A hand with a pen in it points to a chair, with a muttered 'Pardon--half a moment' and while the solicitor just jots down his notes you can glance round the apartment.

Shelves of calf-bound law books; piles of japanned deed-boxes, some marked in white letters 'Trustees of,' or 'Executors of' and pigeon-holes full of papers seem to quite hide the walls.

The floor is covered with some material noiseless to walk on (the door, too, is double, to exclude noise and draught); the furniture is solid and valuable; the arm-chair you occupy capacious and luxurious.

On the wall hangs a section of the Ordnance map of the district.

But the large table, which almost fills the centre of the room, quickly draws the attention from everything else.
It is on that table that all the business is done; all the energies of the place are controlled and directed from thence.