“Well, suppose you give me that to begin with?”
“Then I’m bound to tell you you must obey the order of the court, which overrides the terms of the trust, and I’m bound to advise you that disobedience would be flagrant contempt of court, for which the penalty is imprisonment until the contempt is purged. Still, all that’s ancient history to you and your firm. You didn’t come here, I’ll warrant, just for me to tell you that much.”
“No, Tempest, I didn’t.”
The two men looked at each other, and gradually a smile formed itself on each face.
“And I’m pretty certain,” said the barrister, “you did not come here for me to tell you what to do. What have you done?”
“Tempest—frankly, now—tell me what you think we ought to have done. I’ve told you our legal difficulty; but there’s the other one, and that’s why I came to you. Are these documents likely to be a clue to the murder? If so, ought we to disclose them? You are an adept at murders—or rather at elucidating them. What do you think?”
“What a situation!”
The barrister rose to his feet and lit a cigarette as he began to pace his room, backwards and forwards along the well-marked path across his carpet. The solicitor sat and watched him—watched his impassive face—watched the quick, nervous fingers as they clicked the rings upon them backwards and forwards—watched the cigarette smoked to the end and thrown away as another was lighted from it. At last the barrister came to a pause in front of his fireplace.
“Baxter, the murder has proved an insoluble mystery, depending upon an unknown motive. You know everything about Sir John’s affairs, except what those papers may disclose. You cannot find a basis for a motive in what you know. The odds are the clue is hidden in those papers.”
“I agree with you. I should say that is probable.”