“Colonel Playfair.”
I knew him by reputation. A better man didn’t live in Darringford, nor a better lawyer—now that Mr. Hounsditch was dead. And it seemed to me that I remembered something about Colonel Playfair and my grandfather having once been close friends.
“Have you got any money, Ham?” I asked him. “For I haven’t a cent.”
“Plenty,” he replied.
“Get a carriage, then, and drive us to the hotel first; then to Colonel Playfair’s office.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” returned Ham and in a few moments we were off in a station hack, Ham on the seat with the driver.
Mr. and Mrs. Bramble kept the Darringford Hotel, and I left Philly in the good lady’s care. Dao Singh remained with her, of course. Then Ham and I raced to the office of the lawyer.
It was already half past nine. There was no time to lose if the matter of an appointment of a new trustee for the Darringford estate was the first item on the docket.
I knew Colonel Playfair by sight—a soldierly, white haired veteran with one arm. His shabby offices were in a brick building near the courthouse. I don’t suppose he would have known me in my present guise had not Ham Mayberry vouched for my identity.
“A close call, young man,” he said. “I understand you object to this Chester Downes being appointed in the place of Mr. Hounsditch?”