‘Now,’ said Mr. Clifford, when it had been definitely agreed that his firm was to take up the case, ‘I have to warn you that proceedings will be slow. First, the prosecution will make up their case--get depositions of the evidence, you know, and so on--and that will take time. We, of course, shall also immediately start work, but it is improbable we shall make much headway till we learn the full evidence against us. Additional time will therefore be required for the preparation of the defence. If Felix is returned for trial--and I fear from what I have heard, he will be--weeks and months will probably elapse before both sides are ready. You and I shall therefore require to exercise patience.’ ‘I can believe it,’ muttered the doctor. ‘You lawyers take the devil of a time over everything.’ ‘We can’t cover our mistakes like you, so we have to be careful,’ retorted the lawyer with his dry, wintry smile. Martin smote his thigh. ‘Ha! ha!’ he laughed. ‘That’s good. You had me there. But I musn’t be wasting your time. There were some things you wanted to speak to me about?’ ‘Yes,’ admitted Clifford, ‘a couple of points. Firstly, I propose to retain Heppenstall--you know, Lucius Heppenstall, the K.C. He may want one or two juniors. I suppose that is all right?’ ‘Of course. You know what is best to be done.’ ‘The other point is that I want you to tell me everything you possibly can about Felix.’ ‘As a matter of fact,’ returned Martin, ‘I can’t tell you very much. I was just thinking over what I knew of him, and I was amazed it was so little. We became acquainted about four years ago. Felix had just taken St. Malo, an empty house a couple of hundred yards from my own, and the first thing he did was to go and get pneumonia. I was called in, but the attack was bad, and for a time it was touch and go with him. However, he pulled through, and, during his convalescence, we became very good friends. When he came out of the hospital I invited him to my house for a week or two--he had only a not very satisfactory housekeeper at St. Malo--and the family took to him, till he became quite like one of ourselves. Since then he has been in and out like a pet dog. He dines quite often, and, in return, insists on taking the boys to the theatre, and the mater when she’ll go.’ ‘He lives quite alone, you say?’ ‘Quite, except for the housekeeper.’ ‘And you haven’t met any of his people?’ ‘None. I’ve never even heard of his people. I don’t think he has any. If he has, he never speaks of them.’ Martin hesitated for a moment, then went on: ‘It may be my fancy, but it has struck me that he seems to avoid women, and the only cynical remarks I have heard him make have been at their expense. I have often wondered if he has had some love disappointment. But he has never hinted at such a thing.’ ‘How does he live?’