‘Won’t be for another hour. Anything I could see about for you?’
Joseph moved in uncertainty, debating with himself. Their eyes met again.
‘Well, we might have a word or two about it,’ he said. ‘Better meet somewhere else, perhaps?’
‘Could you be at the top of Chancery Lane at six o’clock?’
With a look of mutual understanding, they parted. Joseph went home, and explained that, to his surprise, he had found an old acquaintance at the lawyer’s office, a man named Scawthorne, whom he was going to see in private before having an interview with the lawyer himself. At six o’clock the appointed meeting took place, and from Chancery Lane the pair walked to a quiet house of refreshment in the vicinity of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. On the way they exchanged a few insignificant remarks, having reference to a former intimacy and a period during which they had not come across each other. Established in a semi-private room, with a modest stimulant to aid conversation, they became more at ease; Mr. Scawthorne allowed himself a discreet smile, and Joseph, fingering his glass, broached the matter at issue with a cautious question.
‘Do you know anything of a man called Snowdon?’
‘What Snowdon?’
‘Joseph James Snowdon—a friend of mine. Your people advertised for him about three years ago. Perhaps you haven’t been at the office as long as that?’
‘Oh yes. I remember the name. What about him?’
‘Your people wanted to find him—something to his advantage. Do you happen to know whether it’s any use his coming forward now?’