“Well, I should not be surprised if you were,” he said, with a violent chuckle. “If I had not had some such suspicion I might not have climbed up all those dark stairs at a quarter-past ten of a winter’s night.” “Without your dinner.” “Without my dinner. Why, if that fellow hasn’t forgotten the black currant jelly. But here he comes with his poisonous claret.” “Tobin is a brilliant man,” said Northcote, poising his glass after having replenished it. “Irish to the bone; a real discovery; ought to go far. But far as he ought to go and will go, there is one name in your list that will surpass him.” “That is where I cannot agree with you, my son,” said the solicitor, with confidential and parental bonhomie, for this subject lay at the source of his intellectual pride. “You must know somewhat to have found out about Tobin; but when you name his superior you betray your youth.” “I concede it is quite impossible for me to name Tobin’s superior without betraying my youth.” “Go to,” said the solicitor, with an air of indulgence that he reserved for the young and promising. “Don’t labor the point. It wants experience to detect greatness in the shell. Michael Tobin will easily be the first upon my list.” “There is one who will surpass Michael Tobin,” said the young man. “Not among those I have mentioned.” “True. As is usual with the prophet, you don’t dare to affirm the authentic name.” “Upon my word I can’t think who you mean!” “One Henry Northcote.” The solicitor broke forth in a suppressed shout of laughter. “Good!” he said; “you’ll do. Fill up your glass and we’ll get to work. And I’m glad your talent is so remarkable, because I’ve got some business here that is likely to tax it.” “It is increasingly clear to me that you are the genie,” said the young advocate in a low voice, and fetching a deep breath. VII THE OFFER OF A BRIEF The solicitor drew from an inner pocket of his coat a bundle of papers tied with red tape. He placed them on the table at the side of his plate. “At the eleventh hour,” he said, speaking coolly and distinctly, “I am going to ask you to undertake the defence in a trial for murder.” Northcote was conscious of no more than a slight sharp throb of the pulses as he met the shrewd, even cunning, eyes of the man who sat opposite. “Yes, that’s a chance for Henry Northcote,” were his first words, uttered under the breath. “The fee is not much,” said the solicitor, with the precision of the man of affairs entering his fat voice. “You will not be briefed at more than twenty guineas.” “To-night I think I would sell my soul for half that sum,” said the young man, with an excited laugh. “Is not that a somewhat damaging admission for you to make?” said the solicitor. “I agree, I agree,” said the young man; “but the truth is never discreet.”