[CHAPTER XVI]
MISS WEDDERBURN
Having failed with Ferris, owing to the artist's obstinate refusal to speak, Gebb thought that he would hear what Basson had to say. He knew from Prain that the barrister had defended Marmaduke Dean, and although he had not succeeded in obtaining an acquittal, believed that his client was innocent. Dean, of course, must have known that his counsel held this opinion; so, on escaping from prison, with a desire to prove his innocence, it was not unlikely that he might have called secretly on Basson, and implored his assistance. If so, Basson might know a good deal about the man, if he could only be induced to speak out, and it was to gain his confidence in this matter that Gebb paid him a visit.
"Of course he may know nothing," thought Gebb, as he walked the next day towards Blackstone Lane, in which Mr. Basson--according to Alder--had his abode. "On the other hand, if Dean called on him, which is not unlikely, he may know a good deal. I wish to learn where Dean is hiding; how he manages to live; and what his movements were towards the end of July last. Basson may be able to inform me of these matters If he can, so much the better; if he can't, I'll go down to Kirkstone Hall to search for that confession, and see Miss Wedderburn before she leaves the place. If she can't force Ferris to speak, no one else can; the man is as obstinate as a pig."
With this elegant simile Gebb turned out of Fleet Street into Blackstone Lane, and shortly found himself climbing the narrow staircase of No. 40. Mr. Basson being poor and briefless, and evidently careless of his ease, lived at the very top of the high building. After ascending four flights of steep stairs, the detective came upon a door with the name "Clement Basson" painted on it in black letters. Also there was a dingy scrap of paper, on which was written, "Back in five minutes"; so it seemed, much to Gebb's disappointment, as though Basson were not in his office. However, two or three sharp knocks brought forth a grinning boy in a suit several sizes too small for him, and this lad, having put Gebb through a short examination, with the intention of discovering if he had a bill or a writ, or a judgment summons in his pocket, at length relented, and announced that Mr. Basson was within. Evidently the "Back in five minutes" label was used to beguile creditors into thinking that Mr. Basson was absent. That announcement, and the conversation with the juvenile Cerberus, gave Gebb an immediate insight into the state of Mr. Basson's finances, and his Bohemian mode of hand-to-mouth living.
Shortly he was ushered into a dingy chamber, very barely furnished, and very dirty. There was a yellow blind pulled up askew on an unclean window; below this a deal table covered with green baize, ink-stained and worn-out, which was piled up with dirty papers. An ancient bookcase, with a brass screen, was filled with an array of untidy-looking volumes in calf-skin, with red labels; there were two chairs--one for the lawyer and one for any possible client, a rusty grate, filled with torn-up papers, and an empty Japan coal-scuttle. In the midst of these ruins of prosperity, like Marius amid the remains of Carthage, sat Clement Basson, a tall, jovial-looking man, with a fine head of grey hair, a quick eye, and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. He was carelessly dressed in a kind of sporting fashion, and wore an old cricketing-cap on the back of his head. The man was clever, kindly, and quick-witted; he was also thriftless, weak-willed, and untidy. His worser qualities weighed down his better; and with many qualifications for climbing to the top of the tree, Mr. Basson preferred, out of sheer idleness and lack of concentration, to dance gaily round the trunk in ragged attire. He looked like a survival of Grub Street; one of the feather-headed crew who wrote pamphlets and starved in garrets, and naturally belong to the reigns of the early Georges. He was quite out of place in the late Victorian epoch--an ironical survival of the unfittest.
"Good day!" he said, in a rich baritone voice, advancing to meet his visitor. "What can I do for you, Mr. Gabb?"
"Gebb, sir; not Gabb," answered the detective, seating himself in the one other chair.
"The boy said Gabb," retorted Basson, returning to his chair. "He was thinking of his own gift, maybe;" and he laughed heartily at his rather feeble joke. "Well, Mr. Gebb, have you brought me a brief?"
"No," said Gebb, smiling, for the man's good humour was infectious. "I'm in a different branch of the law to a solicitor. I don't deal in briefs so much as in handcuffs."