The Lawyer's Chair

Mr. Jaggers duly sent Mr. Headstone notice of his address, which was in Little Britain, and invited the schoolmaster to call upon him at his own convenience. Being unencumbered by the demands of regular employment, Mr. Headstone determined to pay his respects at the earliest opportunity, and took a hackney-coach to a gloomy street just out of Smithfield. On enquiring at the front office, Mr. Headstone was informed by a clerk that the lawyer was presently in Court, but had left word that any gentleman answering to the name of Headstone was to wait in his room. The clerk was a rather dry man, short in stature, with a square wooden face, whose expression seemed to have been imperfectly chipped out with a dull-edged chisel. He had glittering eyes – small, keen, and black – and thin wide mottled lips. Upon satisfying himself as to the identity of the gentleman before him, this clerk opened a door and ushered Mr. Headstone into an inner chamber at the back. The room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most dismal place. Mr. Headstone sat down at the lawyer’s desk, opposite a high-backed chair of deadly black horse-hair, with rows of brass nails in it, like a coffin. The schoolmaster did not have to wait long before the owner of that monstrous article of furniture himself appeared and took possession of it. Mr. Jaggers unlocked one of the drawers of his desk and took out some mottled papers. Having satisfied himself with regard to some legal nicety contained within these manuscripts, the lawyer locked them up again like so many convicted felons, and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Headstone, anticipating a revelation, leaned forward in his.