rpe, Prescott,
Winslow and Appleby are in Ridgeway's Inn, not far from Fleet Street.
The brass plate, let into the woodwork of the door, is misleading.
Reading it, you get the impression that on the other side quite a covey
of lawyers await your arrival. The name of the firm leads you to suppose
that there will be barely standing-room in the office. You picture
Thorpe jostling you aside as he makes for Prescott to discuss with him
the latest case of demurrer, and Winslow and Appleby treading on your
toes, deep in conversation on replevin. But these legal firms dwindle.
The years go by and take their toll, snatching away here a Prescott,
there an Appleby, till, before you know where you are, you are down to
your last lawyer. The only surviving member of the firm of Marlowe,
Thorpe--what I said before--was, at the time with which this story
deals, Sir Mallaby Marlowe, son of the original founder of the firm and
father of the celebrated black-face comedian, Samuel of that ilk; and
the outer office, where callers were received and parked till Sir
Mallaby could find time for them, was occupied by a single clerk.

When Sam opened the door this clerk, John Peters by name, was seated on
a high stool, holding in one hand a half-eaten sausage, in the other an
extraordinarily large and powerful-looking revolver. At the sight of Sam
he laid down both engines of destruction and beamed. He was not a
particularly successful beamer, being hampered by a cast in one eye
which gave him a truculent and sinister look; but those who knew him
knew that he had a heart of gold and were not intimidated by his
repellent face. Between Sam and himself there had always existed terms
of great cordiality, starting from the time when the former was a small
boy and it had been John Peters' mission to take him now to the Zoo, now
to the train back to school.

"Why, Mr. Samuel!"

"Hullo, Peters!"

"We were expecting you back a week ago."

"Oh, I had something to see to before I came to town," said Sam
carelessly.

"So you got back safe!" said John Peters.

"Safe! Why, of course."

Peters shook his head.

"I confess that, when there was this delay in your coming here, I
sometimes feared something might have happened to you. I recall
mentioning it to the young lady who recently did me the honour to
promise to become my wife."

"Ocean liners aren't often wrecked nowadays."

"I was thinking more of the brawls on shore. America's a dangerous
co