But the clerk left the courthouse at his side. And suddenly
the thought flashed through Mahony's mind: "The fellow suspects me of
trying to do a bolt--of wanting to make off without paying my bill!"
The leech-like fashion in which Grindle stuck to his heels was not to be
misread. "This is what they call nursing, I suppose--he's nursing ME
now!" said Mahony to himself. At the same time he reckoned up, with some
anxiety, the money he had in his pocket. Should it prove insufficient,
who knew what further affronts were in store for him.
But Ocock had recovered his oily sleekness.
"A close shave that, sir, a VE-RY close shave! With Warnock on the bench
I thought we could manage to pull it off. Had it been Guppy now . . .
Still, all's well that ends well, as the poet says. And now for a
trifling matter of business."
"How much do I owe you?"
The bill--it was already drawn up--for "solicitor's and client's
costs" came to twenty odd pounds. Mahony paid it, and stalked out of the
office.
But this was still not all. Once again Grindle ran after him, and pinned
him to the floor.
"I say, Mr. Mahony, a rare joke--gad, it's enough to make you burst
your sides! That old thingumbob, the plaintiff, ye know, now what'n
earth d'you think 'e's been an' done? Gets outer court like one o'clock
--'e'd a sorter rabbit-fancyin' business in 'is backyard. Well, 'ome 'e
trots an' slits the guts of every blamed bunny, an' chucks the bloody
corpses inter the street.
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