“True. As is usual with the prophet, you don’t dare to affirm the authentic name.”
“Upon my word I can’t think who you mean!”
“One Henry Northcote.”
The solicitor broke forth in a suppressed shout of laughter.
“Good!” he said; “you’ll do. Fill up your glass and we’ll get to work. And I’m glad your talent is so remarkable, because I’ve got some business here that is likely to tax it.”
“It is increasingly clear to me that you are the genie,” said the young advocate in a low voice, and fetching a deep breath.
VII
THE OFFER OF A BRIEF
The solicitor drew from an inner pocket of his coat a bundle of papers tied with red tape. He placed them on the table at the side of his plate.
“At the eleventh hour,” he said, speaking coolly and distinctly, “I am going to ask you to undertake the defence in a trial for murder.”
Northcote was conscious of no more than a slight sharp throb of the pulses as he met the shrewd, even cunning, eyes of the man who sat opposite.