“I must get back to my work, sir.” He disappeared behind another partition; the office seemed to Bob to be divided into water-tight compartments, in each of which he imagined that a budding lawyer or head clerk was being brought up by hand. It was all rather grim and solid and forbidding. To Bob the law had always been full of mystery; this grey, silent office, in the heart of the city, was a fitting place for it. He felt a little chill at his heart, a foreboding that no comfort could come of his mission there.
The inner door opened, after a little while, and a woman in black came out. She passed hurriedly through the outer office, pulling down her veil over a face that showed traces of tears. Bob looked after her compassionately.
“Poor soul!” he thought. “She's had her gruel, evidently. Now I suppose I'll get mine.”
A bell whirred sharply. The alert office-boy sprang to the summons, returning immediately.
“Mr. M'Clinton can see you now, sir.”
Bob followed him through the oaken door, and along a narrow passage to a room where a spare, grizzled man sat at a huge roll-top desk. He rose as the boy shut the door behind his visitor.
“Well, Captain Rainham. How do you do?”
Bob gripped the lean hand offered him—it felt like a claw in his great palm. Then he sat down and looked uncomfortably at the lawyer.
“I had thought to have seen you here before, Captain.”
“I suppose I should have shown up,” said Bob—concealing the fact that the idea had never occurred to him. “But I've been very busy since I've been back to England.”