.
‘Quite so, Lady Geraldine. So let me continue. Imagine Dr Sutch to have found the papers, and to have taken them straight to Lord Ampersand. Might there then have been any dispute as to their ownership?’
‘Indeed there might.’ Grace spoke without hesitation. ‘I have discussed the issue on the telephone with our family solicitor, Sir John. It is his opinion that the papers, regarded as physical objects merely, might be adjudged to be the property of my father. But since they have never been published, the copyright in them continues in being indefinitely, and may at this moment be the legal property of some legitimate descendant of Adrian Digitt’s, supposing such a person to exist. So your question is answered, Sir John. There might well be dispute about the matter. It would, of course, be a disgraceful thing.’
Appleby didn’t quite see that it need be a disgraceful thing. But he did see that a point of substance had emerged about those hypothetical Ampersand Papers.
‘Lady Grace,’ he asked, ‘do you yourself possess any information as to whether or not a descendant of Adrian Digitt’s is alive today?’
‘I have discussed the question with a cousin, Charles Digitt. As it happens, he is staying at the castle now. But I first raised the problem with him a considerable time ago, when this fuss about Adrian Digitt arose. He appeared at that time disinclined to treat it seriously, and had nothing to say about it. Indeed, I cannot say that he was wholly civil to me. But now, and no doubt as a consequence of this shocking affair, he has been more communicative. We have a distant relation, an elderly woman named Deborah Digitt, who lives at Budleigh Salterton. Charles believes her to be Adrian Digitt’s great-granddaughter, and his only living descendant. So the copyright of which we have been speaking may well be her property.’
‘Might not the papers be her property too – and actually in her possession? She would appear to be the natural person to have inherited them. Has inquiry been made of this Miss Digitt?’
‘It shall be made, of course.’ Grace said this grimly. ‘We haven’t got round to it yet.’
‘I
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