In the tiny drawing-room of the house occupied by the Cabinet Minister, Maxell was surprised to find another visitor waiting—no less a person than Fenshaw, the Prime Minister’s private secretary.
The Attorney-General came straight to the point.
“Maxell,” he said, “we want your seat in the House of Commons.”
“The deuce you do!” said Maxell, raising his eyebrows.
The Attorney nodded.
“We also want to give you some reward for the excellent services you have rendered to the Government,” he said. “But mostly”—his eyes twinkled—“it is necessary to find a seat for Sir Milton Boyd—the Minister of Education has been defeated at a by-election, as you know.”
The other nodded. The communication was a surprise to him and he wondered exactly what position was to be offered him which would involve his resignation from the House. For one brief, panicky moment he had connected Cartwright and his delinquencies with this request for an interview, but the Attorney’s speech had dispelled that momentary fear.
“Quilland, as you know, has been raised to the Court of Appeal,” said the Attorney, speaking of a well-known Chancery Judge, “and we are departing from our usual practice by bringing over a man from the King’s Bench to take his place. Now, Maxell, how does a judgeship appeal to you?”
The K.C. could only stare.
Of the many things he did not expect, it was elevation to the Bench, although he was a sound, good lawyer, and the Bench is the ambition of every silk.