“You must make allowance for a nervous temperament,” said Mary in a hard voice.
“If you knew what it felt like to be shadowed and followed and badgered—” began Mr. Goyles.
“But I thought you Soviet Club people enjoyed being suspected of things,” said Lord Peter. “Why, it ought to be the proudest moment of your life when you’re really looked on as a dangerous fellow.”
“It’s the sneering of men like you,” said Goyles passionately, “that does more to breed hatred between class and class—”
“Never mind about that,” interposed Mr. Murbles. “The law’s the law for everybody, and you have managed to put yourself in a very awkward position, young man.” He touched a bell on the table, and Parker entered with a constable. “We shall be obliged to you,” said Mr. Murbles, “if you will kindly have this young man kept under observation. We make no charge against him so long as he behaves himself, but he must not attempt to abscond before the Riddlesdale case comes up for trial.”
“Certainly not, sir,” said Mr. Parker.
“One moment,” said Mary. “Mr. Goyles, here is the ring you gave me. Goodbye. When next you make a public speech calling for decisive action I will come and applaud it. You speak so well about that sort of thing. But otherwise, I think we had better not meet again.”
“Of course,” said the young man bitterly, “your people have forced me into this position, and you turn round and sneer at me too.”
“I didn’t mind thinking you were a murderer,” said Lady Mary spitefully, “but I do mind your being such an ass.”
Before Mr. Goyles could reply, Mr. Parker, bewildered but not wholly displeased, maneuvered his charge out of the room. Mary walked over to the window, and stood biting her lips.
Presently Lord Peter came across to her. “I say, Polly, old Murbles has asked us to lunch. Would you like to come? Sir Impey Biggs will be there.”
“I don’t want to meet him today. It’s very kind of Mr. Murbles—”
“Oh, come along, old thing. Biggs is some celebrity, you know, and perfectly toppin’ to look at, in a marbly kind of way. He’ll tell you all about his canaries—”
Mary giggled through her obstinate tears.
“It’s perfectly sweet of you, Peter, to try and amuse the baby. But I can’t. I’d make a fool of myself. I’ve been made enough of a fool of for one day.”
“Bosh,” said Peter. “Of course, Goyles didn’t show up very well this morning, but, then, he was in an awfully difficult position. Do come.”
“I hope Lady Mary consents to adorn my bachelor establishment,” said the solicitor, coming up. “I shall esteem it a very great honor. I really do not think I have entertained a lady in my chambers for twenty years—dear me, twenty years indeed it must be.”
“In that case,” said Lady Mary, “I simply can’t refuse.”
Mr. Murbles inhabited a delightful old set of rooms in Staple Inn, with windows looking out upon the formal garden, with its odd little flowerbeds and tinkling fountain. The chambers kept up to a miracle the old-fashioned law atmosphere which hung about his own prim person. His dining-room was furnished in mahogany, with a Turkey carpet and crimson curtains. On his sideboard stood some pieces of handsome Sheffield plate and a number of decanters with engraved silver labels round their necks. There was a bookcase full of large volumes bound in law calf, and an oil-painting of a harsh-featured judge over the mantelpiece. Lady Mary felt a sudden gratitude for this discreet and solid Victorianism.
“I fear we may have to wait a few moments for Sir Impey,” said Mr. Murbles, consulting his watch. “He is engaged in Quangle & Hamper v. ‘Truth,’ but they expect to be through this morning—in fact, Sir Impey fancied that midday would see the end of it. Brilliant man, Sir Impey. He is defending Truth.”
“Astonishin’ position for a lawyer, what?” said Peter.
“The newspaper,” said Mr. Murbles, acknowledging the pleasantry with a slight unbending of the lips, “against these people who profess to cure fifty-nine different diseases with the same pill. Quangle & Hamper produced some of their patients in court to testify to the benefits they’d enjoyed from the cure. To hear Sir Impey handling them was an intellectual treat. His kindly manner goes a long way with old ladies. When he suggested that one of them should show her leg to the Bench the sensation in court was really phenomenal.”
“And did she show it?” inquired Lord Peter.
“Panting for the opportunity, my dear Lord Peter, panting for the opportunity.”
“I wonder they had the nerve to call her.”
“Nerve?” said Mr. Murbles. “The nerve of men like Quangle & Hamper has not its fellow in the universe, to adopt the expression of the great Shakespeare. But Sir Impey is not the man to take liberties with. We are really extremely fortunate to have secured his help.—Ah, I think I hear him!”
A hurried footstep on the stair indeed announced the learned counsel, who burst in, still in wig and gown, and full of apology.
“Extremely sorry, Murbles,” said Sir Impey. “We became excessively tedious at the end, I regret to say. I really did my best, but dear old Dowson is getting as deaf as a post, you know, and terribly fumbling in his movements.—And how are you, Wimsey? You look as if you’d been in the wars. Can we bring an action for assault against anybody?”
“Much better than that,” put in Mr. Murbles; “attempted murder, if
