“I dare say Mr. Palford doesn't mind us,” he said. “We're not strangers.”
“Not in the least,” Palford protested. “Certainly not. If you are old friends, you may be able to assist us.”
“Well, I don't know about that,” Hutchinson answered, “We've not known him long, but we know him pretty well. You come from London, don't you?”
“Yes. From Lincoln's Inn Fields.”
“Law?” grunted Hutchinson.
“Yes. Of the firm of Palford & Grimby.”
Hutchinson moved in his chair involuntarily. There was stimulation to curiosity in this. This chap was a regular top sawyer—clothes, way of pronouncing his words, manners, everything. No mistaking him—old family solicitor sort of chap. What on earth could he have to say to Tembarom? Tembarom himself had sat down and could not be said to look at his ease.
“I do not intrude without the excuse of serious business,” Palford explained to him. “A great deal of careful research and inquiry has finally led me here. I am compelled to believe I have followed the right clue, but I must ask you a few questions. Your name is not really Tembarom, is it?”
Hutchinson looked at Tembarom sharply.
“Not Tembarom? What does he mean, lad?”