In the doorway Hollister looked back over his shoulder.  The man sat mute, immobile, staring fixedly at the wall.

Down the street Hollister turned once more to look up at the gilt-lettered windows.  Something had happened to Mr. Lewis.  Something had jolted the specialist in British Columbia timber and paralyzed his business nerve centers.  Some catastrophe had overtaken him, or impended, beside which the ugly matter Hollister laid before him was of no consequence.

But it was of consequence to Hollister, as vital as the breaker of water and handful of ship’s biscuits is to castaways in an open boat in mid-ocean.  It angered him to feel a matter of such deep concern brushed aside.  He walked on down the street, thinking what he should do.  Midway of the next block, a firm name, another concern which dealt in timber, rose before his eyes.  He entered the office.

“Mr. MacFarlan or Mr. Lee,” he said to the desk man.

A short, stout individual came forward, glanced at Hollister’s scarred face with that involuntary disapproval which Hollister was accustomed to catch in people’s expression before they suppressed it out of pity or courtesy, or a mixture of both.

“I am Mr. MacFarlan.”

“I want legal advice on a matter of considerable importance,” Hollister came straight to the point.  “Can you recommend an able lawyer—­one with considerable experience in timber litigation preferred?”

“I can.  Malcolm MacFarlan, second floor Sibley Block.  If it’s legal business relating to timber, he’s your man.  Not because he happens to be my brother,” MacFarlan smiled broadly, “but because he knows his business.  Ask any timber concern.  They’ll tell you.”

Hollister thanked him, and retraced his steps to the office building he had just quitted.  In an office directly under the Lewis quarters he introduced himself to Malcolm MacFarlan, a bulkier, less elderly duplicate of his brother the timber broker.  Hollister stated his case briefly and clearly.  He put it in the form of a hypothetical case, naming no names.

MacFarlan listened, asked questions, nodded understanding.

“You could recover on the ground of misrepresentation,” he said at last.  “The case, as you state it, is clear.  It could be interpreted as fraud and hence criminal if collusion between the maker of the false estimate and the vendor could be proven.  In any case the vendor could be held accountable for his misrepresentation of value.  Your remedy lies in a civil suit—­provided an authentic cruise established your estimate of such a small quantity of merchantable timber.  I should say you could recover the principal with interest and costs.  Always provided the vendor is financially responsible.”

“I presume they are.  Lewis and Company sold me this timber.  Here are the papers.  Will you undertake this matter for me?”

MacFarlan jerked his thumb towards the ceiling.