The brass plate, let into the woodwork of this door, is misleading. Reading it, you get the impression that on the other side quite a covey of lawyers await your arrival. The name of the firm leads you to suppose that there will be barely standing-room in the office. You picture Thorpe jostling you aside as he makes for Prescott to discuss with him the latest case of demurrer, and Winslow and Appleby treading on your toes, deep in conversation on replevin. But these legal firms dwindle. The years go by and take their toll, snatching away here a Prescott, there an Appleby, till before you know where you are, you are down to your last lawyer. The only surviving member of the firm of Marlowe, Thorpe—what I said before—was, at the time with which this story deals, Sir Mallaby Marlowe, son of the original founder of the firm and father of the celebrated black-faced comedian, Samuel of that ilk; and the outer office, where callers were received and parked till Sir Mallaby could find time for them, was occupied by a single clerk.
When Sam, reaching the office after his journey, opened the door, this clerk, John Peters by name, was seated on a high stool, holding in one hand a half-eaten sausage, in the other an extraordinary large and powerful revolver. At the sight of Sam he laid down both engines of destruction and beamed. He was not a particularly successful beamer, being hampered by a cast in one eye which gave him a truculent and sinister look; but those who knew him knew that he had a heart of gold and were not intimidated by his repellent face. Between Sam and himself there had always existed terms of cordiality, starting from the time when the former was a small boy, and it had been Jno. Peters’ mission to take him now to the Zoo, now to the train back to school.
“Why, Mr. Samuel!”
“Hullo, Peters!”
“We were expecting you back a week ago. So you got back safe?”
“Safe? Why, of course,”
Peters shook his head.
“I confess that, when there was this delay in your coming here, I sometimes feared something might have happened to you. I recall mentioning it to the young lady who recently did me the honour to promise to become my wife.”
“Ocean liners aren’t often wrecked nowadays.”
“I was thinking more of the brawls on shore. America’s a dangerous country. But perhaps you were not in touch with the underworld?”
“I don’t think I was.”
“Ah!” said Jno. Peters, significantly.
He took up the revolver, gave it a fond and almost paternal look, and replaced it on the desk.
“What on earth are you doing with that thing?” asked Sam.
Mr. Peters lowered his voice.
“I’m going to America myself in a few days’ time, Mr. Samuel. It’s my annual holiday, and the guvnor’s sending me over with papers in connection with The People v. Schultz and Bowen. It’s a big case over there. A client of ours is mixed up in it, an American gentleman. I am to take these important papers to his legal representative in New York. So I thought it best to be prepared.”
The first smile that he had permitted himself in nearly two weeks flitted across Sam’s face.
“What on earth sort of place do you think New York is?” he asked. “It’s safer than London.”
“Ah, but what about the underworld? I’ve seen these American films that they send over here, Mr. Samuel. Every Saturday night regular I take my young lady to a cinema, and, I tell you, they teach you something. Did you ever see ‘Wolves of the Bowery’? There was a man in that in just my position, carrying important papers, and what they didn’t try to do to him! No, I’m taking no chances, Mr. Samuel!”
“I should have said you were, lugging that thing about with you.”
Mr. Peters seemed wounded.
“Oh, I understand the mechanism perfectly, and I am becoming a very fair shot. I take my little bite of food in here early and go and practice at the Rupert Street Rifle Range during my lunch hour. You’d be surprised how quickly one picks it up. When I get home at night I try how quick I can draw. You have to draw like a flash of lightning, Mr. Samuel. If you’d ever seen a film called ‘Two-Gun-Thomas’ you’d realise that. You haven’t time to be loitering about.”