"Yes, but it is such a nice case," Levy still pleaded. "You need not appear in it at all if you don't want to. Mr. Buckner can become the plaintiff, and it need not cost you anything. We can make Mr. Gorham pay all the bills."
"That's enough of that," was the sharp reply. "Now, what was it that you found out about Mrs. Gorham's early history?"
Levy accepted the inevitable with equanimity, contenting himself with a gesture which expressed more than words.
"I have learned that after her child's death Mrs. Gorham, then Mrs. Buckner, disappeared for a period of two weeks, during which time she is alleged to have lived in a prospector's shack alone with him. Do you catch the significance?"
Covington again held out his hand, taking the second affidavit, which he scrutinized with the same care he gave the first.
"This is merely the unconfirmed statement of a prejudiced party," he remarked; "it is of no value unless you could prove it."
Levy smiled. "My dear Mr. Covington, we can prove anything—that is our business."
"Well"—Covington rose—"you seem to have carried out your end of the affair." He drew a roll of bills from his pocket. "Here is the balance due you. If I decide to make use of these documents, I will see you again and make a trade. Kindly give me an acknowledgment of my payment."
Levy held up a hand protestingly. "I explained before that we never give receipts—"
"Oh, yes; it had slipped my mind," Covington acquiesced.