"I have more than once briefed Thresk myself. He's a man of the highest reputation at the Bar, straightforward, honest; he enjoys a great practice, he is in Parliament with a great future in Parliament. In a word he is a man with everything to lose if he lied as a witness in a trial. And yet—I am not satisfied."
Mr. Pettifer's voice sank to a low murmur. He sat at his desk staring out in front of him through the window.
"Why?" asked Hazlewood. But Pettifer did not answer him. He seemed not to hear the question. He went on in the low quiet voice he had used before, rather like one talking to himself than to a companion.
"I should very much like to put a question or two to Mr. Thresk."
"Then why don't you?" exclaimed Mrs. Pettifer. "You know him."
"Yes." Mr. Hazlewood eagerly seconded his sister. "Since you know him you are the very man."
Pettifer shook his head.
"It would be an impertinence. For although I look upon Dick as a son I am not his father. You are, Hazlewood, you are. He wouldn't answer me."
"Would he answer me?" asked Hazlewood. "I don't know him at all. I can't go to him and ask if he told the truth."
"No, no, you can't do that," Pettifer answered, "nor do I mean you to. I want to put my questions myself in my own way and I thought that you might get him down to Little Beeding."