A TALE OF TWO KNAVERIES.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAP. I.
It was a melancholy and foggy November morning, and in its yellow gloom that legal byway known as Southampton Buildings, Holborn, looked even more frowzy and less respectable than usual. That, at least, was the opinion of Mr Blackford, solicitor, who had no love for the scene of his daily labours, as he turned into his office at the usual hour, nodded to the clerk and the office-boy who made up his modest staff, hung up his hat and coat on their particular peg, and passing into his private room, proceeded to open and read the half-dozen letters which lay on his desk. With one exception, these were not of a pleasing or cheerful nature. There was, in the first place, a rather peremptory reminder that the office rent was overdue, and must be paid forthwith. Then came a refusal to ‘settle,’ by the payment of a sum of money, a doubtful compensation-for-injuries action against a Railway Company, which Mr Blackford had undertaken upon the very sporting principle of charging nothing unless he should succeed; in which happy event he would retain half the spoils. Beneath this lay a letter declining to make an advance on certain dilapidated house-property belonging to a client, and commenting sharply on certain alleged misrepresentations; and then followed two or three more such epistolary missives.
Mr Blackford’s face wore a very excusable expression of disgust as he took up the last of the pile; but he brightened a little as he read it through. This at anyrate meant ‘business’—above all, business for which the payment, though not large or ungrudgingly rendered, would be certain and prompt. It was signed ‘William Franklin,’ and it contained a request that Mr Blackford would call on the writer that day, in order to take instructions for his will. Now, William Franklin was the lawyer’s best client; a retired tradesman of some wealth, and of a litigious disposition which had for several years brought as much profit to the business as all the rest of the connection put together. The solicitor hastily replied to such of his correspondents as required that attention, glanced at his diary, which showed him plenty of leisure time for the day—a far too usual circumstance with him; and was preparing to keep Mr Franklin’s appointment, when his office-boy knocked and entered.
‘A gentleman to see you, sir.’
‘Who is it?’ asked his master, rather suspiciously. Unexpected male visitors are not always welcome to a man whose finances are shaky.
‘Won’t give his name, sir—says he wants to see you on particular business. I think it’s a new client, sir,’ added the boy confidentially, understanding tolerably well the reasons of his employer’s hesitation.
‘Oh! Well—show him in; and don’t forget to hand a chair.’
The visitor entered—a tall, dark, powerful man, with remarkably bright eyes—well dressed, as Mr Blackford, drawing comfortable auguries therefrom, at once observed.
‘Take a seat,’ said the solicitor. ‘What can I do for you?’