At sixty Marshall, Maxwell Fair’s solicitor, found himself a bachelor, a solicitor with an income of twenty thousand pounds and a very decided attachment for his few wealthy clients and an aversion to new ones. Long past the necessity of accepting new clients, Marshall, like so many old Templars, asked for nothing but to be let alone among his books and cronies in the Inner Temple, and allowed to spend his brief holidays at his shooting-box by the Norfolk Broads.
It was with no very good grace, therefore, that he returned to town on that wet Sunday in response to an absurdly urgent telegram from Fair, whose usual business was exactly to old Marshall’s taste, since it consisted of drawing perfunctory documents having to do with real estate, and never involving critical issues of any sort.
But the snug thousands which Fair’s enormous interests brought to him annually made it impolitic to ignore his most uncharacteristic bit of hysterics. Accordingly, after dining in gloomy solitude at his quiet little chop-house, Marshall surprised his laundress by turning up at his chambers in the Inner Temple at nine o’clock on Sunday evening in a crusty temper. Fair would arrive at ten, so Marshall settled down for an hour with Browne’s “Religio Medici,” when to an irritating knock he sang out a curt, “Come in! come in!” and a lady entered.
“Mr. Marshall, I believe?” said the lady.
“Yes, madam,” replied Marshall, rising; “but my business hours—In fact, I am engaged—just leaving, you know—and, besides, I expect a gentleman by appointment at any moment.”
“I venture to think that, whatever his business may be, you will consider my case the one requiring immediate attention,” quietly answered the lady, seating herself, although the old solicitor had not suggested her doing so.
“Case? Case?” exclaimed Marshall. “Why, bless us all, I haven’t taken any new cases in years. Couldn’t think of it, madam.”
“But,” returned the lady vehemently, “a crime has been committed, and I——”
“Crime, you say?” shouted Marshall as if he were being insulted. “Good heavens, my good woman, do you imagine that I am interested in crime?”