The Wind on the Moon (20 page)

‘No, of course not, Miss Serendip,' said Dinah and Dorinda in their politest voices. But no sooner had she gone into the nearest shop than Dinah exclaimed, in a very scornful way, ‘As if we would go and talk to Catherine Crumb!'

‘Or to Robin and Robina Wax!' said Dorinda with equal scorn.

‘Come and look for Mr. Hobson and Mr. Jobson,' said Dinah, and hurrying down Wallflower Street they turned into Ash Street, and found Mr. Hobson ringing the bell of the corner house.

‘Good-morning,' he said to the lady who came to the door. ‘Good-morning, Mrs. Wellaby. Have you committed any crime to-day? Petty Larceny or Grand Larceny, Fraud or Sacrilege or Sorcery, Blackmail or Theft by Forcible Entry, Assault or Battery, or Assault
and
Battery?'

‘No, nothing to-day,' said Mrs. Wellaby.

‘Are you sure?' asked Mr. Hobson in a very anxious tone of voice. ‘
Quite
sure, Mrs. Wellaby? Remember that the germ of crime is universally present in mankind, ever ready to show itself under conditions favourable to its growth. Are you quite, quite sure, Mrs. Wellaby, that you haven't committed even the least little tiny tort in the last few days? Because I am ready, now as ever, to defend you against any accusation whatsoever, no matter whether it be barratry or illicit diamond-buying, forgery or coining, breach of promise to marry, or armed resistance to capture. Are you quite sure, Mrs. Wellaby? What about perjury or fire-raising? Surely you've done something wrong?'

Mrs. Wellaby was fifty-two, she had grey hair, a kind round face, and steel-rimmed spectacles. She thought for a few moments, and then said regretfully, ‘No, Mr. Hobson, I'm sorry, but there's nothing at all to-day. Nothing at all.'

‘Well, well,' said Mr. Hobson cheerfully, ‘if that is so, it can't be helped. Better luck next time, Mrs. Wellaby. I'll just leave this small handbill, and you'll remember that any time when you want my assistance, I shall be entirely at your service. Here is the handbill, and now good-morning, Mrs. Wellaby. Good-morning!'

The handbill which Mr. Hobson presented was inscribed in this way:

Meanwhile, on the other side of the street, Mr. Jobson was ringing the bell of Mr. Bostockle's house, and when Mr. Bostockle came to the door, Mr. Jobson, having wished him good-morning, immediately enquired, ‘Now what about some quiet, pleasant, profitable litigation to-day, Mr. Bostockle? Has anybody been blackmailing you lately? Has anyone stolen flowers or vegetable marrows out of your garden? Have you been knocked over by a cyclist, run down by a motorcar, injured in train, tram, aeroplane, bus, or other public conveyance? If so, Mr. Bostockle, don't let the grass grow under your feet, but take the case to court
now
!'

Mr. Bostockle was an old man with a long white beard who walked with great difficulty and the aid of two sticks. He thought for some time, and then said slowly, ‘No, Mr. Jobson, nothing of that sort has happened to me for a long while now.'

‘Now don't be in a hurry,' said Mr. Jobson. ‘Take time, think carefully, jog your memory. Are you quite sure that you haven't been bitten by a dog, gored by a mad bull, swindled out of your inheritance, trapped in an elevator, or had your pocket picked?'

‘No,' said Mr. Bostockle, ‘there's been nothing like that at all. I think maybe I'm getting too old for things to happen to me nowadays.'

‘What about your neighbours?' asked Mr. Jobson. ‘Haven't any of them been slandering you?'

‘Not that I've heard of,' said Mr. Bostockle. ‘But I've scarcely been out of the house for the last ten days.'

‘Well, if you do hear of anything, you'll let me know, won't you?' said Mr. Jobson. ‘I shall always be delighted to represent you, Mr. Bostockle, in any court in England, civil or criminal, before a Bench of Local Magistrates or the Judicial Committee of the House of Lords. And remember this, Mr. Bostockle: litigation is not only pleasant, it can be profitable! Permit me to leave with you this useful handbill. Don't lose it, and don't forget that I am always at your service. Good-morning, Mr. Bostockle, good-morning!'

This was the handbill that Mr. Jobson gave to Mr. Bostockle:

Mr. Hobson and Mr. Jobson then met in the middle of the street, and each of them pushed his bowler hat to the back of his head and said, ‘Well, that's that!'

‘Done well?' asked Mr. Hobson.

‘Not bad,' said Mr. Jobson. ‘And you?'

‘Fair to middling,' said Mr. Hobson. ‘Shall we go and do Oak Street now, or shall we have lunch first?'

‘Lunch first,' said Mr. Jobson.

‘Could you spare a few minutes, please, to talk to us?' asked Dinah.

She and Dorinda had waited patiently until Mr. Hobson and Mr. Jobson completed their business with Mrs. Wellaby and Mr. Bostockle, and now, still in the middle of the street, they confronted the lawyers with such an air of grave importance that Mr. Hobson and Mr. Jobson immediately straightened their bowler hats and assumed an expression as serious as the children's.

‘You have committed a crime?' demanded Mr. Hobson. ‘Tell me all about it.'

‘We have committed several, I think,' said Dinah, ‘but we're not worrying about them.'

‘Not a bit,' said Dorinda.

‘Then somebody has injured you, threatened you, maltreated or maligned you?' asked Mr. Jobson. ‘Confide in me, and all will be well.'

‘Thank you very much,' said Dinah, ‘but we wouldn't take up your valuable time about anything like that. We want your advice on something really important.'

‘Then don't waste another minute,' said Mr. Hobson. ‘Open your mouth wide, talk clearly, and tell us the whole story.'

‘Have no doubt, have no hesitation,' said Mr. Jobson. ‘Speak fully, and yet be brief. Be natural, but articulate with care. You may rely upon us.'

‘We want to know,' said Dinah, ‘how to make Mr. Justice Rumple change his mind.'

‘Good heavens!' said Mr. Hobson.

‘Bless my soul!' said Mr. Jobson.

‘A Judge,' said Mr. Hobson, ‘
never
changes his mind.'

‘Never,' said Mr. Jobson. ‘It would be unnatural.'

‘But Mr. Justice Rumple has
got
to change his,' said Dorinda, ‘because we promised he would. Or, at any rate, we promised to do something which we can't do until he has. So you see how important it is that he should.'

‘You are setting us an almost impossible task,' said Mr. Hobson.

‘And yet,' said Mr. Jobson, ‘it would not be like us to shrink from difficulty.'

‘No true lawyer,' said Mr. Hobson, ‘is ever dismayed by difficulty.'

‘Nor even deterred by impossibility,' said Mr. Jobson.

‘And yet,' said Mr. Hobson, ‘it is not often that a lawyer is asked to undertake such a case as this.'

‘But if we succeed,' said Mr. Jobson, ‘we shall acquire immortal fame.'

‘How right you are!' said Mr. Hobson. ‘To make a Judge change his mind would be a truly historic feat.'

‘So let us go into the Square,' said Mr. Jobson, ‘and sit down comfortably on the bench beside the statue of Queen Victoria, and there we shall discuss the whole matter fully and minutely.'

As a result of the conversation they had, Mr. Hobson and Mr. Jobson might have been seen, about three o'clock that afternoon, walking with firm and decided steps up the drive that led to Mr. Justice Rumple's house on the north side of the River Brill. The Judge, as it happened, was playing clock-golf with his Cook, and his two maids were watching, so there was some delay before the visitors were admitted. They had, indeed, to wait for about twenty minutes, until the game was finished. But then they were shown into the library.

Mr. Justice Rumple had won his game of clock-golf, and in consequence of that was in a very good temper. He was wearing white flannels, a red belt, and his wig. He gave Mr. Hobson a cigar, and Mr. Jobson—who did not smoke—a piece of nut toffee, and asked what he could do to help them.

‘We should like you to answer some questions,' said Mr. Hobson.

‘Certainly,' said the Judge. ‘What sort of questions are you going to ask me?'

‘Well, to begin with,' said Mr. Jobson, ‘how often do you change your shirt?'

‘Every day,' said the Judge. This was not quite true, but the Judge thought it would set other people a good example in cleanliness if they were told that he had such splendid regular habits.

‘And your socks?' asked Mr. Hobson.

‘Every day,' said the Judge, who was still in a happy temper.

‘And your vest?' asked Mr. Jobson.

‘And your pocket-handkerchief?'

‘Every day,' answered the Judge, because he felt that now he was creating a great impression. ‘Every day, and sometimes
twice
a day.'

‘Well, well!' said Mr. Hobson, as though he were lost in admiration.

‘And your sheets and your pillow-slips?' asked Mr. Jobson. ‘How often are they changed?'

‘You would have to ask one of the maids about that,' said the Judge a trifle haughtily. ‘But you can take it from me that they are changed regularly and often.'

‘That's fine,' said Mr. Hobson. ‘Isn't that fine, Jobson?'

‘It's magnificent,' said Mr. Jobson. ‘Now tell us, Judge, did you have a good lunch to-day?'

‘Why, of course I had,' said Mr. Justice Rumple. ‘I always have a good lunch. To-day I had cream of asparagus soup, two lamb chops with peas and new potatoes, a cherry tart, and a piece of Wensley-dale cheese. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?'

‘Indeed there isn't,' said Mr. Hobson, ‘but did you eat it all off one plate?'

‘Of course not!' said the Judge indignantly. ‘I had four plates at the very least!'

‘So you change your plates even oftener than you change your socks?' asked Mr. Jobson.

‘I do indeed,' said the Judge.

‘Very interesting,' said Mr. Hobson. ‘I find that extremely interesting, don't you, Jobson?'