"Well, Innes," said Harley, looking around, "another uneventful
day."
"Very uneventful, Mr. Harley. About a month of this and you will
have to resume practice at the bar."
Paul Harley laughed.
"Not a bit likely, Innes," he replied. "No more briefs for me. I
shall retire to Norfolk and devote my declining years to
fishing."
"I don't know that fishing would entirely satisfy me," said
Innes.
"It would more than satisfy me," returned Harley. "But every man
to his own ambition. Well, there is no occasion to wait; you
might as well get along. But what's that you've got in your
hand?"
"Well," replied Innes, laying a card upon the table, "I was just
coming in with it when you rang."
Paul Harley glanced at the card.
"Sir Charles Abingdon," he read aloud, staring reflectively at
his secretary. "That is the osteologist?"
"Yes," answered Innes, "but I fancy he has retired from
practice."
"Ah," murmured Harley, "I wonder what he wants. I suppose I had
better see him, as I fancy that he and I met casually some years
ago in India. Ask him to come in, will you?"
Innes retiring, there presently entered a distinguished-looking,
elderly gentleman upon whose florid face rested an expression not
unlike that of embarrassment.
"Mr. Harley," he began, "I feel somewhat ill at ease in
encroaching upon your time, for I am by no means sure that my
case comes within your particular province.
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