"It's the most complicated, exasperating case I nearly ever had brought to me," I answered. "I think it is a matter more for a detective officer to deal with than a solicitor. If Serjeant Stillingfar says the same, I shall throw it up." "Curious things, some of those detective cases," remarked Mr. Jones, gently waving his pen. "They are. I wouldn't have to deal with them, _as_ a detective, for the world. Shall I relate this case to you?" He took out his watch and looked at it. "Better wait a bit longer, Mr. Charles. I expect the Serjeant every minute now." "Don't you wonder that my uncle continues to work?" I cried presently. "He is old now. _I_ should retire." "He is sixty-five. If you were not young yourself, you would not call that old." "Old enough, I should say, for work to be a labour to him." "A labour that he loves, and that he is as capable of performing as he was twenty years ago," returned old Jones. "No, Mr. Charles, I do not wonder that he should continue to work." "Did you know that he had been offered a judgeship?" Old Jones laughed a little. I thought it was as much as to say there was little which concerned the Serjeant that he did not know. "He has been offered a judgeship more than once--had it pressed upon him, Mr. Charles. The last time was when Mr. Baron Charlton died." "Why! that is only a month or two ago!" "Just about nine weeks, I fancy." "And he declined it?" "He declines them all." "But what can be his motive? It would give him more rest than he enjoys now----" "I don't altogether know that," interrupted the clerk. "The judges are very much over-worked now. It would increase his responsibility; and he is one to feel that, perhaps painfully." "You mean when he had to pass the dread sentence of death. A new judge must always feel that at the beginning." "I heard one of our present judges say--it was in this room, too, Mr. Charles--that the first time he put on the black cap he never closed his eyes the whole night after it. All the Bench are not so sensitive as that, you know." A thought suddenly struck me. "Surely," I cried, "you do not mean that _that_ is the reason for my uncle's refusing a seat on the Bench!" "Not at all. He'd get over that in time, as others do. Oh no! that has nothing to do with it." "Then I really cannot see what can have to do with it. It would give him a degree of rest; yes, it would; and it would give him rank and position." "But it would take from him half his income. Yes, just about half, I reckon," repeated Mr. Jones, attentively regarding the feather of the pen. "What of that? He must be putting by heaps and heaps of money--and he has neither wife nor child to put by for." "Ah!" said the clerk, "that is just how we all are apt to judge of a neighbour's business. Would it surprise you very much, sir, if I told you that the Serjeant is _not_ putting by?" "But he must be putting by. Or what becomes of his money?" "He spends it, Mr. Charles."