“Does it?” he rejoined. “To tell you the truth, I have not read the letter through. I saw your name in it, and I gathered from your message that you wished to see me here. I sent my note to your hotel--and then went on with something else. Pray pardon me. Is this a professional consultation? For your own sake, I sincerely hope not!” “It is hardly a professional consultation, Mr. Playmore. I find myself in a very painful position; and I come to you to advise me, under very unusual circumstances. I shall surprise you very much when you hear what I have to say; and I am afraid I shall occupy more than my fair share of your time.” “I and my time are entirely at your disposal,” he said. “Tell me what I can do for you--and tell it in your own way.” The kindness of this language was more than matched by the kindness of his manner. I spoke to him freely and fully--I told him my strange story without the slightest reserve. He showed the varying impressions that I produced on his mind without the slightest concealment. My separation from Eustace distressed him. My resolution to dispute the Scotch Verdict, and my unjust suspicions of Mrs. Beauly, first amused, then surprised him. It was not, however, until I had described my extraordinary interview with Miserrimus Dexter, and my hardly less remarkable conversation with Lady Clarinda, that I produced my greatest effect on the lawyer’s mind. I saw him change color for the first time. He started, and muttered to himself, as if he had completely forgotten me. “Good God!” I heard him say--“can it be possible? Does the truth lie _that_ way after all?” I took the liberty of interrupting him. I had no idea of allowing him to keep his thoughts to himself. “I seem to have surprised you?” I said. He started at the sound of my voice. “I beg ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed. “You have not only surprised me--you have opened an entirely new view to my mind. I see a possibility, a really startling possibility, in connection with the poisoning at Gleninch, which never occurred to me until the present moment. This is a nice state of things,” he added, falling back again into his ordinary humor. “Here is the client leading the lawyer. My dear Mrs. Eustace, which is it--do you want my advice? or do I want yours?” “May I hear the new idea?” I asked. “Not just yet, if you will excuse me,” he answered. “Make allowances for my professional caution. I don’t want to be professional with you--my great anxiety is to avoid it. But the lawyer gets the better of the man, and refuses to be suppressed. I really hesitate to realize what is passing in my own mind without some further inquiry. Do me a great favor. Let us go over a part of the ground again, and let me ask you some questions as we proceed. Do you feel any objection to obliging me in this matter?” “Certainly not, Mr. Playmore. How far shall we go back?”