“And Pinder’ll have to set another lawyer on?”
“Of course he will.”
“And that’ll cost him money, win or lose?”
“Rather.”
“Then go at him hammer and tongs, and the sooner you begin and the hotter you go at him, the better you’ll please me.”
“But the evidence?”
“You must find the evidence, sir. I don’t care whether I win or lose. But Co-op Mill must stop. For want of water if we win: for want of funds if we lose.”
“Do you understand me?”
“You bet I do, and I’ll tell you this, I never went into a case with better heart. You may rest easy, Mr. Tinker. Co-op Mill’s as good as broke.”
It was but a week or so after this interview that Workhouse Jack, loitering about the mill yard, espied a seedy looking fellow peering in at the mill-gates. It was a Saturday afternoon. The engine was stopped, the hands had trooped home, Tom and Ben had gone for a walk, and Jack was in sole charge. He was dressed in his Sunday best, and meditating a visit to the village, and, of course, Lucy. He knew the visitor at once for Wimpenny’s process server. The process server did not know Jack.