The rest was that sort of talk which we have most of us talked once; those of us who haven't are to be pitied; it is a kind of talk which is well worth talking. Then Mr. Clifford went on to Bloomsbury Mansions, which was Joseph Oldfield's London address; indeed, so far as his manager knew, it was the proprietor of Peter Piper's Popular Pills' only address. As usual he found the porter in the entrance hall; of him he made inquiry. "Well, Coles, any news of Mr. Oldfield?" In the porter's manner, as he replied, there was a significance which Mr. Clifford did not understand. "I can't say that there's any news of Mr. Oldfield exactly; but there's something going on." "Going on? What do you mean?" "In his flat." "In his flat! What's going on in his flat?" "That's more than I can tell you, sir; but there's some one in there; in fact, there's two people in there. One of them says he's Mr. Oldfield's solicitor; I don't know who the other is, but he may be another solicitor for all I can tell; he looks as if he might be something in that line." Frank Clifford opened his eyes. "His solicitor? What solicitor? What's his name?" "Seemed to me he was shy about giving his name; but when I made it clear that he wasn't going up unless he did, he said his name was Nash--Herbert Nash. He's quite a young chap--younger than the other, though he's not old." "Nash? Herbert Nash? I never heard Mr. Oldfield speak of a solicitor named Nash; but of course he may have a dozen solicitors of whom I know nothing. How did they get in? Did you let them in?" "Not me; they brought Mr. Oldfield's own key; Mr. Nash had it." "That looks as if they'd at least heard from Mr. Oldfield quite recently, which is more than I have. It's lucky I happened to come just now. Take me up, Coles; I should like to see Mr. Nash." The porter said, as they were stepping into the lift-- "I hope, sir, there's nothing wrong with Mr. Oldfield--that he's not ill, or anything like that; but it looks odd his solicitor coming instead of him, and that without giving any notice." "It doesn't necessarily follow, Coles, that there's anything wrong with him on that account; most probably Mr. Oldfield is abroad, and has sent his solicitor instructions, in order to carry out which Mr. Nash has to visit his flat." The lift stopped; the porter pointed to a door. "I hope you're right, sir; I should be sorry to hear that anything had happened to Mr. Oldfield; to my thinking he's the pleasantest gentleman we've got in the Mansions, and I don't care who hears me say so. That's his flat, sir. You'll find them in there now. Shall I ring, sir?" "No; I'll ring." Mr. Clifford rang. CHAPTER XXIX IN JOSEPH OLDFIELD'S FLAT The idea was Morgan's.