The same journalist spoke of Theydon himself, and had even ferreted out the fact that Mrs. Lester was the widow of an English barrister who had died at Shanghai. On reaction, Theydon saw that there was nothing unusual in this statement. The connection between the metropolitan press and the bar is old and intimate, and scores of junior barristers must remember Arthur Lester's beginnings.
Resolved to possess his soul in patience till twelve o'clock, the hour being yet barely 11:30 a. m., Theydon tackled a page of reviews, since there is always consolation for a writer in learning at second hand what sheer drivel others can produce.
He was growling at the discovery that some hapless essayist had appropriated a title which he himself had marked down for his next book, when the door-bell rang. He did not give much heed, because so many tradesmen called during the course of each morning, so he was surprised and startled when Bates announced:
"Mr. Forbes to see you, sir."
Had a powerful spring concealed in the seat of his chair been released suddenly, Theydon could not have bounced to his feet with greater speed. Forbes came in. He was pale, but self-contained and clear-eyed.
"Forgive an unceremonious visit," he said. "I'm glad to find you at home. I meant to arrive here sooner, but I was detained on business of some importance."
By this time Bates had closed the door; Theydon explained his presence in the flat by saying that within a few minutes he would have been telephoning again to Old Broad Street.
"Ah! Did you speak to Macdonald?" said Forbes, dropping into a chair with a curious lassitude of manner which did not escape Theydon.
"Yes. I have been most anxious to have a word with you—"
Forbes broke in with a short laugh.