"Cavendish?"
"Yes."
"I don't like him."
"Nor do I. He'll bleed you; but he's your man."
"All right; I want to see him."
"Get into my coupè, and I'll take you to his office."
Mr. Belcher went to the drawer that contained his forged document. Then he went back to Talbot, and said:
"Would Cavendish come here?"
"Not he! If you want to see him, you must go where he is. He wouldn't walk into your door to accommodate you if he knew it."
Mr. Belcher was afraid of Cavendish, as far as he could be afraid of any man. The lawyer had bluffed everybody at the dinner-party, and, in his way, scoffed at everybody. He had felt in the lawyer's presence the contact of a nature which possessed more self-assertion and self-assurance than his own. He had felt that Cavendish could read him, could handle him, could see through his schemes. He shrank from exposing himself, even to the scrutiny of this sharp man, whom he could hire for any service. But he went again to the drawer, and, with an excited and trembling hand, drew forth the accursed document. With this he took the autographs on which his forgeries were based. Then he sat down by himself, and thought the matter all over, while Talbot waited in another room. It was only by a desperate determination that he started at last, called Talbot down stairs, put on his hat, and went out.