"I don't know what to think," he said at length.

"But you did exclaim 'Murder!' That was the idea in your mind, was it not?"

"Ah, Gilbert, my mind was utterly confused.... I had suffered a tremendous blow.... Surely I can't be held responsible for what I said in my condition at the time."

"True, father. Still, there was the idea of murder in your mind,"

persisted Gilbert.

"I tell you that I know nothing--nothing."

"Of course, you know nothing, father; but your thought on seeing the body--your suspicion--was that there had been murder. Was it not so?"

"I can't say anything about it," replied Eversleigh, fretfully. "I know as much and as little as you do how it was that Thornton came to be in Silwood's chambers. Pray do not tease me--do not worry me--I cannot stand it; it is cruel of you to torture me in this fashion."

Gilbert stared at his father, wondering what was meant by the expression "torture"--he could not understand it. He was glad that the doctor returned at this moment, bringing with him wine and a light lunch for the invalid. Leaving his father to the doctor's care, he went down to the next floor, where he saw his brother Ernest, who was all agog to hear the story. When Ernest had listened to Gilbert's narrative, his sole commentary upon it was--

"Of course, everybody will say that Morris Thornton was murdered by Silwood; what other conclusion can there be?"

"But why?" urged Gilbert. "What motive could Silwood have? No, I don't think that can be the explanation. I confess, however, the thing baffles me completely."

"Still," said Ernest, "you may be quite sure that it's what the world will say. In any case, it can't fail to do us a lot of mischief."

"Oh, that will depend on circ.u.mstances when the mystery is cleared up, as I imagine it soon must be."

Then Gilbert spoke of their father's condition, and suggested that Ernest should take Francis Eversleigh to Surbiton as soon as the doctor gave permission. As for himself, he was going on to Scotland Yard to see Inspector Gale.

"What am I tell Kitty?" asked Ernest.

"I'll write her a note, which you will give her. Of course, I should have liked to have broken the sad news to her myself; but from what I know of her, I am sure that she would prefer me to lose no opportunity of unravelling the mystery of her father's death. Besides, she has always believed, since she knew of Mr. Thornton's disappearance, that he was dead."

And Gilbert sat down and wrote his love a letter, full of the tenderest feeling, in which he told her of the discovery which had been made that day, and of which his brother Ernest would give her more complete details. Then he went on to say that he would not spare himself in trying to elucidate the whole strange business, nor would he lose any time; therefore, he would see Inspector Gale that very afternoon; he would go to Scotland Yard, in fact, immediately after sealing the letter to her. But he would be at Surbiton in the evening.

When Gilbert did reach Scotland Yard, he found Gale expecting him.

"I was waiting for you, Mr. Gilbert," said the inspector.

"Yes?"

"One of the constables told me you asked when I would be in, and he replied at half-past two; it is a quarter-past three now. By the way, how is your father? I hear he was so shocked that he fainted twice."

"He is better now, but still very much shaken. I left him in the doctor's charge, and when he is able to go my brother Ernest will take him home."

"I think his home is in Surbiton?"

"Yes; I told you that when we were discussing the disappearance of Mr.

Thornton."

"Quite so. A day or two's rest will pull your father round. Of course, I must see him. Do you think he will be fit to see me to-morrow?"

"I should think so. And he must be as anxious as anybody--indeed, more anxious than anybody--to have this extraordinary affair cleared up."

"Certainly. Now, Mr. Gilbert, let me hear everything from the beginning.

Take your own time about it, and try not to forget anything. Don't leave out the slightest touch that may have any bearing on the subject."

"I will do my best," said Gilbert. "My father, on learning of the death of Mr. Silwood, sent for me this morning."

"Excuse me," interrupted the inspector, "but I must ask you questions as you go along. Was it this morning your father heard of Mr. Silwood's death, and how did he hear of it?"

"By letter this morning. The letter was from Ugo Ucelli, the Syndic of Camajore, with the usual certificate of death. The letter gave the particulars of Mr. Silwood's death. Cholera is epidemic along the Gulf of Genoa, and Mr. Silwood fell a victim to it. The body was buried twenty-four hours after death. Of course, the news affected my father very much--it was totally unexpected."

"What was Mr. Silwood doing in Italy?" asked Gale.

"He was on a holiday."

"Had he been long away from the office, from Lincoln's Inn?"

"A week or two only, I think."

"You cannot say exactly?"

"No, but you will easily find out at the office."

"I thought you might know, but, as you say, I can ascertain the date at the office. You see, of course, that it is necessary to get to know Mr.

Silwood's movements?" The last sentence was put interrogatively.

"This means, I imagine, that you connect Mr. Silwood with the death of Mr. Thornton?" asked Gilbert.

"That is the obvious thing," replied the inspector; "but it is so obvious that I distrust it. I always doubt the obvious in these cases.

Here, however, it is my duty to neglect nothing. And I must make it my business to find out everything I can about Mr. Silwood, and with regard to that I count with confidence on your father's a.s.sistance. Well, to go back, your father, on learning of Mr. Silwood's death, sent for you; what came next?"

"He showed me the certificate signed by the Syndic; it was in Italian, a language neither my father nor I understand, but a large part of the certificate was printed, and from our Latin we made out pretty well what it said. The letter, however, we could make nothing of, so I went and got a man to translate it."

Gilbert broke off suddenly with a sharp e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

"You have thought of something, Mr. Gilbert?" suggested the inspector, giving him a keen look of inquiry.

"Yes, I have, and a very important thing it may prove too. It has been completely driven out of my mind by the dreadful discovery in Stone Buildings. Now I remember it, and I believe it may give us the key to the mystery."

"What is it?" asked Gale, as Gilbert paused, his face aglow with excitement.

"Before I went out to bring the interpreter something happened," said Gilbert. "Strange that I should have forgotten it so utterly! While my father and I were talking about Mr. Silwood's death, we were interrupted by a man, who had come in answer to the advertis.e.m.e.nt in the hope of getting the reward of a thousand pounds. The man was as hopeless-looking a waster and vagabond as any I ever saw, but he spoke like a man of education. And he told us that late on the night of the disappearance of Morris Thornton he was in Chancery Lane, and saw a workman coming out of the iron gate at the north-east corner of Lincoln's Inn."

"That is just where Mr. Silwood's chambers are, are they not?" asked Gale.

"Precisely; his rooms are on the top floor of the house at that very corner. Well, this workman behaved in a suspicious manner, and then disappeared. But he returned in about half an hour, and let himself into the Inn again by the iron gate."

"Wait a minute," said Gale. "You said a workman. What was a workman doing in the Inn at that time of night? And with a key which unlocked that gate?"