Ranson, Richards and Son.

Here he gave his name to a clerk, who thrust a very oily head out of a kind of mahogany box, and was told that Mr.Ranson was engaged, but that, if he cared to wait, perhaps he would see him later on.

He said he would wait, and was shown into a stuffy little room, furnished with ancient deed-boxes and a very large, old leather-covered sofa that took up half the place.

Here he sat for a while, staring at a square of dirty glass which gave what light was available, and reflecting upon things in general.
While he was thus engaged he heard a kind of tumult outside, in which he recognised the treble of the oily-headed clerk coming in a bad second to a deep, bass voice.

Then the door opened and a big, burly man, with a red face and a jovial, rolling eye, appeared with startling suddenness and ejaculated: "Damn Ranson, damn Richards, or damn them both, with the Son thrown in! I ask you, young man"-- here he addressed Godfrey seated on the corner of the sofa--"what is the use of a firm of lawyers whom you can never see?
You pay the brutes, but three times out of four they are not visible, or, as I suspect, pretend not to be, in order to enhance their own importance.