“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. “Dangerous! God bless me! Now, in what way, Tertius?”
“I don’t quite know,” replied Mr. Tertius. “He, somehow, from what I saw of him, suggested, I really don’t know how, a certain atmosphere of, say—I’m trying to find the right words—cunning, subtlety, depth. Yes—yes, I should say he was what we commonly call—or what is commonly called in vulgar parlance—deep. Deep!”
“You mean—designing?” suggested Mr. Halfpenny.
“Exactly—designing,” assented Mr. Tertius. “It—it was the sort of idea he conveyed, you know.”
“Don’t like the sound of him,” said Mr. Halfpenny, “However, he’s the second witness and we must put up with the fact. And here we are at these Calengrove Mansions, and let’s hope we haven’t a hundred infernal steps to climb, and that we find the fellow in.”
The fellow was in. And the fellow, who had now discarded his mourning suit for the purple and fine linen which suggested Bond Street, was just about to go out, and was in a great hurry, and said so. He listened with obvious impatience while Mr. Tertius presented his companion.
“I wished to see you about the will of the deceased Jacob Herapath, Mr. Burchill,” said Mr. Halfpenny “The will which, of course, you witnessed.”
Burchill, who was gathering some books and papers together, and had already apologized for not being able to ask his callers to sit down, answered in an off-hand, bustling fashion.
“Of course, of course!” he replied. “Mr. Jacob Herapath’s will, eh? Oh, of course, yes. Anything I can do, Mr. Halfpenny, of course—perhaps you’ll drop me a line and make an appointment at your office some day—then I’ll call, d’you see?”
“You remember the occasion, and the will, and your signature?” said Mr. Halfpenny, contriving to give Mr. Tertius a nudge as he put this direct question.