On the pillar of the stair a black plate bore in gilded lettering this device: "Harry D.Bellairs, Attorney-at-law.

Consultations, 9 to 6." On ascending the stairs, a door was found to stand open on the balcony, with this further inscription, "Mr.Bellairs In." "I wonder what we do next," said I.
"Guess we sail right in," returned Jim, and suited the action to the word.
The room in which we found ourselves was clean, but extremely bare.

A rather old-fashioned secretaire stood by the wall, with a chair drawn to the desk; in one corner was a shelf with half-a-dozen law books; and I can remember literally not another stick of furniture.

One inference imposed itself: Mr.Bellairs was in the habit of sitting down himself and suffering his clients to stand.

At the far end, and veiled by a curtain of red baize, a second door communicated with the interior of the house.