"Curious things, some of those detective cases," remarked Mr. Jones, gently waving his pen.
"They are. I wouldn't have to deal with them, as a detective, for the world. Shall I relate this case to you?"
He took out his watch and looked at it. "Better wait a bit longer, Mr. Charles. I expect the Serjeant every minute now."
"Don't you wonder that my uncle continues to work?" I cried presently. "He is old now. I should retire."
"He is sixty-five. If you were not young yourself, you would not call that old."
"Old enough, I should say, for work to be a labour to him."
"A labour that he loves, and that he is as capable of performing as he was twenty years ago," returned old Jones. "No, Mr. Charles, I do not wonder that he should continue to work."
"Did you know that he had been offered a judgeship?"
Old Jones laughed a little. I thought it was as much as to say there was little which concerned the Serjeant that he did not know.
"He has been offered a judgeship more than once—had it pressed upon him, Mr. Charles. The last time was when Mr. Baron Charlton died."