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to learn the practice. You can’t learn it in a vacuum. But if you look up everything that happens, you’ll get a reasonable knowledge of it in time.’
    â€˜Thank you very much, Master.’
    â€˜Not at all. Good luck to you.’
    Roger left the Master’s room with the solicitor’s clerk. ‘Never heard Master Tiptree so agreeable,’ said the clerk. ‘He threw a book at me once.’
    With difficulty Roger found his way back to the Court. The judge was giving judgment in favour of Mr Grimes’ client. No sooner was it over than there was a frantic dash back to chambers, where Mr Grimes had several conferences.
    Charles and Roger went into the pupils’ room together. Henry was there reading The Times .
    â€˜Where’s Peter?’ asked Charles.
    â€˜He went off to the Old Bailey,’ said Henry. ‘Said building cases weren’t in his line. Gosh!’ he went on. ‘You don’t mean to tell me Thursby got landed with it instead?’
    â€˜He did,’ said Charles, ‘but he’s still breathing.’
    â€˜Poor fellow,’ said Henry. ‘Tell me about it in your own unexpurgated Billingsgate.’
    Roger told him.
    â€˜Well, well, well,’ said Henry. ‘He wins one case and settles the other and, knowing Grimeyboy, his client won’t have lost on the deal. What I say is fiat justitia ruat Grimes , or, as the poet says:
    â€œ So justice be done,
    Let Grimeyboy run.”’

Chapter Four
At Home
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    Mrs Thursby, Roger’s widowed mother, was, she hoped, making a cake when Roger arrived home after his first day as a pupil.
    â€˜Darling, how nice,’ she said. ‘You can give it a stir. I want to go and try on a new dress. Aunt Ethel sent it me. She’s only worn it once. Just keep on stirring. I’m sure it’ll be all right. Anyway, we can always give it to Mrs Rhodes. Oh, no, she doesn’t come any more. Let me see, who is it now–’
    â€˜Mother, darling,’ said Roger, ‘I’ve had my first day in the Temple.’
    â€˜Of course, darling, how silly of me. Did you enjoy it? I won’t be a moment. Just keep on stirring.’
    And Mrs Thursby went to her bedroom. She was a young forty-eight. She had lost her husband soon after Roger was born. For some reason that neither she nor Roger, after he grew up, could understand, she had never married again. She was attractive and kind and plenty of men have no objection to butterfly minds. Roger’s father, who had been a man of the highest intelligence and intellectual capacity, had adored her. So did Roger.
    He stirred the mixture in the pudding bowl and as he did so he went over in his mind all that had happened during the day. Now that he was safely home it gave him a considerable thrill to think he had actually spoken in Court. He must tell his mother, though she wouldn’t really take in the significance. But he must tell Sally and Joy. Which first? He stopped stirring and went to the telephone. It was Joy’s turn really, he supposed.
    â€˜Joy – yes, it’s me. Are you free this evening? I’ve quite a lot to tell you. Oh – what a shame. Can’t you come and have a drink first? Yes, do, that’ll be lovely. Come straight over. See you in ten minutes.’
    He went back to the kitchen.
    â€˜Roger,’ called his mother, ‘do come and look.’
    He went to her bedroom.
    â€˜It’s lovely, isn’t it? And I did need one so badly. I can wear it for the Fotheringays. Don’t you like it?’
    â€˜I do, darling. D’you know I spoke in Court today?’
    â€˜Did you really, darling? How very nice. What exactly did you say? Don’t you like the way the skirt seems to come from nowhere?’
    â€˜It suits you to a T.’
    â€˜D’you really think so?’
    â€˜Of course I do. I didn’t actually say very much.’
    â€˜No, of course not. They