er. "Well, I can't
admit that," he said, in his suave voice, twirling the string of his
eye-glass. "I was Yorke-Bannerman's advocate, you see; and therefore I
was paid not to admit it. Besides, he was a friend of mine, and I
always liked him. But I WILL allow that the case DID look a trifle black
against him."

"Ha? Looked black, did it?" I faltered.

The judicious barrister shrugged his shoulders. A genial smile spread
oilily once more over his smooth face. "None of my business to say so,"
he answered, puckering the corners of his eyes. "Still, it was a long
time ago; and the circumstances certainly WERE suspicious. Perhaps, on
the whole, Hubert, it was just as well the poor fellow died before the
trial came off; otherwise"--he pouted his lips--"I might have had
my work cut out to save him." And he eyed the blue china gods on the
mantelpiece affectionately.

"I believe the Crown urged money as the motive?" I suggested.

Mayfield glanced inquiry at me. "Now, why do you want to know all this?"
he asked, in a suspicious voice, coming back from his dragons. "It is
irregular, very, to worm information out of an innocent barrister in
his hours of ease about a former client. We are a guileless race, we
lawyers; don't abuse our confidence."

He seemed an honest man, I thought, in spite of his mocking tone. I
trusted him, and made a clean breast of it. "I believe," I answered,
with an impressive little pause, "I want to marry Yorke-Bannerman's
daughter."

He gave a quick start. "What, Maisie?" he exclaimed.

I shook my head. "No, no; that is not the name," I replied.

He hesitated a moment. "But there IS no other," he hazarded cautiously
at last. "I knew the family."

"I am not sure of it," I went on. "I have merely my suspicions. I am in
love with a girl, and something about her makes me think she is probably
a Yorke-Bannerman."

"But, my dear Hubert, if that is so," the great lawyer went on, waving
me off with one fat hand, "it must be at once apparent to you that _I_
am the last person on earth to whom you ought to apply for information.
Remember my oath. The practice of our clan: the seal of secrecy!"

I was frank once more. "I do not know whether the lady I mean is or is
not Yorke-Bannerman's daughter," I persisted. "She may be, and she
may not. She gives another name--that's certain. But whether she is or
isn't, one thing I know--I mean to marry her. I believe in her; I trust
her. I only seek to gain this in