of the farmer, and, without answering the question of the man on the step, he asked one himself:
"Is Mr. Sneerly in?"
"No, he isn't."
"When will he return?"
"I'm not here to answer any fool who questions me; my time's valuable."
"How much is it worth?"
"Five shillings an hour."
Stranleigh put his hand in his trousers pocket, extracted a golden sovereign, and presented it to the rude individual before him.
"I own your time for four hours. When shall I find Mr. Sneerly in his office?"
"As soon as I turn my back on the street and enter this doorway."
"Then you are Mr. Sneerly?"
"I've never denied it."
"I need some advice."
"Most people do. Come inside."
They entered a bare office, which did not attempt to look prosperous. There were no bogus files of documents upon the table. It was palpably the workshop of a lawyer who had very little business to do, and it made no pretence of being anything else."
"Sit down," said the lawyer, offering him one of the two chairs in the room; and when Stranleigh had done so, Sneerly seated himself on the other chair, drawing it up to the table.
