Those last three words decided the issue. Even worse than the fear of breach of trust was the fear of treason in the office, and the lawyer's only chance of getting clew to that was to keep on terms with this Sir Duncan Yordas. There had been no treason whatever in the office; neither had anything come out through the proctorial firm in York, or Sir Walter Carnaby's solicitors; but a note among longheaded Duncombe's papers had got into the hands of Mordacks. Of that, however, Mr. Jellicorse had no idea.
“Sir Duncan Yordas, I will meet you as you come,” he said, with his good, fresh-colored face, as honest as the sun when the clouds roll off. “It is an unusual step on my part, and perhaps irregular. But rather than destroy the prospect of a friendly compromise, I will strain a point, and candidly admit that there is an instrument open to an interpretation which might, or might not, be in your favor.”
“That I knew long ago, and more than that. My demand is—to see it, and to satisfy myself.”
“Under the circumstances, I am half inclined to think that I should be disposed to allow you that privilege if the document were in my possession.”
“Now, Mr. Jellicorse,” Sir Duncan answered, showing his temper in his eyes alone, “how much longer will you trifle with me? Where is that deed?”
Mr. Jellicorse drew forth his watch, took off his spectacles, and dusted them carefully with a soft yellow handkerchief; then restored them to their double sphere of usefulness, and perused, with some diligence, the time of day. By the law which compels a man to sneeze when another man sets the example, Sir Duncan also drew forth his watch.
“I am trying to make my reply as accurate,” said the lawyer, beginning to enjoy the position as a man, though not quite as a lawyer—“as accurate as your candor and confidence really deserve, Sir Duncan. The box containing that document, to which you attach so much importance (whether duly or otherwise is not for me to say until counsel's opinion has been taken on our side), considering the powers of the horse, that box should be about Stormy Gap by this time. A quarter to four by me. What does your watch say, sir?”
“The deed has been sent for, post-haste, has it? And you know for what purpose?”
“You must draw a distinction between the deed and the box containing it, Sir Duncan. Or, to put it more accurately, betwixt that deed and its casual accompaniments. It happens to be among very old charters, which happen to be wanted for certain excellent antiquarian purposes. Such things are not in my line, I must confess, although so deeply interesting. But a very learned man seems to have expressed—”
“Rubbish. Excuse me, but you are most provoking. You know, as well as I do, that robbery is intended, and you allow yourself to be made a party to it.”