It was nearly two o'clock that Saturday afternoon when Francis Eversleigh, supported by Gilbert and the doctor, left Silwood's chambers in Stone Buildings. He stopped on his way to his office, as has been said, to gratify the curiosity of some of his acquaintances; but he was so weak and unsteady that the doctor soon forbade him, and rightly, to exert himself even to talk.

On the arrival of the little party at 176, New Square, they were met by Ernest Eversleigh and Williamson the head-clerk, who were anxiously awaiting them, as a rumour had already reached them of the discovery of the body in Silwood's rooms; the report, however, had been so vague that they could not believe it. Williamson, in particular, was sceptical.

Ernest eagerly pressed his father and brother for information; the doctor, however, would not allow Francis Eversleigh to speak, and Gilbert said that he would presently tell them all, but that he must first attend to his father, who was far from well.

"Just one word, Mr. Gilbert," said Williamson. "Is it true that the body of Mr. Morris Thornton was found in Mr. Silwood's sitting-room?—that is the rumour."

"Yes, it is quite true."

Williamson, on hearing this, fell back, with a look of the profoundest astonishment on his face. Up to this time he had not believed it, because, if it were true, then the suspicions which he had for some time entertained appeared to be more than confirmed, but he had not looked for so startling a confirmation.

"I was right," he told himself. "I wish I could get to the bottom of it."

Francis Eversleigh meanwhile went up to his room on the second floor, and now the doctor insisted that he must remain quiet. Further, the doctor said that he himself would go out to obtain some suitable nourishment for him. As he withdrew from the room, he beckoned to Gilbert.

"Do not leave your father," he said to Gilbert, in the passage. "I am afraid he is ill—of what I cannot say, but it is easy to see that his vitality is very low. Has he suffered from some severe illness—some bad attack recently?"

"No. He has been ailing slightly for a few weeks past—that is all."

"He seems to me to be very much run down," the doctor went on. "You must make a point of getting him to see his own physician—the family doctor. In the mean time, I'll fetch him a strong pick-me-up and some light, nourishing food of which he stands much in need. After he has had it, he should be taken home at once, and put to bed as soon as possible."

"Very well," agreed Gilbert; and the doctor went on his way down the stairs. Gilbert returned to his father's room.

Father and son, now left alone for the first time since the discovery of Morris Thornton's body, looked at each other strangely. Gilbert's gaze seemed to ask the question, "What is the meaning of all this?" His father understood him but darkly, for he was suffering from a frightful obsession which numbed his brain. He was powerless to think coherently; all that he could fix his mind upon was merely what was nearest him, or what was immediately happening. It was this which explained his next words.

"What was the doctor saying to you, Gilbert?" he asked.

"Well, he said you were run down, and wanted bracing up," replied Gilbert.

"Was that it?"

"Yes; and I must say that it is not surprising you're ill, after two such shocks as you have received to-day."

Then there was silence between them. Strange thoughts, half-formed suspicions crowded upon Gilbert in that pause. He glanced at his father, uncertain whether to speak to him or not.

"Father," he said at last, "I do not like to press the subject on you when you are so far from strong; but how do you account for Morris Thornton's body being found in Mr. Silwood's chambers—have you formed any theory?"

"I know no more about it than you," cried Francis Eversleigh, wildly; "and I do not know what to think.... I cannot think about it at all ... my brain refuses to act.... I have no idea ... it is all a terrible and horrible mystery to me!"

And then he flung up his hands, as if he were throwing off some weight which oppressed him.

"Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful, dreadful!" he cried; then burst into a passion of sobs, the sound and sight of which moved and distressed Gilbert exceedingly.

"Father! Father!" said the son, soothingly, in accents of deepest sympathy.

In a few moments Eversleigh grew calmer, and became a little more like his usual self.

"There is just one thing I'd like to ask you, father," said Gilbert; "that is, if it is not too painful for you."

"What is it, my son?"

"You uttered one word in that room over there," returned Gilbert, nodding in the direction of Stone Buildings.

"What?"

"The one word was 'Murder!' Do you think Mr. Thornton was murdered?"

Francis Eversleigh stared about him with dilated eyes, as might some being who was persecuted and hunted.

"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 circumstances 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 assistance. 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 ejaculation.

"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 advertisement 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?"

"These are puzzles, are they not?"

"You have certainly given me something to think over. Have you anything more to tell me about this workman?"

"No; our informant did not see him again."

Gilbert now resumed the thread of his narrative, telling the inspector all that took place when he and his father went to Silwood's chambers.

The inspector, as Gilbert proceeded, compared his statement with the report made by the policeman who had been summoned by the porter.

"What you tell me," said Gale, when Gilbert had finished, "bears out exactly what my subordinate has set forth. The coroner has been sent for, and we must wait till we hear from him. I shall accompany him when he makes his examination of the body, and I expect a message from him every minute."

"Will you let me go with you?" asked Gilbert. "You must remember that I am engaged to Mr. Thornton's daughter, and so am, therefore, in a measure her representative."

"I have not forgotten that, and I do not know that there is any objection. If you will tell me where I can find you, I'll let you know. I must send you away just now, for I wish to be alone to think—and there is a great deal to think of."

"Very well. I'll stay in the waiting-room outside," and Gilbert left the inspector to his thoughts.