Why should a middle-aged solicitor turn plovers' egg colour and drop his jaw when reminded of so innocent and festal a matter as that no death had ever occurred in a house that he had sold? If I knew my English vocabulary at all, the tone in which he said the youngest sister “fell ill” meant that she had gone out of her mind. That might explain his change of countenance, and it was just possible that her demented influence still hung about Holmescroft; but the rest was beyond me.
I was relieved when I reached M'Leod's City office, and could tell him what I had done—not what I thought.
M'Leod was quite willing to enter into the game of the pretended purchase, but did not see how it would help if I knew Baxter.
“He's the only living soul I can get at who was connected with Holmescroft,” I said.
“Ah! Living soul is good,” said M'Leod. “At any rate our little girl will be pleased that you are still interested in us. Won't you come down some day this week?”
“How is it there now?” I asked.
He screwed up his face. “Simply frightful!” he said. “Thea is at Droitwich.”
“I should like it immensely, but I must cultivate Baxter for the present. You'll be sure and keep him busy your end, won't you?”
He looked at me with quiet contempt. “Do not be afraid. I shall be a good Jew. I shall be my own solicitor.”
Before a fortnight was over, Baxter admitted ruefully that M'Leod was better than most firms in the business: We buyers were coy, argumentative, shocked at the price of Holmescroft, inquisitive, and cold by turns, but Mr. M'Leod the seller easily met and surpassed us; and Mr. Baxter entered every letter, telegram, and consultation at the proper rates in a cinematograph-film of a bill. At the end of a month he said it looked as though M'Leod, thanks to him, were really going to listen to reason. I was many pounds out of pocket, but I had learned something of Mr. Baxter on the human side. I deserved it. Never in my life have I worked to conciliate, amuse, and flatter a human being as I worked over my solicitor.