Bustard, a model of secrecy, said nothing.  He related the incident to Soames however with some malice, for this quiet man was capable of human feeling, ending with his own opinion that the point was ’a very nice one.’

In accordance with his resolve, our Forsyte had put his interests into the hands of Jobling and Boulter.  From the moment of doing so he regretted that he had not acted for himself.  On receiving a copy of Bosinney’s defence he went over to their offices.

Boulter, who had the matter in hand, Jobling having died some years before, told him that in his opinion it was rather a nice point; he would like counsel’s opinion on it.

Soames told him to go to a good man, and they went to Waterbuck, Q.C., marking him ten and one, who kept the papers six weeks and then wrote as follows: 

’In my opinion the true interpretation of this correspondence depends very much on the intention of the parties, and will turn upon the evidence given at the trial.  I am of opinion that an attempt should be made to secure from the architect an admission that he understood he was not to spend at the outside more than twelve thousand and fifty pounds.  With regard to the expression, “a free hand in the terms of this correspondence,” to which my attention is directed, the point is a nice one; but I am of opinion that upon the whole the ruling in “Boileau v.  The Blasted Cement Co., Ltd.,” will apply.’

Upon this opinion they acted, administering interrogatories, but to their annoyance Messrs. Freak and Able answered these in so masterly a fashion that nothing whatever was admitted and that without prejudice.

It was on October 1 that Soames read Waterbuck’s opinion, in the dining-room before dinner.

It made him nervous; not so much because of the case of ’Boileau v.  The Blasted Cement Co., Ltd.,’ as that the point had lately begun to seem to him, too, a nice one; there was about it just that pleasant flavour of subtlety so attractive to the best legal appetites.  To have his own impression confirmed by Waterbuck, Q.C., would have disturbed any man.

He sat thinking it over, and staring at the empty grate, for though autumn had come, the weather kept as gloriously fine that jubilee year as if it were still high August.  It was not pleasant to be disturbed; he desired too passionately to set his foot on Bosinney’s neck.

Though he had not seen the architect since the last afternoon at Robin Hill, he was never free from the sense of his presence—­never free from the memory of his worn face with its high cheek bones and enthusiastic eyes.  It would not be too much to say that he had never got rid of the feeling of that night when he heard the peacock’s cry at dawn—­the feeling that Bosinney haunted the house.  And every man’s shape that he saw in the dark evenings walking past, seemed that of him whom George had so appropriately named the Buccaneer.