“I have some news for you,” he said.  “What do you think I heard at Doctors’ Commons this morning?  Lady Verinder’s Will has been asked for, and examined, already!”

This was news indeed!  There was absolutely nothing which could be contested in the Will; and there was nobody I could think of who had the slightest interest in examining it. (I shall perhaps do well if I explain in this place, for the benefit of the few people who don’t know it already, that the law allows all Wills to be examined at Doctors’ Commons by anybody who applies, on the payment of a shilling fee.)

“Did you hear who asked for the Will?” I asked.

“Yes; the clerk had no hesitation in telling me.  Mr. Smalley, of the firm of Skipp and Smalley, asked for it.  The Will has not been copied yet into the great Folio Registers.  So there was no alternative but to depart from the usual course, and to let him see the original document.  He looked it over carefully, and made a note in his pocket-book.  Have you any idea of what he wanted with it?”

I shook my head.  “I shall find out,” I answered, “before I am a day older.”  With that I went back at once to my own office.

If any other firm of solicitors had been concerned in this unaccountable examination of my deceased client’s Will, I might have found some difficulty in making the necessary discovery.  But I had a hold over Skipp and Smalley which made my course in this matter a comparatively easy one.  My common-law clerk (a most competent and excellent man) was a brother of Mr. Smalley’s; and, owing to this sort of indirect connection with me, Skipp and Smalley had, for some years past, picked up the crumbs that fell from my table, in the shape of cases brought to my office, which, for various reasons, I did not think it worth while to undertake.  My professional patronage was, in this way, of some importance to the firm.  I intended, if necessary, to remind them of that patronage, on the present occasion.

The moment I got back I spoke to my clerk; and, after telling him what had happened, I sent him to his brother’s office, “with Mr. Bruff’s compliments, and he would be glad to know why Messrs. Skipp and Smalley had found it necessary to examine Lady Verinder’s will.”

This message brought Mr. Smalley back to my office in company with his brother.  He acknowledged that he had acted under instructions received from a client.  And then he put it to me, whether it would not be a breach of professional confidence on his part to say more.

We had a smart discussion upon that.  He was right, no doubt; and I was wrong.  The truth is, I was angry and suspicious—­and I insisted on knowing more.  Worse still, I declined to consider any additional information offered me, as a secret placed in my keeping:  I claimed perfect freedom to use my own discretion.  Worse even than that, I took an unwarrantable advantage of my position.  “Choose, sir,” I said to Mr. Smalley, “between the risk of losing your client’s business and the risk of losing Mine.”  Quite indefensible, I admit—­an act of tyranny, and nothing less.  Like other tyrants, I carried my point.  Mr. Smalley chose his alternative, without a moment’s hesitation.