The sentence was interrupted by the entry of the clerk with a second card.
Mr Graham pushed the vestige of grey hair from his forehead. He looked puzzled and perplexed when he read the name of the person who desired an interview; but, quickly regaining his habitual coolness, he intimated to the lad that the request should be granted in a few minutes.
“Have you—er—anything more to say to me?” he asked, turning to Bérard. “I can do nothing in the matter for at least a week,” he continued, “but if Mr Holt and yourself will attend here at noon the day after to-morrow we can transact the necessary formalities, and take the first step towards realising.”
“That will suit admirably,” Bérard replied, with satisfaction. “I will not detain you longer, for I know you are busy;” and, shaking hands with his legal adviser, he made his exit by the door communicating direct with the passage.
“My most fervent hope is that our usual good luck will not desert us,” the old solicitor reflected, when the Frenchman had departed.
Having again touched the gong, the door opening into the clerk’s office admitted another client—Hugh Trethowen.
“Well, Graham, how are you?” he exclaimed, gayly tossing his hat and stick upon the table, and flinging himself into the chair just vacated by Victor.
“Thanks, I’m very well, Mr Hugh. Full of business, you know—full of business. Now, what is it you wish to consult me upon?”
“A rather delicate matter.”
The old man’s face grew grave, and much of the hectic flush vanished from his cheek. Readjusting the inevitable pince-nez, he leaned back and looked sharply at his visitor.