Deane laughed, and shook his head. "I sha'n't pay," he declared. "You can run it in with the other account, or I'll stand you a dinner when and where you please,—a dinner and a box at the Alhambra, if you like."
Hardaway smiled. "We can't run our office on such clients as you," he remarked, pressing the bell.
"You should never try to fleece your friends," Deane said.
"Referring for one moment to the other affair—" began Hardaway.
"Well?"
"The only real chance of a reprieve that I can see," Hardaway continued, "is on account of the fellow's health. I believe he is really very much worse than he appears, and I fancy that if we had a medical examination it would give us at least a chance. The trouble is that he really seems quite indifferent. Are you thinking of trying to see him, Deane?"
Deane shook his head. "No!" he said. "I am afraid I must not do that. There are reasons why I dare not let my name be associated in any way with this affair. They may come out later on, but just at present I would rather not tell even you what they are. By the bye, has anyone representing the dead man turned up at all—I mean has anyone claimed his effects?"
"No one," the lawyer answered. "From what I can learn they are very insignificant."
Deane nodded. "Can I rely upon you," he asked, "to let me know at once if anyone should come forward to claim them?"
"By all means," Hardaway answered.