"May I offer you a brandy and soda?" asked Mr. Pless, tapping sharply on the table top with his seal ring. Instantly his French valet, still bearing faint traces of the drubbing he had sustained at Britton's hands, appeared in the bedchamber door.
"Thank you, no," I made haste to say. "I am on the water wagon."
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Pless in perplexity.
"I am not drinking, Mr. Pless," I explained.
"Sorry," said he, and curtly dismissed the man. I had a notion that the great lawyer looked a trifle disappointed. "I fancy you are wondering why I sent for you, Mr. Smart."
"I am."
"Am I to assume that the newspapers were correct in stating that you mean to support my cause with—I may say, to the full extent of your powers?"
"It depends on circumstances, Mr. Pless."
"Circumstances?" He eyed me rather coldly, as if to say, "What right have you to suggest circumstances?"
"Perhaps I should have said that it depends somewhat on what my powers represent."