“On which,” continued Blackmore, “I spoke to Mr. Marchmont and he agreed that it was worth while to take your opinion on the case, though he warned me to cherish no hopes, as the affair was not really within your specialty.”

“So you understand,” said Marchmont, “that we expect nothing.  This is quite a forlorn hope.  We are taking your opinion as a mere formality, to be able to say that we have left nothing untried.”

“That is an encouraging start,” Thorndyke remarked.  “It leaves me unembarrassed by the possibility of failure.  But meanwhile you are arousing in me a devouring curiosity as to the nature of the case.  Is it highly confidential?  Because if not, I would mention that Jervis has now joined me as my permanent colleague.”

“It isn’t confidential at all,” said Marchmont.  “The public are in full possession of the facts, and we should be only too happy to put them in still fuller possession, through the medium of the Probate Court, if we could find a reasonable pretext.  But we can’t.”

Here the waiter charged our table with the fussy rapidity of the overdue.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.  Rather early, sir.  Wouldn’t like it underdone, sir.”

Marchmont inspected his plate critically and remarked: 

“I sometimes suspect these oysters of being mussels; and I’ll swear the larks are sparrows.”

“Let us hope so,” said Thorndyke.  “The lark is better employed ’at Heaven’s gate singing’ than garnishing a beef-steak pudding.  But you were telling us about your case.”

“So I was.  Well it’s just a matter of—­ale or claret?  Oh, claret, I know.  You despise the good old British John Barleycorn.”

“He that drinks beer thinks beer,” retorted Thorndyke.  “But you were saying that it is just a matter of—?”

“A matter of a perverse testator and an ill-drawn will.  A peculiarly irritating case, too, because the defective will replaces a perfectly sound one, and the intentions of the testator were—­er—­were—­excellent ale, this.  A little heady, perhaps, but sound.  Better than your sour French wine, Thorndyke—­were—­er—­were quite obvious.  What he evidently desired was—­mustard?  Better have some mustard.  No?  Well, well!  Even a Frenchman would take mustard.  You can have no appreciation of flavour, Thorndyke, if you take your victuals in that crude, unseasoned state.  And, talking of flavour, do you suppose that there is really any difference between that of a lark and that of a sparrow?”

Thorndyke smiled grimly.  “I should suppose,” said he, “that they were indistinguishable; but the question could easily be put to the test of experiment.”

“That is true,” agreed Marchmont, “and it would really be worth trying, for, as you say, sparrows are more easily obtainable than larks.  But, about this will.  I was saying—­er—­now, what was I saying?”

“I understood you to say,” replied Thorndyke, “that the intentions of the testator were in some way connected with mustard.  Isn’t that so, Jervis?”