He determined to go thither and examine the document for himself.
He rapped gently at Gloria’s door.
“What do you want?” she inquired, in smothered tones.
“I am going out for an hour. Shall I send any one to you?”
“No, thanks; I want nothing.”
He turned away and went down stairs and out of the house, and bent his steps to the City Hall.
On inquiring of the proper officers he obtained a view of the folio containing the record of the testament he sought. Having read it over, he thought he saw his way clearly enough towards placing his young bride in her own house, surrounded by her own servants, and safe from any annoyance from her late guardian. But he concluded that it would be better to take a lawyer’s opinion.
He had noticed, as he came along that morning, almost every front basement on the north side of Louisiana Avenue, opposite the City Hall, to be the office of some attorney-at-law.
He therefore knew where to go to look for one.
He left the building and crossed the street, but went into at least a dozen places without finding any one disengaged. At length, however, he paused before the last and plainest on the block, which bore the sign: “Patrick McLoughlin, Attorney and Counsellor at Law.”