And then Mr. Baxter went and consulted Ashley Tempest.
“It isn’t often you come here on business, Baxter,” said the barrister, as he rose to greet his caller.
“No; our work isn’t often in your line. I think it’s nearly fifty years since we litigated a criminal case, and we don’t often litigate on the King’s Bench side either. To be perfectly frank with you, Tempest, I’ve come here as much for your advice as a man of the world as a barrister.”
“There are a good many men better qualified to give that kind of counsel than I am.”
“Possibly, but they haven’t your knowledge of criminal law. Do you know anything about trusts, Tempest?”
“A bit—I daresay as much as most of the men on our side of the hedge. But if it’s a trust, why don’t you go to Overhill?”
“I’m going on to him presently—when I’ve heard what you’ve got to say. But these chancery men always seem to me to be machines without humanity. To be candid, my partners and I want to know exactly where we stand over this infernal secret trust which old Sir John strapped on our shoulders. I suppose you’ve heard about it?”
“I’ve seen what the newspapers have had to say, and I’ve heard the usual gossip that’s gone on. What’s the trouble? But are you wise in coming to me? Suppose it is—of course I don’t know—suppose it is mixed up with Sir John’s murder, and the defence brief were to come along to me, it might prove very inconvenient to you?”
“I don’t think so. My partners and I talked it over, on the supposition that in such a case you would get the brief, and I have come to you, at the express wish of the three of us. You see, we don’t know yet what the real objects of this secret trust are.”
“What on earth do you mean?”