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It was a winter afternoon in 1939 when I heard that my Aunt Marie Hepplewaite was dead. Naturally I hurried out to Hepplewaite House where her companion Jane, in floods of tears, told me she had found a body in the garage. Her diatribe was interrupted as Aunt Marie leaning heavily on two sticks appeared at the open door:

"Are you indulging in prolepsis, my dear? Or is it merely wishful thinking?"

Jane exclaimed, 'What are you doing here? You're dead.'

Aunt Marie replied with her usual aplomb whilst helping herself to a large brandy, "Indeed .I hope you'll let me know the funeral arrangements."

Whereupon Jane fainted.

When she recovered she explained that she had not examined the body but as it was dressed in a suit she recognised as belonging to Marie, she had drawn the obvious conclusion.

It was at this point that the Doctor arrived and without so much as a "hello" took the drink from Auntie's hand before saying, "Now Marie not too much of that. Have you run out of those pills I gave you? You should have a lie down before the police arrive." He squinted at the brandy decanter, "Have you been being naughty?"

Auntie retorted, "Are you suggesting I've become incontinent? Why should the police come?"

"They will have to be informed."

"That a servant has had a heart attack? Well doctor, if there is something interesting about Valerie Jones' death, I suggest you tell me. No one has a better right to know. I shall no doubt be paying the funeral expenses."

At this juncture she introduced me, "This is my nephew Shylock. He is a detective writer you know. He will soon get to the bottom of this."

The doctor shook his head, "Possibly but only a post-mortem will give us the facts." He took me to one side to whisper all the gruesome details of the garage scene. "The good doctor is right Auntie," I said. "I'm afraid we have to send for the police."

It was an unfortunate choice of words which she pounced upon.

"Afraid? The dead are but pictures what is there to fear?"

I decided to ignore the quip. "Someone played a cruel hoax on Miss Jones. A bloody hand was hooked over the car door. Seeing it must have caused her to faint, she struck her head when she fell and never recovered consciousness."

Marie banged her stick on the polished floor. "But surely no crime has been committed. A foolish jape by one of the village children meant, no doubt, for me."

The doctor intervened, "Yes Valerie did fall and hit her head but it was the back of her head that was caved in. Someone coshed her with the proverbial blunt instrument."

"She must have disturbed a car thief.," Jane suggested.

"Who left his hand behind?"

"A hand?" Auntie quiped "That suggests rank carelessness or wilful negligence."

She was wrong. Someone wanted the hand to be seen. The question was why? "Who would want to kill Valerie Jones?"

"Anyone interested in my money. I had named her in my will. Valerie has devoted forty years to me without expecting any gratitude or reward. What is more she never complained. I've been a fool I should never have kept a copy of my will in the house."

"So who benefits now?"

"I'd rather not say at the moment."

"If I'm to help I need to know." Aunt Marie snorted "Really! I am going to bed."

So I had reached an impasse. In my novels the detective finds inspiration in bed with a woman. I decided to experiment. I took Jane to bed.

The experiment worked in an unexpected way. Jane snored. Not the gentle snuffling snore of most women but a real tornado which echoed off the bedroom walls. I had to get up. Inspiration struck - I had to be sure, I must find the will.

I crept down the stairs each creak of the treads set my heart pounding. The obvious place to look was the library.

As I reached the hall I saw a flicker of light under the library door. I pushed it open. A hooded figure stood beside the open bureau - this is the point where my `tec would switch on the light, unfortunately in Hepplewaite House it was not so easy.

There was no electricity, lighting was by oil lamps or candles. The intruder doused the candle, plunging us both into darkness. He rushed past me but with great initiative I grabbed his hair. He escaped, his hair didn't.

A means of lighting the candelabra was my first priority. I groped my way to the lounge intending to light a taper from the glowing coals - it wasn't easy but with perseverance I succeeded.

Returning to the library I ransacked the bureau. Nothing!

Disheartened, I returned to my bed. At least that was my intent but whilst climbing the stairs I tripped over a parcel someone had left there. I fell to the bottom and the parcel came with me.

The noise disturbed Marie and Jane they appeared holding candles aloft. The parcel was the doctor who had no need of his skills now. He was dead and my hand was still clutching his wig.

There was a hammering at the door. Jane calmly stepped over the body and opened it. I heard her welcoming Wilf the local bobby who I thought had retired before the war. He must be over eighty.

"I'm sorry to hear of your predic-er - hupset Miss."

"Did you inform Scotland Yard?" She asked.

I knew then that Jane had called him earlier.

"Fraid I couldn't get through. The lines are down. I expect it's the snow. Heavy falls in the town. Everything has stopped running. We shall have problems over night. But don't you worry. I know the procedure." He took out his hand cuffs and demanded my wrists.

Naturally I protested. "Look I heard a noise and thought I ought to investigate. Would you care for a whisky?"

"No thanks. On duty and all that. By rights the house should be sealed. And I should stay on guard."

"But you are on guard." I handed him the whisky. "The garage is locked and no one has left the house. What do you make of it?"

"Very good. Ten year old malt I should say."

"The murder not the whisky."

"Oh yes of course. Well as I see it we have an open and shut case. Once Mrs Hepplewaite tells us who is the next in line as her heir we'll have him or her."

"You know that Valerie was the main beneficiary?"

"Yes. Do you know who benefits now?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask my Aunt that. Well Auntie aren't you going to tell us?"

Marie sighed, "Be it on your head, It's you first and then Jane."

Of course I knew what I had to do. I handed her a drink. "You'd better have a brandy Auntie and take it up to bed."

"Thank you but I make it a rule never to drink in bed." She swallowed the glass in one gulp and collapsed.

"Murderer." Jane screamed.

Typical, when we were kids she always threw the blame on me if we were caught out in mischief. This time happily, her words fell on deaf ears. Wilf bent over the body. I gave a sigh of relief as he summed up the situation.

"Heart attack, the doctor warned her about strong drink."

He was amazingly efficient. He contacted an army doctor to sign the death certificates. The bodies were quickly cremated by the local undertaker in the most tasteful manner. The cortege was drawn by black draped cart horses.

It wasn't until the will was read that I finally solved the case. Wilf inherited the house with the proviso he cared for Auntie's cats. The hand? It belonged to a tramp who had died of exposure. Jane discovered the body in a nearby wood. Wilf arranged his funeral too.

There was nothing either Jane or I could do. We could hardly admit we were joint murderers.

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