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"Somebody to see you," he announced with gruff brevity, and turned away. The open door now revealed the figure of the woman he had seen outside. She advanced into the room. "Mr. Brimsdown?" she said. "That is my name," said the lawyer, eyeing her in some surprise.
"You wish to stay on here until you have made other arrangements for your future is that so?" he asked. "That's it," was the brief reply. Mr. Brimsdown felt there was more than that some deeper, secret reason. Before granting the request it occurred to him to try and get what he could in exchange.
"In temperament he takes after me, I think, more than after his father. Austin and I never did think alike. We even disagreed over poor Robert's terrible death. Austin thought he had ... destroyed himself." Her voice dropped to a shocked whisper. "On what grounds did he base that belief?" Mr. Brimsdown cautiously asked. "He thought the circumstances pointed to it," she rejoined.
He put it down with a sigh, and resumed his restless pacing of the room. It was his office, but he preferred it to his chambers at the end of the passage. He said the air was better, but it is doubtful whether that was the reason. Perhaps Mr. Brimsdown felt less lonely among his legal documents, meditating over battles he had won for dead legatees.
Brimsdown followed with his eye the pretty girl who had been forgetful enough to give up a return ticket instead of a half one. She had stopped outside the barrier, gazing round with a troubled face at the immensity of the station and the throngs of hurrying people. The lawyer looked at her hard, from a little distance. "Where have I seen that face before?" he murmured to himself.
Brimsdown did not accept the axiom of a great English jurist that every man is justified in evading the law if he can, because it is the duty of lawmakers not to leave any loophole for evasion. That point of view of justice as a battle of wits, with victory to the sharpest, was a little too cynical for his acceptance. But he believed it to be his duty to safeguard the interests of his client.
"Therefore, to oblige Mr. Turold we decided to afford hospitality to his brother and son. The terms were favourable, and they were gentlefolk. These things counted, and the money helped. But if I had only known if I could have foreseen ..." "Mr. Turold's death?" said Mr. Brimsdown, filling in the pause. "I mean everything," she retorted a little wildly. "My name is well known.
She stood to gain most by the suppression or destruction of the proofs of her mother's earlier marriage. But Mr. Brimsdown could not see that this rather negative inference against the girl brought the actual solution of the mystery any nearer. It did nothing to explain, for instance, the marks on the dead man's arm and his posthumous letter. The letter! What was the explanation of the letter?
They would as soon thought of attributing sentiment to one of the japanned deed-boxes. But they would have accepted the surprising revelation with well-bred English tolerance for eccentricity, not allowing it to affect their judgment that Mr. Brimsdown was one of the soundest and safest lawyers in England. His agitation arose from the death of Robert Turold his client.
"What time was it?" "It would be about midnight, I reckon." "Did your wife hear the noise?" "No. She was in bed and asleep." "Are you sure you didn't dream this?" Mr. Brimsdown asked, with a shrewd penetrating glance. "The open window wasn't a dream," was the dogged reply. "You might have left it open yourself." "No, I didn't. I close the windows every night before dark." "And lock them?"
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