“I have,” said Harbottle, on a mordant note. “That chap was just explaining to me, when you came in, that things aren't as straight as he'd wish, owing to the office being so cramped. Which it certainly is. He was telling me that Warrenby was determined to get an office next to the Town Hall, which he says is the best pitch in the whole of Bellingham, and wouldn't be content with anything else.”
“And I don't doubt he would have got it,” remarked Hemingway.
“Nor I. I wish he had, for I should have found my job easier,” said Harbottle, casting a glance round the room, which was indeed crammed with cupboards, shelves with labelled deed boxes piled on them, a safe, standing open, two filing-cabinets, and a large bookcase. “If there's any scheme in this town he hadn't got a finger in, I can't think what it could be. That cupboard over there is full of the stuff, and I take it I'd better go through it. He seems to have kept all his private business letters and such here. Mostly in the safe, but this lot comes from the cupboard under the books. That's what you want me to work on, isn't it?”
Hemingway nodded. “Yes, don't try to meddle with the deed-boxes belonging to his clients: you'll be getting into hot water if you do, and wasting your time as well. Well, I've seen some solicitors' offices which I thought were so cluttered up no one could ever find a thing in them, but this fairly takes the cake! Poor old Horace!”
“Oh, it isn't in a muddle!” Harbottle said. “Everything's docketed, and bundled up. The trouble is there's so much of it, and what he's written on his bundles doesn't always convey as much to me as it no doubt did to him.”
“Coupland no use to you?”
“Not on all these side-lines. He only knows about the real business of the office. I've got hold of one bit of information I think'll interest you, Chief. Did you know Warrenby was the Clerk of the Peace?”
“No, but I'd have betted any money on it.”
“He was appointed last year,” said Harbottle. “I got it out of Coupland. Old Drybeck was laid up when the appointment fell vacant. Used to be held by some old solicitor, who died just before Quarter Sessions. Warrenby slid into the job when Drybeck was convalescing in Torquay.”
“Probably murdered the old Clerk to get the job,” commented Hemingway, who had picked up a sheaf of letters, and was running a rapid and practiced eye over them.