Bagley looked his feelings in silence. Giving Barry Tompkins up, he said to Larcher: “I don't see any lawyer here that I'm acquainted with. I was a bit previous, getting let in to decide that bet to-night.”
“Perhaps Mr. Tompkins knows some lawyer here, to whom he will introduce you,” suggested Turl.
“You want a lawyer?” said Tompkins. “There are three or four here. Over there's Doctor Brady, the medico-legal man; you've heard of him, I suppose,—a well-known criminologist.”
“I should think he'd be the very man for you,” said Turl to Bagley. “Besides being a lawyer, he knows surgery, and he's an authority on the habits of criminals.”
“Is he a friend of yours?” asked Bagley, at the same time that his eyes lighted up at the chance of an auditor free from the incredulity of ignorance.
“I never met him,” said Turl.
“Nor I,” said Larcher; “and I don't think Murray Davenport ever did.”
“Then if Mr. Tompkins will introduce Mr. Larcher and me, and come away at once without any attempt to prejudice, I'm agreed, as far as our bet's concerned. But I'm to be let alone to do the talking my own way.”
Barry Tompkins led Bagley and Larcher over to the medico-legal criminologist—a tall, thin man in the forties, with prematurely gray hair and a smooth-shaven face, cold and inscrutable in expression—and, having introduced and helped them to find chairs, rejoined Turl. Bagley was not ten seconds in getting the medico-legal man's ear.
“Doctor, I've wanted to meet you,” he began, “to speak about a remarkable case that comes right in your line. I'd like to tell you the story, just as I know it, and get your opinion on it.”