CHAPTER VIII.

COUNSEL'S OPINION.

"Everything comes to those who know how to wait." What an excellent proverb for a briefless barrister! Let Mr. Briefless sit in his chambers, surrounded by his law books crammed with learning, and ready to undertake anything--if he wait, will Fame come to him? Not she. Fame is a lazy goddess except when she flies away, and then it is difficult for even the most industrious to catch her and clip her wings.

"He who would seek the wealth of the Indies must take out the wealth of the Indies." Is not that saying a true one? In order to gain fame, riches, and ease, must not one bring industry, perseverance, and knowledge? If Mr. Gerald Foster, barrister, of the Inner Temple, had adopted the motto of knowing how to wait, he might have done so till the end of the chapter, and then have been no better off at the end than the beginning.

But Mr. Foster was not of this fatalistic creed; he did not believe that what must be must, and that if a man is to be famous he will be so whether he idles at home or goes out into the world and works. No; he saw clearly that every day the prizes were fewer and the multitude of competitors greater, and so he did not rest idly on his oars after being admitted to the bar, but went in for hard study, both of men and books. Books, as he knew, are all very well, but according to Pope, the proper study of mankind is man, and Gerald went out into the world and neglected no opportunity of getting fish into his net. He went into the theatrical world, and knew all the most famous actors and actresses in London; he went into the political world, and had all the burning questions of the day at the end of his tongue; he noted the rising and falling of shares on the Stock Exchange, and knew exactly how the money market stood, and he went into society and became acquainted with the follies of the hour.

All this work was for a purpose, for he was a young gentleman who never lost an opportunity, and his sprats were all sent forth to catch mackerel. As yet, in spite of his assiduity to work, and his cultivation of the follies and virtues of his fellow-men, he had succeeded but little, but then he was only twenty-eight years of age, and fortune is not a goddess to be wooed roughly, so he went on, keeping his brain cool, his eyes open, and his mind cultivated, and had no doubt in his own mind that he would succeed. With such indomitable perseverance Gerald knew he must win at last. Fortune, fickle though she he, becomes weary of incessant assaults, and yields in the end to the persevering suitor. So Mr. Gerald Foster, aged twenty-eight, with clever brains, good health, and plenty of tact, worked assiduously at his profession, waiting for the hour that would bring him fame and riches.

Not a handsome man, certainly not; that is, he was not an oiled and curled darling of society. He dressed well, because it was part of his business; but even his kindest friend could not hove pronounced him handsome. A bald head, with a thick fringe of brown hair round it, a prominent nose, a clean-shaven face, with a thin-lipped mouth, and two brilliantly black eyes under bushy eyebrows, he would have been ugly, but for the wonderful charm of his smile. A most delightful smile, that changed all his features, and turned him from the ugly beast into the handsome young prince of the fairy tale. And, above all, his face was one that inspired confidence--an invaluable quality in a lawyer.

On the morning after the arrival of the "Neptune," he sat in his office in the Temple looking over his letters. Accurately dressed, in frock coat, black trousers and tie, and spotless linen, he was turning over his letters, when he came on that of Ronald's, and something in the handwriting of Mr. Monteith senior, seemed to strike him, for he opened it first. Reading it over carefully, he gave vent to a low whistle of astonishment.

"Hum," said Mr. Foster' surveying the letter thoughtfully, "'friend of your father's--only son--first visit to England--would like you to look after him--exactly,'"--laying down the letter--"a cub I expect, with no looks, and less manners, brought up in the wilds, and can't eat his food properly--a delightful aboriginal to introduce into London society. Well, I suppose I must. I love my dear old father too well to think of refusing to do a good turn to any friend of his. Confound it! I'm sure this son is awful. Well, perhaps he'll be rich, and that will cover a multitude of sins. We are fond of whited sepulchres now-a-days."

He put the letter of introduction on one side, and proceeded with the rest of his correspondence, carefully answering each letter, and putting it neatly away. Then he rang for his clerk, and giving him a pile of letters, told him to post them, and taking up the "Daily Telegraph," proceeded to read that paper and wait for clients. Of course, he went first for the money market; then he looked over the political news, glanced at the law reports, and read all the leaders, ending with the theatres. These principal items being finished, he glanced idly over the paper, and at last came on something that interested him.

"Hum," said Mr. Foster, thoughtfully, "a murder committed on board the 'Neptune.' That is the boat the cub came home in. Think I'll read it, that I may have something to talk about when he does come."

He read the article carefully, which told all about Ventin's murder, and the suspicions entertained by Monteith, after which he laid the paper down, and rising from his seat, walked slowly up and down the room with his hands behind his back.

"Don't think the cub can be so bad after all," he said, musingly. "Indeed, judging from his evidence, he seems rather a clever fellow. Queer case, and one I'd like to have a hand in: to unravel a mystery like that would make a fellow's fortune; but these things don't come my way, confound it!"

Here he was interrupted by a knock at the door, and his clerk, a red-headed boy, with a large appetite and fearful dislike for work entered, with a card held in his grimy fingers.

"Gen'lum waitin' sir," said the red-headed youth, who breathed hard in an apoplectic manner. "Ronald Monteith," read Foster on the card; "hum! the cub--show him in Berkles."

Berkles grinned, vanished, and shortly afterwards threw open the door, and announced "Mr. Ronald Monteith."

If ever Gerald Foster got a shock in his life it was seeing the cub of his fancy transformed into the handsome young man of reality. There he stood at the door, hat in hand, tall and noble-looking, quite a distinct being from the ordinary lounger of Regent Street and Hyde Park. Accustomed to rapid observation, Foster took the whole of that stalwart figure and honest countenance in at a glance, and with the sudden liking of instinct advanced towards him with outstretched hand.

"Mr. Monteith I believe?" he said, as Ronald stepped into the room.

"Yes," answered Ronald, grasping the proffered hand--and what an honest firm grip was that of the young Australian; "I sent my letter of introduction to you last night."

"It is here," replied Foster, pointing to the table, as Ronald took his seat.

"I am very glad to see you Mr. Monteith; my father was a great friend of your father's--let us hope the friendship will be hereditary."

"It is very kind of you to say so," said Monteith, in some surprise, "I am quite a stranger to you."

"You are," answered the young lawyer, "but I am a student of Lavater, and I can read faces--therefore, I say, I hope we shall be friends."

"I'm certain we shall," said Ronald, heartily holding out his hand, which the other grasped again.

"You had a pleasant voyage?" asked Foster, in a conversational manner.

"Very, except for one incident."

"Which I know all about,"--pointing to the newspaper.

"I'm glad of that, because, I have just called to see you about it."

"Eh!" said Foster sitting up in his chair; "by Jove, hope you'll put the case in my way. I was just thinking before you came in what a splendid chance was to make a name if one only had the case."

"Well Mr. Foster," said Ronald, slowly, looking keenly at him, "I am very much interested in the case, Ventin was an intimate friend of mine, and as no one that I can hear of is going to try and clear up the mystery of his death, I am going to take that duty on my own shoulders."

"I see," observed Foster nodding sagely; "and you want help?"

"I do--your help."

"You shall have it," cried Foster impulsively; "a subtle case like this is what I require to make my same. At present I am a briefless barrister, but give me the chance and I'm all right. Archimedes wanted a world whereon to rest his lever and move the earth. I am like the Greek. I have the lever--videlicet my brains, now I want a world, namely, a case--this, as far as I can gather from the papers, will be an excellent chance."

"Then you shall have it," said Ronald heartily, "and I am only too glad to think I have such an enthusiastic worker."

"So be it; now tell me the story in your own way; these newspaper accounts are so meagre."

Whereupon Ronald told Foster all about the case, and his own suspicions regarding it, to all of which the young barrister listened carefully, then leaned back in his chair, and put the tips of his fingers together.

"Hum!" he said, thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling; "you have made out a very strong case against this Maltese wife I must confess; but the evidence is surely circumstantial."

"But who else would have done it?"

"A man might have committed the crime."

"But with what motive?"

"Because he was told to do so."

"But I don't see----"

"Of course you don't," said Foster coolly; "but I will explain, from what you have told me, Mrs. Ventin--we will call her so as we do not know her real name--must have been a woman of very strong passions. Now is it likely that such a woman would remain faithful to her husband? No; I am sure she would not. Depend upon it, she had lovers, or else married again. In the latter case, she might have committed the crime herself, as husbands are not fond of endangering their necks for wives, however pretty; but if she had lovers, depend upon it one of them committed the murder for her sake."

"That's all very well," said Ronald impatiently; "we must not be content with vague speculations but get a clue. Now, how are we to start?"

"I think the idea of Captain Templeton is best," said Foster, thoughtfully, "to look up the divorce case."

"You do not remember it?"

"Not I; there are dozens of divorce cases every year--we are such a moral nation, you know. I can't keep them all in my head; but I will look it up."

"And then?"

"Then I will see the solicitors who had the case in hand, and ask all about Ventin; you knew the man, they knew him, and if your descriptions tally, we will soon establish his identity."

"So far so good," said Ronald, impatiently; "but what follows?"

"Then we must find out where this Maltese wife is----"

"In Malta," said Ronald, abruptly.

"She might not be, by the time we find out her husband's real name," said the barrister coolly; "don't hurry my dear toy; but when we discover where she is, we must set a detective on her to find out her movements on that night when the murder was committed; if she can account for them satisfactorily your theory must fall to the ground."

"But if she can't?"

Foster shrugged his shoulders.

"Then we must be guided by circumstances; we can hardly arrest a woman on the existing evidence; it's a very difficult case, and we must be careful."

"When will you look up this divorce case?"

"To-day, and let you know all about it to-morrow; meanwhile, you had better come and lunch at my club."

"Thank you very much," said Ronald, blushing; "if you will let me away immediately afterwards. I have to make a call."

"Certainly," replied Foster, glancing at his companion's tell-tale face as they went out; "I'll bet he's going to see a woman," he thought, looking at Monteith. "What a transparently honest man he is."