Miss Arnott's Marriage Part 32

"ERNEST GILBERT.

"GEORGE HOTEL, WINCHESTER."

He lunched at the George Hotel. While he was smoking an after-luncheon cigar an answer came. Hugh Morice wired to say that if he arrived by a certain train he would meet him at the station. Mr Gilbert travelled by that train, and was met. It was only after a _tete-a-tete_ dinner that anything was said as to the reason why the lawyer had invited himself to be the other's guest.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've forced myself upon your hospitality?"

"I hope that nothing in my manner has caused you to think anything of the kind. I a.s.sure you that I'm very glad to see you."

"It's very nice of you to say so. Still, considering how I've thrown myself at you out of the clouds you can hardly help but wonder."

"Well, I have taken it a little for granted that you have some reason for wishing to pay me a visit at this particular moment."

"Exactly. I have. It's because I find myself in rather a singular situation."

"As how?"

The lawyer considered. He looked at his host across the little table, on which were their cups of coffee, with his bright eyes and the intensely inquisitive stare, which seemed to suggest that curiosity was his devouring pa.s.sion. His host looked back at him lazily, indifferently, as if he were interested in nothing and in no one. The two men were in acute contrast. The one so tall and broad; the other so small and wiry--in the scales possibly not half Hugh Morice's size. The solicitor glanced round the room, inquiringly.

"I suppose we're private here?"

They were in the billiard-room. The doors were shut, windows closed, blinds drawn--the question seemed superfluous.

"Perfectly. No one would hear you if you shouted."

"It's just as well to be sure; because what I have to say to you is of a particularly private nature."

"At your leisure."

"You and I have had dealings before--you will probably remember that, under certain circ.u.mstances, I'm not a stickler for professional etiquette."

"I remember it very well indeed."

"That's fortunate. Because, on the present occasion, I'm going to outrage every standard of propriety which is supposed--professionally--to hedge me round. Now listen to me attentively; because I don't wish to use plainer speech than I can help; I don't want to dot my 'i's,' and I want you, at a hint from me, to read between the lines. This is a ticklish matter I'm going to talk about."

"I'm all attention."

"That's good; then here's what I've come to say."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TWO MEN

Yet Mr Gilbert hesitated. He took his cigar from between his lips, carefully removed the ash, sipped at his coffee, and all the time kept his glance on Hugh Morice, as if he were desirous of gleaning from his face indications as to the exact line which his remarks should take.

When he did speak he still continued to stare at his host.

"I have been retained to defend James Baker."

"James Baker?"

"The man who is to stand his trial for the murder in Cooper's Spinney."

"Oh, Jim Baker. Hereabouts he is known as Jim. When you spoke of him as James, for the moment I didn't know who you meant."

"This morning I saw him in Winchester Gaol."

"That is what you were doing in Winchester? Now I understand. How is he?"

"In a bad way. They may as well hang him as keep him jailed. He's not at home in there."

"So I should imagine. Jim Baker!"

Hugh Morice smiled sardonically, as if the idea of Jim Baker being in gaol was grimly humorous.

"That interview has resulted in placing me in a very curious quandary."

"I should imagine that interviews with your clients did occasionally have results of that kind."

"That's so; but I don't recall one which had just this result, and--I don't like it. That's why I've come to you."

"I don't see the sequitur. What have I to do with your quandaries?--that is, mind you, with your professional quandaries; because, outside your profession, as you're perfectly well aware, I'm willing enough to help you in any kind of a hole."

"This is both professional and unprofessional--that's the trouble.

Anyhow, I'm going to make you my confidant, and I shall expect you to give me some sort of a pointer."

"What might you happen to be driving at? I take it that you don't credit me with the capacity to read between lines which are non-existent."

"I'll tell you in a sentence. James--or, as you call him--Jim Baker has left the impression on my mind that it was Miss Arnott, of Exham Park, who killed that man in Cooper's Spinney."

"The scoundrel!"

"Generally speaking, perhaps, in this particular instance--I doubt it."

"Do you mean to say that he formulated the charge in so many words?"

"He never formulated it at all. On the contrary, he didn't even begin to make it. I fancy that if you were to go to him now, he'd say that he never so much as hinted at anything of the sort. But all the same it was so present in his mind that it got into mine. I have a knack, occasionally, of studying my clients' minds rather than their words."

"My good sir, if A is charged with a crime he quite constantly--sometimes unconsciously--tries to shift the guilt on to B."

"As if I didn't know it! Talk sense! There are times when I am able to detect the real from the counterfeit, and this is one. I tell you that Jim Baker is convinced that Miss Arnott stabbed that man in the wood, and that, if he chose, he could advance substantial reasons for the faith that is in him."

"Good G.o.d! You--you shock me!"