Free The Tiger in the Well by Philip Pullman

nodded.
    "And the barrister, Mr. Coleman.'* When will I meet him.'*"
    "Oh, he's a very busy man. I'm not sure that he'd want to take up time like that."
    Sally, amazed, sat down again. "Do you mean that he'd come to the court to defend me without even listening to what I had to say.?"
    "I am your solicitor, Miss Lockhart. I listen to what you say, and I instruct him. He will have all the papers, believe me. I can ask for a meeting if you wish, but I can assure you that Mr. Coleman, Q.C., is a most eminent and able counsel. You could not be in better hands."
    "I'm glad of that. But I would certainly like to meet him, papers or no papers. Could you arrange that.?"
    "I shall do my best. Though, as I say, he is extremely busy."
    Sally left the office, heavy-hearted. She stopped to say goodbye to Mr. Bywater, the old clerk, and he beckoned her close.
    "Got something for you," he said.
    He took a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket.
    "I had a word with a feller I know, used to be clerk to these solicitors your man's with. Asked my pal to sniff around. Well, of course, he can't be privy to the day-to-day business of the firm anymore, out of the question, but he did recall the name of Parrish. Seems that three or four years ago, there was a case brought against a man in Blackmoor Street—"
    "That's where Parrish's office is!"
    "Wait," he said severely. "I'm coming to that. The defendant, Belcovitch, was accused of some kind of malpractice, some complicated commercial business—look it up if you like, it's all there somewhere. Point is, he lost, and lost again on appeal. That's the surface point. The real point is, he hadn't

    done it, but that didn't come out till much later, and then only in the course of another case altogether. Too late then. Belcovitch had drowned himself. Now then, the plaintiff— man who brought the case against him—^was called Lee. Some time later, when the business was on the market, Lee bought it, and set up your man Parrish as manager. Changed the name. All perfectly legal, no hanky-panky. Point of this is, Parrish isn't the boss. Lee is. Don't know anything about Lee. All my pal recalls is that an address in Spitalfields came into it somewhere. Kind of a French name, he thought, but he couldn't recall it exactly. T^-something square. Here you are."
    He handed Sally the slip of paper with the address written on it in precise copperplate.
    "No number," he added.
    "Is this Mr. Lee's address.? Or wasn't your friend sure.'*"
    "That's what he can't recall. Something to do with the case of Lee V. Belcovitch, that's all he remembered."
    "Belcovitch . . . Was he Jewish, this man who lost the case.?"
    "Don't know. I daresay, but I don't suppose we'll know for certain. Is that important.?"
    "No. Probably not. It's just something that crossed my mind. Thank you very much, Mr. Bywater. Thank your friend for me. Will you tell Mr. Adcock about this.?"
    "If you'd like me to, miss. Can't do any harm."
    His tone said clearly that he didn't think it would do much good, either. She thanked him, said good-bye, and left.
    A COUPLE of words on a slip of paper, and only the most distant connection to her case; it didn't seem worth going there now. The afternoon was drawing in, and she didn't want to be late home. As she wandered up Middle Temple Lane toward Fleet Street she felt herself yawning again and again, a huge weariness settling over her. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she couldn't, because all around her someone was setting traps, laying nets, putting down poison. She

    must be vigilant and energetic; she must throw off this ridiculous business like someone brushing away cobwebs. It was no more substantial, after all. The man must be mad.
    She drew herself upright and held her head high, opening her eyes wide, trying to dispel this tempting sleepiness. She hadn't realized how tired you get when you are worried.
    As she turned into Fleet Street she stopped at a newsstand and bought the latest Illustrated