MRS. J. H. RIDDELL
CONTENTS
1. MISS BLAKE—FROM MEMORY
2. THE CORONER'S INQUEST
3. OUR LAST TENANT
4. MYSELF AND MISS BLAKE
5. THE TRIAL
6. WE AGREE TO COMPROMISE
7. MY OWN STORY
8. MY FIRST NIGHT AT RIVER HALL
9. A TEMPORARY PEACE
10. THE WATCHER IS WATCHED
11. MISS BLAKE ONCE MORE
12. HELP
13. LIGHT AT LAST
14. A TERRIBLE INTERVIEW
15. CONCLUSION
If ever a residence, "suitable in every respect for a family ofposition," haunted a lawyer's offices, the "Uninhabited House," aboutwhich I have a story to tell, haunted those of Messrs. Craven and Son,No. 200, Buckingham Street, Strand.
It did not matter in the least whether it happened to be let or unlet:in either case, it never allowed Mr. Craven or his clerks, of whom I wasone, to forget its existence.
When let, we were in perpetual hot water with the tenant; when unlet, wehad to endeavour to find some tenant to take that unlucky house.
Happy were we when we could get an agreement signed for a couple ofyears—although we always had misgivings that the war waged with thelast occupant would probably have to be renewed with his successor.
Still, when we were able to let the desirable residence to a solventindividual, even for twelve months, Mr. Craven rejoiced.
He knew how to proceed with the tenants who came blustering, orthreatening, or complaining, or bemoaning; but he did not know whatto do with Miss Blake and her letters, when no person was liablefor the rent.
All lawyers—I am one myself, and can speak from a long and variedexperience—all lawyers, even the very hardest, have one client, at allevents, towards whom they exhibit much forbearance, for whom they feel acertain sympathy, and in whose interests they take a vast deal oftrouble for very little pecuniary profit.
A client of this kind favours me with his business—he has favoured mewith it for many years past. Each first of January I register a vow heshall cost me no more time or money. On each last day of December Ifind he is deeper in my debt than he was on the same date atwelvemonth previous.
I often wonder how this is—why we, so fierce to one human being,possibly honest and well-meaning enough, should be as wax in the hand ofthe moulder, when another individual, perhaps utterly disreputable,refuses to take "No" for an answer.
Do we purchase our indulgences in this way? Do we square our accountswith our own consciences by remembering that, if we have been as stoneto Dick, Tom, and Harry, we have melted at the first appeal of Jack?
My principal, Mr. Craven—than whom a better man never breathed—had anunprofitable client, for whom he entertained feelings of the profoundestpity, whom he treated with a rare courtesy. That lady was Miss Blake;and when the old house on the Thames stood tenantless, Mr. Craven's beddid not prove one of roses.
In our firm there was no son—Mr. Craven had been t