So Angel thanked his chief and departed.
Throughout the morning he was obsessed by a desire to see the lawyer. By midday this had become so overmastering that he put on his hat and sauntered down to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
“Yes, Mr. Spedding was in,” said a sober clerk, and—after consulting his employer—“Mr. Spedding would see him.”
The lawyer was sitting behind a big desk covered with be-ribboned bundles of papers. He greeted Angel with a smile, and pointed to a chair on the other side of the desk.
“I’ve been in court most of the morning,” he said blandly, “but I’m at liberty for half an hour. What can I do for you?”
Angel looked at him in undisguised admiration.
“You’re a wonderful chap,” he said with a shake of his head.
“You’re admiring me,” said the lawyer, fingering a paper-knife, “in very much the same way as an enthusiastic naturalist admires the markings of a horned viper.”
“That is very nicely put,” said Angel truthfully.
The lawyer had dropped his eyes on to the desk before him; then he looked up.