“They are perfectly in their place,” returned Pitman, with scant attention. “But is my disguise equally effective? There is nothing more likely than that I should meet some of my patrons.”
“O, nobody could tell you without your beard,” said Michael. “All you have to do is to remember to speak slow; you speak through your nose already.”
“I only hope the young man won’t be at home,” sighed Pitman.
“And I only hope he’ll be alone,” returned the lawyer. “It will save a precious sight of manœuvring.”
And sure enough, when they had knocked at the door, Gideon admitted them in person to a room, warmed by a moderate fire, framed nearly to the roof in works connected with the bench of British Themis, and offering, except in one particular, eloquent testimony to the legal zeal of the proprietor. The one particular was the chimney-piece, which displayed a varied assortment of pipes, tobacco, cigar-boxes, and yellow-backed French novels.
“Mr. Forsyth, I believe?” It was Michael who thus opened the engagement. “We have come to trouble you with a piece of business. I fear it’s scarcely professional——”
“I am afraid I ought to be instructed through a solicitor,” replied Gideon.
“Well, well, you shall name your own, and the whole affair can be put on a more regular footing to-morrow,” replied Michael, taking a chair and motioning Pitman to do the same. “But you see we didn’t know any solicitors; we did happen to know of you, and time presses.”
“May I inquire, gentlemen,” asked Gideon, “to whom it was I am indebted for a recommendation?”
“You may inquire,” returned the lawyer, with a foolish laugh; “but I was invited not to tell you—till the thing was done.”