But although I regarded Mr. Anstey with feelings of the liveliest friendship, I was far from gratified when, on the morning of which I am writing, I observed him from our sitting-room window crossing the gravelled space from Crown Office Row and evidently bearing down on our chambers.  For the fact is that I was awaiting the arrival of Juliet, and should greatly have preferred to be alone at the moment, seeing that Thorndyke had already gone out.  It is true that my fair enslaver was not due for nearly half-an-hour, but then, who could say how long Anstey would stay, or what embarrassments might arise from my efforts to escape?  By all of which it may be perceived that my disease had reached a very advanced stage, and that I was unequal to those tactics of concealment that are commonly attributed to the ostrich.

A sharp rap of the knocker announced the arrival of the disturber of my peace, and when I opened the door Anstey walked in with the air of a man to whom an hour more or less is of no consequence whatever.  He shook my hand with mock solemnity, and, seating himself upon the edge of the table, proceeded to roll a cigarette with exasperating deliberation.

“I infer,” said he, “that our learned brother is practising parlour magic upstairs, or peradventure he has gone on a journey?”

“He has a consultation this morning,” I answered.  “Was he expecting you?”

“Evidently not, or he would have been here.  No, I just looked in to ask a question about the case of your friend Hornby.  You know it comes on for trial next week?”

“Yes; Thorndyke told me.  What do you think of Hornby’s prospects?  Is he going to be convicted, or will he get an acquittal?”

“He will be entirely passive,” replied Anstey, “but we”—­here he slapped his chest impressively—­“are going to secure an acquittal.  You will be highly entertained, my learned friend, and Mr. The Enemy will be excessively surprised.”  He inspected the newly-made cigarette with a critical air and chuckled softly.

“You seem pretty confident,” I remarked.

“I am,” he answered, “though Thorndyke considers failure possible—­which, of course, it is if the jury-box should chance to be filled with microcephalic idiots and the judge should prove incapable of understanding simple technical evidence.  But we hope that neither of these things will happen, and, if they do not, we feel pretty safe.  By the way, I hope I am not divulging your principal’s secrets?”

“Well,” I replied, with a smile, “you have been more explicit than Thorndyke ever has.”

“Have I?” he exclaimed, with mock anxiety; “then I must swear you to secrecy.  Thorndyke is so very close—­and he is quite right too.  I never cease admiring his tactics of allowing the enemy to fortify and barricade the entrance that he does not mean to attack.  But I see you are wishing me at the devil, so give me a cigar and I will go—­though not to that particular destination.”