“How about your father’s will?”
“The last one of which I have any knowledge—drawn up two or three years ago—left everything to my wife and me jointly. Father’s attorney, Mr. Murray Abernathy, could tell you if there was a later will, but I hardly think there was.”
“Your father had retired from business, hadn’t he?”
“Yes; he turned his import and export business over to me about a year ago. He had quite a few investments scattered around, but he wasn’t actively engaged in the management of any concern.”
O’Gar tilted his village constable hat back and scratched his bullet head reflectively for a moment. Then he looked at me.
“Anything else you want to ask?”
“Yes. Mr. Gantvoort, do you know, or did you ever hear your father or anyone else speak of an Emil Bonfils?”
“No.”
“Did your father ever tell you that he had received a threatening letter? Or that he had been shot at on the street?”
“No.”
“Was your father in Paris in 1902?”
“Very likely. He used to go abroad every year up until the time of his retirement from business.”