On the following day, Covington found himself in front of an old-fashioned brick building standing almost significantly in the shadow of the Tombs.  He paused for a moment to wonder at the enormous gaudy sign, “Levy & Whitcher’s Law Offices,” running across the front and side of the edifice, which impressed him with a sense of its vulgarity.  The door creaked as Covington opened it and passed on into the dingy offices—­even dingier than the nature of the business done in them required, because of the dirt-trodden floors and their unwashed windows.  He pushed his way through the bunch of process-servers, messengers, and clerks who littered up the outer office, almost tripping over a torn law-book on the floor, and finally found his way to the waiting-room of Mr. Levy’s private sanctum in the rear.  Here he was subjected to a careful scrutiny by the lawyer’s “secretary,” whose personal appearance seemed to indicate greater familiarity with the prize ring than with clerical labors.  There may have been method in his selection, as Mr. Levy was a gentleman whose professional life had been spent in undertakings which a conservative insurance company might classify under “hazardous risks.”

Levy had reached a point in his career when he could afford to keep his clients waiting.  He and his partner, during the twenty-five years they had been together, had prospered even beyond their early dreams of avarice.  It was their boast that during their partnership it had not been necessary to open a law-book three times.  There was always a way to beat a case “on the facts,” and they had learned the way.  They kept no books, and the pleasantest part of each day’s business was the five-o’clock adjournment to a neighboring saloon, where the partners had punctiliously divided the millions which came to the firm during the years of their successful association.

After a delay which proved more or less aggravating to Covington, he was ushered into the presence of the “great” man.  Levy endeavored to be courteous in his reception, but Covington showed scant interest in conventions.  He plunged at once into the nature of his business, finding Levy an interested and sympathetic listener.  It was some minutes after his caller ceased speaking that the silence was broken.

“Well,” Covington said at length, coldly, “does the matter interest you?”

“I was deliberating,” the lawyer rejoined, almost as if in apology.

“Do you think you can discover anything of interest?”

Levy smiled blandly.  “How can I say as yet?” he replied, conservatively.  “There are certain elements which might contain interesting and promising details—­a famous man married to a divorced woman twenty-five years his junior.  We might easily find enough so that if you cared to push it he would prefer to make some concessions rather than suffer any unpleasant notoriety; and she may have a past which she would do much to keep forgotten.  Yes, there are possibilities.  Do you wish me to investigate?”