“There is a thing called justice,” replied Fair, looking up, “and therefore I must die.”
“Not if you will allow us to save you from yourself,” cried Allyne, returning to them. “My soul, man, no case can be made out against you unless you make it yourself. Do let us act for you. Counsel must be secured at once. Come, come, I know the very man.”
“Presently, presently,” answered Fair. “I telegraphed Marshall, my solicitor, that we would call at his chambers tonight at ten. But before we go I want you two to have the case in detail. I promise to be governed by you and Marshall when you have all the facts. That’s reasonable.”
“Then there will be no difficulty, I promise you,” replied Allyne, with renewed good spirits. “Marshall has no romantic rubbish in his gray matter. Maxwell, you’re a disembodied ghost of some crusader who hasn’t heard that Adam and Eve left Paradise some time ago for good. I drink to you, Sir Altruist.”
“Thanks, old chap,” said Fair, with moistening eyes.
“By Jove, I feel better,” exclaimed Travers, stretching his arms and holding Fair by both shoulders. “I’d like to be worthy of you, Fair.”
“Oh, come, I say, Dick,” protested Fair. “In a few weeks it will be deucedly awkward to be asked if you were not a friend of mine.”
“We’ll see about that,” retorted Travers defiantly. “Now, the details.”
While they sat, Fair walked to and fro before them with folded arms.