After dinner Mr. Mitchell slipped into a smoking jacket with a violent
velvet lining and sat in his den--a den bedecorated after the manner
known to the muddle-minded as artistic, but more aptly described by Sir
Anthony Gloster as "beastly." To this den came now the sprightly clerk,
summoned by telephone.

"Sit down, Pelman. I sent for you because I desire your opinion and
cooperation upon a matter of the first importance," said the lawyer,
using his most gracious manner.

Mr. Joseph Pelman, pricking up his ears at the smooth conciliation of eye
and voice, warily circled the room, holding Mitchell's eyes as he went,
selected a corner chair for obvious strategic reasons, pushed it against
the wall, tapped that wall apprehensively with a backward-reaching hand,
seated himself stiffly upon the extreme edge of the chair, and faced his
principal, bolt upright and bristling with deliberate insolence.

"If it is murder I want a third," he remarked.

The lawyer gloomed upon this frowardness.

"That is a poor way to greet an opportunity to make your fortune once and
for all," he said. "I have something on hand now, which, if we can swing
it--"

"One-third," said the clerk inflexibly.

Mitchell controlled himself with a visible effort. He swallowed hard and
began again: