Squercum sat at a desk, covered with papers in chaotic confusion, on a chair which moved on a pivot. His desk was against the wall, and when clients came to him, he turned himself sharp round, sticking out his dirty shoes, throwing himself back till his body was an inclined plane, with his hands thrust into his pockets. In this attitude he would listen to his client's story, and would himself speak as little as possible. It was by his instructions that Dolly had insisted on getting his share of the purchase money for Pickering into his own hands, so that the incumbrance on his own property might be paid off. He now listened as Dolly told him of the delay in the payment. "Melmotte's at Pickering?" asked the attorney. Then Dolly informed him how the tradesmen of the great financier had already half knocked down the house. Squercum still listened, and promised to look to it. He did ask what authority Dolly had given for the surrender of the title-deeds. Dolly declared that he had given authority for the sale, but none for the surrender. His father, some time since, had put before him, for his signature, a letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, which Dolly said that he had refused even to read, and certainly had not signed. Squercum again said that he'd look to it, and bowed Dolly out of his room. "They've got him to sign something when he was tight," said Squercum to himself, knowing something of the habits of his client. "I wonder whether his father did it, or old Bideawhile, or Melmotte himself?" Mr. Squercum was inclined to think that Bideawhile would not have done it, that Melmotte could have had no opportunity, and that the father must have been the practitioner. "It's not the trick of a pompous old fool either," said Mr. Squercum, in his soliloquy. He went to work, however, making himself detestably odious among the very respectable clerks in Mr. Bideawhile's office,--men who considered themselves to be altogether superior to Squercum himself in professional standing.

Squercum sat at a desk covered with papers in chaotic confusion, on a swivel chair. When clients came to him, he turned himself sharp round, sticking out his dirty shoes, and throwing himself back with his hands thrust into his pockets. In this attitude he would listen to his client's story, and would himself speak as little as possible.
He now listened as Dolly told him of the delay in the payment for Pickering.
"Melmotte's at Pickering?" asked the attorney. Dolly informed him how tradesmen had already half knocked down the house. Squercum asked what authority Dolly had given for the surrender of the title-deeds. Dolly declared that he had given authority for the sale, but none for the surrender. Some time ago his father had put before him, for his signature, a letter prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, which Dolly said that he had refused even to read, and certainly had not signed. Squercum said that he'd look into it, and bowed Dolly out of his room.
"They've got him to sign something when he was drunk," said Squercum to himself, knowing something of his client's habits. "I expect his father did it, not that pompous old fool Bideawhile." He went to work, however, making himself detestably odious among the very respectable clerks in Mr. Bideawhile's office.
