Part 23

“Never,” I replied (we passed through it together on an average a dozen times a week), “but it is not too late for an exploratory visit.”

We crossed the road, and entering Clifford’s Inn Passage, passed through the still half-open gate, crossed the outer court and threaded the tunnel-like entry by the hall to the inner court, near the middle of which Thorndyke halted, and looking up at one of the ancient houses, remarked, “No. 51.”

“So that is where our friend hangs out his flag,” said I.

“Oh, come, Jervis,” he protested, “I am surprised at you; you are as bad as Miller. I have merely suggested a possible connection between these premises and the hat that was left at Bedford Place. As to the nature of that connection I have no idea, and there may be no connection at all. I assure you, Jervis, that I am on the thinnest possible ice. I am working on a hypothesis which is in the highest degree speculative, and I should not have given Miller a hint, but that he was so eager and so willing to help--and also that I wanted his finger-prints. But we are really only at the beginning, and may never get any farther.”

I looked up at the old house. It was all in darkness excepting the top floor, where a couple of lighted windows showed the shadow of a man moving rapidly about the room. We crossed to the entry and inspected the names painted on the door-posts. The ground floor was occupied by a firm of photoengravers, the first floor by a Mr. Carrington, whose name stood out conspicuously on its oblong of comparatively fresh white paint, while the tenants of the second floor--old residents, to judge by the faded and discoloured paint in which their names were announced--were Messrs. Burt & Highley, metallurgists.

“Burt has departed,” said Thorndyke, as I read out the names; and he pointed to two red lines of erasure which I had not noticed in the dim light, “so the active gentleman above is presumably Mr. Highley, and we may take it that he has residential as well as business premises. I wonder who and what Mr. Carrington is--but I dare say we shall find out to-morrow.”

With this he dismissed the professional aspects of Clifford’s Inn, and changing the subject to its history and associations, chatted in his inimitable, picturesque manner until our leisurely perambulations brought us at length to the Inner Temple Gate.

On the following morning we bustled through our work in order to leave the afternoon free, making several joint visits to solicitors from whom we were taking instructions. Returning from the last of these--a City lawyer--Thorndyke turned into St. Helen’s Place and halted at a doorway bearing the brass plate of a firm of assayists and refiners. I followed him into the outer office where, on his mentioning his name, an elderly man came to the counter.

“Mr. Grayson has put out some specimens for you, sir,” said he. “They are about thirty grains to the ton--you said that the content was of no importance--and I am to tell you that you need not return them. They are not worth treating.” He went to a large safe from which he took a canvas bag, and returning to the counter, turned out on it the contents of the bag, consisting of about a dozen good-sized lumps of quartz and a glittering yellow fragment, which Thorndyke picked out and dropped in his pocket.

“Will that collection do?” our friend inquired.

“It will answer my purpose perfectly,” Thorndyke replied, and when the specimens had been replaced in the bag, and the latter deposited in Thorndyke’s handbag, my colleague thanked the assistant and we went on our way.

“We extend our activities into the domain of mineralogy,” I remarked.

Thorndyke smiled an inscrutable smile. “We also employ the suction pump as an instrument of research,” he observed. “However, the strategic uses of chunks of quartz--otherwise than as missiles--will develop themselves in due course, and the interval may be used for reflection.”

It was. But my reflections brought no solution. I noticed, however, that when at three o’clock we set forth in company with the Superintendent, the bag went with us; and having offered to carry it and having had my offer accepted with a sly twinkle, its weight assured me that the quartz was still inside.

“Chambers and Offices to let,” Thorndyke read aloud as we approached the porter’s lodge. “That lets us in, I think. And the porter knows Dr. Jervis and me by sight, so he will talk more freely.”

“He doesn’t know me,” said the Superintendent, “but I’ll keep in the background, all the same.”

A pull at the bell brought out a clerical-looking man in a tall hat and a frock coat, who regarded Thorndyke and me through his spectacles with an amiable air of recognition.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Larkin,” said Thorndyke. “I am asked to get particulars of vacant chambers. What have you got to let?”

Mr. Larkin reflected. “Let me see. There’s a ground floor at No. 5--rather dark--and a small second-pair set at No. 12. And then there is--oh, yes, there is a good first floor set at No. 51. They wouldn’t have been vacant until Michaelmas, but Mr. Carrington, the tenant, has had to go abroad suddenly. I had a letter from him this morning, enclosing the key. Funny letter, too.” He dived into his pocket, and hauling out a bundle of letters, selected one and handed it to Thorndyke with a broad smile.

Thorndyke glanced at the postmark (“London, E.”), and having taken out the key, extracted the letter, which he opened and held so that Miller and I could see it. The paper bore the printed heading, “Baltic Shipping Company, Wapping,” and the further written heading, “S.S. Gothenburg,” and the letter was brief and to the point:

Dear Sir,

I am giving up my chambers at No. 51, as I have been suddenly called abroad. I enclose the key, but am not troubling you with the rent. The sale of my costly furniture will more than cover it, and the surplus can be expended on painting the garden railings.

Yours sincerely, A. Carrington.

Thorndyke smilingly replaced the letter and the key in the envelope and asked:

“What is the furniture like?”

“You’ll see,” chuckled the porter, “if you care to look at the rooms. And I think they might suit. They’re a good set.”

“Quiet?”

“Yes, pretty quiet. There’s a metallurgist overhead--Highley--used to be Burt & Highley, but Burt has gone to the City, and I don’t think Highley does much business now.”