When he returned to the Close, it was with a face expressing dissatisfaction. Clem’s eager inquiries he met at first with an ill-tempered phrase or two, which informed her of nothing; but when dinner was over he allowed himself to be drawn into a confidential talk, in which Mrs. Peckover took part. The old man, he remarked, was devilish close; it looked as if ‘some game was on.’ Mrs. Peckover ridiculed this remark; of course there was a game on; she spoke of Sidney Kirkwood, the influence he had obtained over Snowdon, the designs he was obviously pursuing. If Joseph thought he would recover his rights, at this time of day, save by direct measures, it only proved how needful it was for him to be instructed by shrewd people. The old man was a hard nut to crack; why he lived in Hanover Street, and sent Jane to work, when it was certain that he had wealth at command, Mrs. Peckover could not pretend to explain, but in all probability he found a pleasure in accumulating money, and was abetted therein by Sidney Kirkwood. Clem could bear witness that Jane always seemed to have secrets to hide; nevertheless a good deal of information had been extracted from the girl during the last year or so, and it all went to confirm the views which Mrs. Peckover now put forth. After long discussion, it was resolved that Joseph should call upon the lawyers whose names had appeared in the advertisement addressed to himself. If he was met with any shuffling, or if they merely referred him to his father, the next step would be plain enough. Clem began to exhibit sullenness; her words were few, and it was fortunate for Joseph that he could oppose a philosophical indifference to the trouble with which his honeymoon was threatened. As early as possible on Monday morning he ascended the stairs of a building in Furnival’s Inn and discovered the office of Messrs. Percival and Feel. He was hesitating whether to knock or simply turn the handle, when a man came up to the same door, with the quick step of one at home in the place. ‘Business with us?’ inquired the new-comer, as Joseph drew back. They looked at each other. He who had spoken was comparatively a young man, dressed with much propriety, gravely polite in manner. ‘Ha! How do you do?’ exclaimed Snowdon, with embarrassment, and in an undertone. ‘I wasn’t expecting—’ The recognition was mutual, and whilst Joseph, though disconcerted, expressed his feelings in a familiar smile, the other cast a quick glance of uneasiness towards the stairs, his mouth compressed, his eyebrows twitching a little. ‘Business with Mr. Percival?’ he inquired confidentially, but without Joseph’s familiar accentuation. ‘Yes. That is—Is he here?’ ‘Won’t be for another hour. Anything I could see about for you?’ Joseph moved in uncertainty, debating with himself. Their eyes met again. ‘Well, we might have a word or two about it,’ he said. ‘Better meet somewhere else, perhaps?’ ‘Could you be at the top of Chancery Lane at six o’clock?’