The office of Laing and Merry was in Milton Street, on the ground floor of a dingy¹ pile of buildings. There was only one representative of the firm, as Laing was dead, and his executors had disposed of the business to Merry. This gentleman carried on the office work with three clerks, of which one was his son. At a future date the younger Merry was to be admitted into the business, and at present was serving his articles. Merry retained the name of Laing on the office door-plate, as that gentleman had been a much-respected member of the profession, and his name inspired confidence.  
Regarding Merry's own name, which was certainly odd, it fitted him extremely well. He was a stout² and rubicund³ lawyer, not at all resembling the accepted type. There was nothing dry and solemn about Merry. He seemed to be a simple sort of person, and clients sometimes doubted his abilities. But all this cheerfulness was assumed. He really was as deep as a well, but it was a well wherein Truth did not reside. Not that Merry did anything likely to get himself struck off the Rolls. He was far too clever for that. But he was certainly unscrupulous, and more than a match for the majority of rascals⁴. He always looked for the worst in a man, but his smile and complacent⁵ fatness disarmed⁶ all suspicion of his talents. Many a sharper had cause to rue⁷ trusting to the deceitful appearance of the lawyer.
 
Mr. Merry sat alone in a dingy room, the window of which looked out on to a blank wall. The room was surrounded by black-painted deed-boxes, and was remarkably⁸ dusty. Before the lawyer was a pile of letters which he intended to answer shortly. But at the present moment he was looking at yesterday's copy of the Daily Budget. It belonged to Merry junior, and his father had taken it in to read the paragraph pointed⁹ out by his son. It was that which dealt with the finding of Fairy Lodge¹⁰, and the identification of Flora¹¹ Brand with the woman who had been murdered in Ajax Villa¹². After mastering the article, Merry rang the bell, and raised his eyes when his son appeared at the door.
 
"Come and sit down, and close the door," said the father. "I wish to speak about this."
 
"Merry junior was a stout young man of twenty-one, quite as cheerful-looking as his respected progenitor¹³. But he had a pair of sharp grey eyes which always set people on their guard. For this reason he was not so successful as his father in dealing¹⁴ with suspicious clients. In a year Merry hoped to be a full-fledged solicitor¹⁵, and then intended to become his father's partner. Meanwhile, as he was remarkably sharp, and had the firm's interest at heart, Merry senior frequently consulted him. At the present moment he intended to discuss the death of Mrs. Brand.
 
"I can't understand why you did not show me this yesterday," he said.
 
"I never saw it," explained the son. "The fact is, I don't take in that rag." He pointed disdainfully to the paper. "But I picked it up in a railway carriage while going home last night, and wrapped a bag of fruit in it. This morning I happened to use some of the paper while shaving, and my eyes caught the paragraph. I would have shown it to you at once, but you had already started for the office. I therefore saved the torn pieces, and brought it in as soon as I arrived."
 
"There's nothing about this death in the other papers," said his father.
 
"No. I remember the case though. The woman was murdered at Ajax Villa, Troy, and there was a great deal of fuss made over the matter, owing to the strangeness of the affair. It's queer that the similarity of the rooms should prove to be the means of identification."
 
"You think there can be no doubt about the woman?"
 
"Oh, it must be Mrs. Brand. You see, the detective--or is he an inspector¹⁶?--identified her by the photograph. There's something behind all this which I can't understand."
 
"You mean about the murder?"
 
"Well--yes," said the son. "And about the search made in the house by this man--what's his name?--Derrick. I wonder he did not find our letters to Mrs. Brand, and come at once to see us."
 
"He has not had time, perhaps."
 
"The police do not usually lose time. An hour makes a great difference to a case of this sort. I wonder who murdered her."
 
"I can't say. I merely read the inquest in a casual manner. Had I known it was Mrs. Brand, I should have come forward," added Merry senior. "The publicity¹⁷ of the case would have done us good."
 
The son reflected. "There's time yet to make a fuss," he said. "We are responsible for the will of Mrs. Brand. I dare say we can get the heir to offer a reward. What about the will, father?"
 
"I must see after it." Merry senior nodded towards a box. "It's in there. Queer she didn't leave her money to her husband, Sammy."
 
"I don't think she and her husband got on well," said Sammy; "he was always away."
 
"Well, as a commercial traveller----"
 
"No, father," interrupted Sammy, with vivacity¹⁸. "I don't believe he was. Mrs. Brand didn't strike me as a woman who would marry a commercial traveller. Did you ever see Mr. Brand?"
 
"No," replied the lawyer, without raising his eyes. "Did you?"
 
"I never did, although you sent me twice to Mrs. Brand's house on business. I remember the white room. I wonder it didn't strike me when I saw the report of the crime. By the way, father, how did Mrs. Brand come to be our client? It was before I entered the office that she became our client."
 
"Yes." Merry rose and looked out of the window at the blank wall, which was not an alluring¹⁹ prospect²⁰. "Her distant cousin, Arthur Brand of Australia, sent home money to support Mrs. Brand's mother. When the mother died, he continued the income to the daughter. What always struck me as strange," added Merry musingly²¹, "was that Mrs. Brand should marry a man of the same name as that of her cousin."
 
"A coincidence merely, father. Then Arthur Brand died and left the money to this woman?"
 
"Yes. A few months ago. I wrote and asked her to call. When informed of her good fortune she almost fainted. Then I suggested that she should bring her husband to me, so that he could attend to the matter on her behalf. But it seemed that Mr. Brand had departed a month previously²² to Australia, for the purpose of looking up Arthur. Mrs. Brand appeared to think that her husband was some connection, and wished to make sure."
 
"There is another cousin, isn't there?"
 
"Yes. Arnold Calvert, an actor." Merry's eyes travelled to the tin box. "I must write him at once."
 
"Why? Has he anything to do with the will?"
 
Merry opened his mouth to reply, when a clerk entered with a card. "Professor Bocaros," read the solicitor, and smiled. "Ah! This is Mrs. Brand's cousin. He has come to see about the will. You can leave me, Sammy. And I say, just drop a note to Mr. Calvert at the Frivolity²³ Theatre asking him to call."
 
Sammy nodded, and passed out. As he did so Professor Bocaros stood aside. Young Merry looked at the lean figure and solemn face of the Greek, and then at the blazing eyes. He gave his opinion to himself as the door closed on the client. "I shouldn't like to be in your power," said Sammy. "I wonder if you inherit."
 
Merry shook hands warmly with the professor, and placed a chair for him. "It's a fine day. I am glad to see you, sir. Your cousin, poor woman, often spoke²⁴ of you to us."
 
"Did she?" said Bocaros, looking keenly at the genial²⁵ face of the lawyer. "That is strange, considering we saw so little of one another. By the way, your phrase--poor woman--leads me to believe that you have heard from the police."
 
"No. I have read in this paper of the identification of Mrs. Brand with the woman who was murdered in Troy;" and Merry laid his hand on the Daily Budget. "I suppose you have come to see me about the matter. How did you learn the news?"
 
"In the same way. A friend of mine brought the paper to me."
 
"Oh!" Merry looked sharply in his turn. "Did this friend know that you were Mrs. Brand's cousin?"
 
"He did not. I usually get the paper every day from my landlady²⁶, Mrs. Baldwin. I occupy a small house on her estate in Cloverhead----"
 
"Where is that, sir?"
 
"Near Troy. In fact it is the village around which Troy is built."
 
"Oh!" Merry looked surprised. "Do you mean to say you live in Troy?"
 
"I do. And not a stone-throw away from the house where poor F............