"Yes, I suppose I must go up. I hate lawyers, anyway."

They climbed the stairway. They knocked at Mr. Cavendish's door. A boy opened it, and took in their cards. Mr. Cavendish was busy, but would see them in fifteen minutes. Mr. Belcher sat down in the ante-room, took a newspaper from his pocket, and began to read. Then he took a pen and scribbled, writing his own name with three other names, across which he nervously drew his pen. Then he drew forth his knife, and tremblingly dressed his finger-nails. Having completed this task, he took out a large pocket-book, withdrew a blank check, filled and signed it, and put it back. Realizing, at last, that Talbot was waiting to go in with him, he said:

"By the way, Toll, this business of mine is private."

"Oh, I understand," said Talbot; "I'm only going in to make sure that Cavendish remembers you."

What Talbot really wished to make sure of was, that Cavendish should know that he had brought him his client.

At last they heard a little bell which summoned the boy, who soon returned to say that Mr. Cavendish would see them. Mr. Belcher looked around for a mirror, but discovering none, said:

"Toll, look at me! Am I all right? Do you see anything out of the way?"

Talbot having looked him over, and reported favorably they followed the boy into the penetralia of the great office, and into the presence of the great man. Mr. Cavendish did not rise, but leaned back in his huge, carved chair, and rubbed his hands, pale in their morning whiteness, and said, coldly:

"Good morning, gentlemen; sit down."

Mr. Talbot declined. He had simply brought to him his friend, General Belcher, who, he believed, had a matter of business to propose. Then, telling Mr. Belcher that he should leave the coupe at his service, he retired.

Mr. Belcher felt that he was already in court. Mr. Cavendish sat behind his desk in a judicial att.i.tude, with his new client fronting him. The latter fell, or tried to force himself, into a jocular mood and bearing, according to his custom on serious occasions.

"I am likely to have a little scrimmage," said he, "and I shall want your help, Mr. Cavendish."

Saying this, he drew forth a check for a thousand dollars, which he had drawn in the ante-room, and pa.s.sed it over to the lawyer. Mr. Cavendish took it up listlessly, held it by its two ends, read its face, examined its back, and tossed it into a drawer, as if it were a suspicious sixpence.

"It's a thousand dollars," said Mr. Belcher, surprised that the sum had apparently made no impression.

"I see--a retainer--thanks!"

All the time the hawk-eyes were looking into Mr. Belcher. All the time the scalp was moving backward and forward, as if he had just procured a new one, that might be filled up before night, but for the moment was a trifle large. All the time there was a subtle scorn upon the lips, the flavor of which the finely curved nose apprehended with approval.

"What's the case, General?"

The General drew from his pocket his forged a.s.signment, and pa.s.sed it into the hand of Mr. Cavendish.

"Is that a legally constructed doc.u.ment?" he inquired.

Mr. Cavendish read it carefully, every word. He looked at the signatures. He looked at the blank page on the back. He looked at the tape with which it was bound. He fingered the knot with which it was tied. He folded it carefully, and handed it back.

"Yes--absolutely perfect," he said. "Of course I know nothing about the signatures. Is the a.s.signor living?"

"That is precisely what I don't know," replied Mr. Belcher. "I supposed him to be dead for years. I have now reason to suspect that he is living."

"Have you been using these patents?

"Yes, and I've made piles of money on them."

"Is your right contested?"

"No; but I have reason to believe that it will be."

"What reason?" inquired Mr. Cavendish, sharply.

Mr. Belcher was puzzled.

"Well, the man has been insane, and has forgotten, very likely, what he did before his insanity. I have reason to believe that such is the case, and that he intends to contest my right to the inventions which this paper conveys to me."

"What reason, now?"

Mr. Belcher's broad expanse of face crimsoned into a blush, and he simply answered:

"I know the man."

"Who is his lawyer?"

"Balfour."

Mr. Cavendish gave a little start.

"Let me see that paper again," said he.

After looking it through again, he said, dryly:

"I know Balfour. He is a shrewd man, and a good lawyer: and unless he has a case, or thinks he has one, he will not fight this doc.u.ment. What deviltry there is in it, I don't know, and I don't want you to tell me.

I can tell you that you have a hard man to fight. Where are these witnesses?"

"Two of them are dead. One of them is living, and is now in the city."

"What can he swear to?"

"He can swear to his own signature, and to all the rest. He can relate and swear to all the circ.u.mstances attending the execution of the paper."

"And you know that these rights were never previously conveyed."

"Yes, I know they never were."

"Then, mark you, General, Balfour has no case at all--provided this isn't a dirty paper. If it is a dirty paper, and you want me to serve you, keep your tongue to yourself. You've recorded it, of course."

"Recorded it?" inquired Mr. Belcher in an alarm which he did not attempt to disguise.

"You don't mean to tell me that this paper has been in existence more than six years, and has not been recorded?"

"I didn't know it was necessary."

Mr. Cavendish tossed the paper back to the owner of it with a sniff of contempt.

"It isn't worth that!" said he, snapping his fingers.