“A poor collection,” was his comment, as he returned the box and handkerchief to his pocket, “and yet not so poor as I had feared. Perhaps, if we question them closely enough, these unconsidered trifles may be made to tell us something worth learning after all. Shall we go into the other room?”
We passed out on to the landing and into the front room, where, guided by experience, we made straight for the fireplace. But the little heap of rubbish there contained nothing that even Thorndyke’s inquisitive eye could view with interest. We wandered disconsolately round the room, peering into the empty cupboards and scanning the floor and the corners by the skirting, without discovering a single object or relic of the late occupants. In the course of my perambulations I halted by the window and was looking down into the street when Thorndyke called to me sharply:
“Come away from the window, Jervis! Have you forgotten that Mrs. Schallibaum may be in the neighbourhood at this moment?”
As a matter of fact I had entirely forgotten the matter, nor did it now strike me as anything but the remotest of possibilities. I replied to that effect.
“I don’t agree with you,” Thorndyke rejoined. “We have heard that she comes here to look for letters. Probably she comes every day, or even oftener. There is a good deal at stake, remember, and they cannot feel quite as secure as they would wish. Weiss must have seen what view you took of the case and must have had some uneasy moments thinking of what you might do. In fact, we may take it that the fear of you drove them out of the neighbourhood, and that they are mighty anxious to get that letter and cut the last link that binds them to this house.”
“I suppose that is so,” I agreed; “and if the lady should happen to pass this way and should see me at the window and recognize me, she would certainly smell a rat.”
“A rat!” exclaimed Thorndyke. “She would smell a whole pack of foxes, and Mr. H. Weiss would be more on his guard than ever. Let us have a look at the other rooms; there is nothing here.”
We went up to the next floor and found traces of recent occupation in one room only. The garrets had evidently been unused, and the kitchen and ground-floor rooms offered nothing that appeared to Thorndyke worth noting. Then we went out by the side door and down the covered way into the yard at the back. The workshops were fastened with rusty padlocks that looked as if they had not been disturbed for months. The stables were empty and had been tentatively cleaned out, the coach-house was vacant, and presented no traces of recent use excepting a half-bald spoke-brush. We returned up the covered way and I was about to close the side door, which Thorndyke had left ajar, when he stopped me.
“We’ll have another look at the hall before we go,” said he; and, walking softly before me, he made his way to the front door, where, producing his lamp, he threw a beam of light into the letter-box.
“Any more letters?” I asked.
“Any more!” he repeated. “Look for yourself.”
I stooped and peered through the grille into the lighted interior; and then I uttered an exclamation.
The box was empty.
Thorndyke regarded me with a grim smile. “We have been caught on the hop, Jervis, I suspect,” said he.
“It is queer,” I replied. “I didn’t hear any sound of the opening or closing of the door; did you?”
“No; I didn’t hear any sound; which makes me suspect that she did. She would have heard our voices and she is probably keeping a sharp lookout at this very moment. I wonder if she saw you at the window. But whether she did or not, we must go very warily. Neither of us must return to the Temple direct, and we had better separate when we have returned the keys and I will watch you out of sight and see if anyone is following you. What are you going to do?”
“If you don’t want me, I shall run over to Kensington and drop in to lunch at the Hornbys’. I said I would call as soon as I had an hour or so free.”
“Very well. Do so; and keep a lookout in case you are followed. I have to go down to Guildford this afternoon. Under the circumstances, I shall not go back home, but send Polton a telegram and take a train at Vauxhall and change at some small station where I can watch the platform. Be as careful as you can. Remember that what you have to avoid is being followed to any place where you are known, and, above all, revealing your connection with number Five A, King’s Bench Walk.”
Having thus considered our immediate movements, we emerged together from the wicket, and locking it behind us, walked quickly to the house-agents’, where an opportune office-boy received the keys without remark. As we came out of the office, I halted irresolutely and we both looked up and down the lane.
“There is no suspicious looking person in sight at present,” Thorndyke said, and then asked: “Which way do you think of going?”
“It seems to me,” I replied, “that my best plan would be to take a cab or an omnibus so as to get out of the neighbourhood as quickly as possible. If I go through Ravensden Street into Kennington Park Road, I can pick up an omnibus that will take me to the Mansion House, where I can change for Kensington. I shall go on the top so that I can keep a lookout for any other omnibus or cab that may be following.”
“Yes,” said Thorndyke, “that seems
