Of all God's creatures a sniveling
woman is the worst. Vetch has been wool gathering:
"Quandoque dormitat Homerus--eh, Humphrey?--
"Which means, ma'am, that you sometimes catch a weasel asleep.
Depend on't, he engrossed the wrong docket, and by this time has
discovered the true will in one of his moldy boxes. Gad, it'll ruin
him, though--if his nephew has not done it already. A family lawyer
can't afford to be caught napping.
"Put on your cap, Humphrey: we'll go and look into things and hint
that we must change our attorney."
So he and I set off together. But, early as it was, Sir Richard
Cludde had been before us. When we entered Mr. Vetch's office,
there was the burly knight with his hand on the door, flinging a
parting word at the lawyer, who sat behind his desk with his wig
awry, the picture of harassment and woe. Sir Richard gave a curt
nod to the captain, but vouchsafed me not a glance.
"You understand, Mr. Attorney?" he said. "The present occupants
will vacate the premises within a week, and you will bring me the
keys."
Then he strode away, banging the door after him. The captain
whistled.
"Sits the wind--the whirlwind, I might say-in that quarter? Where's
the will, Vetch?"
"I would give my right hand to know," said the lawyer. "There is
Mr. Ellery's box"--he indicated a case of black tin with the name
John Ellery printed in white letters on its side; "'twas there I
laid it, with the title deeds and other documents.
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