"Good morning, Mr. McLean."
Ted stood awkwardly, a little embarrassed and a little lost. Just how
did one approach an attorney and what did one say to him? John McLean
continued to paw through the desk and Ted studied him covertly.
A huge, gaunt man in an ill-fitting suit, with unkempt gray hair and a
black tie askew on his collar, John McLean looked like anything save the
successful attorney he was. His dress and person were part of a clever
act. Slouching into a courtroom, he was more apt to provoke snickers
than admiration. But an opposing attorney who underrated him, and most
did, literally fell into his clutches. There was a silver tongue behind
John McLean's rather slack lips and a razor-sharp brain beneath his gray
hair. He grinned loosely now.
"Edith's too darn' orderly. When she puts something away, I can never
find it. What can I do for you?"
"I'm Ted Harkness, Mr. McLean."
"I know."
"I want to find out if you'll take care of my father."
"Judging from what I've read in the papers, your dad's taking pretty
good care of himself."
Ted said hesitantly, "He can't stay in the Mahela forever. Sooner or
later, they'll get him."
"Sooner or later," John McLean said, "they get everybody. Wish people
would stop making a joke out of that old saw, 'Crime Doesn't Pay.' It
doesn't."
He resumed poking through the desk while Ted stood uncomfortably, not
knowing whether or not he'd been dismissed. Two minutes later, John
McLean whirled on him.
"Is your dad guilty?"
"No!"
"How do you know?"
"He said he isn't!"
John McLean chuckled. "Simmer down. I don't want to fight you. Just
wanted to find out if you had a good reason for thinking your dad
innocent."
"Is the reason good enough for you?"
As though forgetting Ted, the attorney opened another drawer and leafed
through its contents.... He said suddenly, "I'll take the case."