Regarding Merry's own name, which was certainly odd, it fitted him extremely well. He was a stout and rubicund lawyer, not at all resembling the accepted type. There was nothing dry and solemn about Merry. He seemed to be a simple sort of person, and clients sometimes doubted his abilities. But all this cheerfulness was assumed. He really was as deep as a well, but it was a well wherein Truth did not reside. Not that Merry did anything likely to get himself struck off the Rolls. He was far too clever for that. But he was certainly unscrupulous, and more than a match for the majority of rascals. He always looked for the worst in a man, but his smile and complacent fatness disarmed all suspicion of his talents. Many a sharper had cause to rue trusting to the deceitful appearance of the lawyer. Mr. Merry sat alone in a dingy room, the window of which looked out on to a blank wall. The room was surrounded by black-painted deed-boxes, and was remarkably dusty. Before the lawyer was a pile of letters which he intended to answer shortly. But at the present moment he was looking at yesterday's copy of the _Daily Budget_. It belonged to Merry junior, and his father had taken it in to read the paragraph pointed out by his son. It was that which dealt with the finding of Fairy Lodge, and the identification of Flora Brand with the woman who had been murdered in Ajax Villa. After mastering the article, Merry rang the bell, and raised his eyes when his son appeared at the door. "Come and sit down, and close the door," said the father. "I wish to speak about this." "Merry junior was a stout young man of twenty-one, quite as cheerful-looking as his respected progenitor. But he had a pair of sharp grey eyes which always set people on their guard. For this reason he was not so successful as his father in dealing with suspicious clients. In a year Merry hoped to be a full-fledged solicitor, and then intended to become his father's partner. Meanwhile, as he was remarkably sharp, and had the firm's interest at heart, Merry senior frequently consulted him. At the present moment he intended to discuss the death of Mrs. Brand. "I can't understand why you did not show me this yesterday," he said. "I never saw it," explained the son. "The fact is, I don't take in that rag." He pointed disdainfully to the paper. "But I picked it up in a railway carriage while going home last night, and wrapped a bag of fruit in it. This morning I happened to use some of the paper while shaving, and my eyes caught the paragraph. I would have shown it to you at once, but you had already started for the office. I therefore saved the torn pieces, and brought it in as soon as I arrived." "There's nothing about this death in the other papers," said his father.