Turning round I discovered to my astonishment the two men I had seen in the Court, and who had seemed to take such an interest in the case.  The smaller was guiding his friend along the crowded pavement with a dexterity that was plainly the outcome of a long practice.  When I stopped, they stopped also, and the blind man addressed me.  His voice was deep and had a note of pathos in it impossible to describe.  It may have been that I was a little sad that afternoon, for both the men who had been condemned to penal servitude had wives and children, to whose pitiful condition the learned Judge had referred when passing sentence.

“You are Mr. Fairfax, are you not?” inquired the taller of the men.

“That is my name,” I admitted.  “What can I do for you?”

“If we could persuade you to vouchsafe us an hour of your valuable time we should be more grateful than we could say,” the man replied.  “We have an important piece of business which it might possibly be to your advantage to take up.  At any rate it would be worthy of your consideration.”

“But why have you not come to me before?” I inquired.  “You have seen me in Court every day.  Why do you wait until the case is at an end?”

“Because we wanted to be quite sure of you,” he answered.  “Our case is so large and of such vital importance to us, that we did not desire to run any risk of losing you.  We thought we would wait and familiarize ourselves with all that you have done in this affair before coming to you.  Now we are satisfied that we could not place our case in better hands, and what we are anxious to do is to induce you to interest yourself in it and take it up.”

“You pay me a very high compliment,” I said, “but I cannot give you a decision at once.  I must hear what it is that you want me to do and have time to think it over, before I can answer you.  That is my invariable rule, and I never depart from it.  Do you know my office?”

“We know it perfectly,” returned the blind man.  “It would be strange if we did not, seeing that we have stood outside it repeatedly, trying to summon up courage to enter.  Would it be possible for you to grant us an interview to-night?”

“I fear not,” I said.  “I am tired, and stand in need of rest.  If you care to come to-morrow morning, I shall be very pleased to see you.  But you must bear in mind the fact that my time is valuable, and that it is only a certain class of case that I care to take up personally.”

“We are not afraid of our case,” the man replied.  “I doubt if there has ever been another like it.  I fancy you yourself will say so when you hear the evidence I have to offer.  It is not as if we are destitute.  We are prepared to pay you well for your services, but we must have the very best that England can supply.”

My readers must remember that this conversation was being carried on at the corner of Ludgate Hill and the Old Bailey.  Curious glances were being thrown at my companions by passers-by, and so vehement were the taller man’s utterances becoming, that a small crowd was gradually collecting in our neighbourhood.