"Oh! As to that, I have nothing to say," said the curly-haired lawyer, smiling in a way Janice did not like at all. "I merely represent my client. The property has been claimed by several people, I believe, and may have been sold a dozen times. That will not invalidate my client's claim."
"But I never even heard of this Mrs, Blayne," murmured Amy's mother.
"A poor widow, ma'am," said the lawyer blandly. "And one who can ill afford to lose her rights. She as heir of old Peter Warburton Blayne who lived in that house where you now reside for a great many years. He died. His heirs were not informed. The place was sold for taxes—for a nominal sum, ma'am. Of course, a tax-deed has no standing in court if the real owner of the property comes forward ready to pay the back taxes, accrued interest, and the fixed court charges."
"But I got a warranty deed!" cried Mrs. Carringford.
"That is a matter between you and the person you say you bought the house of," said the lawyer calmly. "If you consider that you have a case against him you will have to go to court with him. Ahem! An expensive matter, my dear madam, I assure you. Probably the man who sold to you had every reason to believe he had a clear title. It has passed through several hands since Peter Blayne died, as I say.
"I cannot advise you as to that, ma'am," pursued the lawyer. "Those papers are in regard to this suit that is already entered against you. Of course, it would be cheaper for you to settle the case out of court; but you will probably want to fight us. Most women do."
At this point Janice got to her feet and ran out of the room. She rushed in to where her father was writing on a lapboard across the arms of his chair.
Meanwhile Mrs. Carringford and Amy were clinging together and facing the dapper, voluble, little lawyer in the kitchen. Amy was sobbing excitedly; but her mother said firmly:
"Abel Strout is at the root of this—"
"I assure you," said the lawyer politely, "my client is Mrs.
Blayne. I have nothing to do with Abel Strout."