“My dear Mr. Crum,” said I pityingly, “we are not in the sixteenth century. I can conceive a rampant adventurer like Sir Walter Raleigh, let us say—a man with the heart of a lion and the brains of a four-year-old child—setting out on some such wild-goose chase, but that a British peer, of good health and wealth, nigh threescore years of age——” He interrupted. His spectacles were tilted rakishly on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes positively glinted behind them. He absolutely barked an exclamation at me. “Yes, my lord; he was all you say. And I am not ashamed to add, that in his case, and with his opportunity, I should have done the same!” “You!” I shouted—yelled, in fact, so taken aback was I. “You would have gone to this unspeakable climate, to seek out a forsaken French adventurer, to get a clue to a fudged-up cryptogram three musty centuries old! Mr. Crum, Mr. Crum, I should have as soon believed it of the Lord Chancellor.” He had regained his _aplomb_ by now, and arranged his papers methodically in front of him before he ventured another word. Then he looked up again, his calm and judicial air entirely regained. “I have no wish to pose as a sentimentalist, or to have it thought that the mere glamour of a mystery would carry me outside the realms of common sense. But I must say, my lord, with all due deference, that it seems to me that your uncle was simply guided by weight of evidence in what he did. From the facts connected with its finding and those since elicited, I should say there can be no doubt that the document before you was written by Sir John Dorinecourte, and that the matters detailed in it were true. The good knight’s supposition about the identity of the persons he encountered seems to me extremely reasonable. Your uncle had nothing in his life to check his desires for adventure and discovery. It would have been marvellous to me if he had let such an opportunity escape him. I can see too,” he went on with a smile, “that our temperaments differ, my lord, and that though you are the soldier and I the lawyer, our blood flows with an irregularity that is not in sympathy with our professions.” It is not pleasant to be called a coward by your own lawyer, I confess, and I will own that I flew into a rage. I rose and took my hat. “Thanks, Mr. Crum,” I said coldly, “it is more than probable that I am in every particular the absolute inferior of my late uncle. However, I fear I am using your valuable time for reflections and deductions which are not professional” (put him back in his place there, thinks I). “Is there any other business you wish to see me about this morning?” The old chap flushed as he rose in his turn.