oom.
I expected to find him stretched in heavy slumber. But no: he stood
before his dressing-table, tubbed, shaven, half-clothed, and looking
as fresh as paint.

"Hallo!" said he. "Anything wrong?"

"Just occurred to me," said I, "this is the morning you were due to
breakfast with Jack. Thought I'd remind you, in case you might want
to telephone and put him off."

"If I remember," said Jimmy thoughtfully, rummaging in a drawer,
"this Jack's other name is Foe. If it were Ketch, I'd be obliged to
you for ringing him up with that message. . . . It's all right.
Plenty of time. Breakfast and conversation with the learned prepared
for me right on my way to the Seat of Justice. Providence--and you
can call it no less--couldn't have ordered it better. Here, help me
to choose.--What's the neatest thing in ties when a man's going to
feel his position acutely?"

Upon this I observed that his infamous way of life seemed to leave
more impression upon his friends than on himself; and stalked back to
my bedchamber.

"Ingrate!" he shouted after me. "When you've seen Farrell!"

So I breakfasted alone, read the papers (which reported that Mr.
Farrell's meeting overnight had been "accompanied by scenes of
considerable disorder "), dealt with some correspondence, and in due
time was taxi'd to Ensor Street. There I found Jimmy on the
penitents' bench, full of sparkling interest in the proceedings of
the court and in the line--a long and variegated one--of his
fellow-indictables. Farrell sat beside him, sprucely dressed but
woebegone. He wore a sort of lamp-shade, of a green colour, over his
eyes, and (as Jimmy put it) "looked the part--Prodigal Son among the
Charlottes." By some connivance--on some faked pretence, I make no
doubt, that I was his legal adviser--the police allowed Jimmy to
cross over and consult me. He informed me that the Professor had put
him up an excellent breakfast of grilled sole and devilled kidneys,
and had afterwards shown him round the laboratory. "Wonderful man,
the Professor! But you should see that dog of his he calls Billy--
hairy little yellow beast that flies into rages like a mad thing, and
then at a word crawls on its belly. Sort of beast that dies on his
master's grave, in the children's books, like any human creature."

The charge was not called on the list until 12.30 or thereabouts.
. . . They say that in England there's one law for the rich and
another for the poor. I don't