"As strange a case as any I ever heard of," said Inspector Gale to himself, after Gilbert had withdrawn. "Now, what do I know about it exactly? Let me see."

Gale was a shrewd man, with an abundance of sound common sense and an extensive experience in criminal matters. He also had a certain degree of imagination, which is the quality the ordinary detective lacks.

From a cabinet he took some sheets of blue paper which were fastened together; they were the memoranda he had made of the facts connected with the disappearance of Morris Thornton. Gale read them over rapidly but carefully. Putting them down on his desk, he reflected.

"Morris Thornton, a rich colonial," he thought, "came to London on July 29th, and put up at the Law Courts Hotel in Holborn. Late in the evening of the next day, July 30th, he left the hotel for a walk in Holborn or perhaps in Chancery Lane—so he said to the porter. To-day, August 14th, his body is found in a room at the top of a house in Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, that is, on the Chancery Lane side of the Inn. That looks as if he had carried out his intention of taking a stroll in Chancery Lane. This fits in well enough. What next?

"How did he get up to the room at that time of night? The Inn would be closed; the night porter of the Inn must have let him in. I must make a note of that. And what took him there? He must have had some object in view. And the room was in the set of chambers occupied by Mr. Cooper Silwood, one of the most respectable solicitors in London, and a member of the very firm of solicitors with whom Mr. Thornton transacted his business. Could it be that Mr. Thornton had gone to see Mr. Silwood about some matter? But surely not at that hour—it hardly seems possible. Still I must not neglect that phase of the case.

"As regards Mr. Silwood. As he is now dead, the thing looks like leading up to a blind wall. He had been for some time away on a holiday. I must get the date when he left London. If he was in London on July 30th, or on the next day, the case would appear pretty black for him. Then there is the locked door. The door of the room in which the body was found had a special lock, and of course a special key, which Mr. Silwood carried. Some one locked the door on the dead man; the only one, presumably, who had the key to lock it was Mr. Silwood. This also looks pretty black for him.

"But the motive? Suppose Silwood did kill Morris Thornton, what would be his reason? It must have been some very strong reason indeed that would make a respectable solicitor murder an important client. Most improbable—impossible, one would have said; but nothing is impossible, nothing in the world. Yet everything points to the deed having been done by Silwood. The conclusion is obvious."

At this point in his reflections Gale took a turn up and down the floor. He was saying to himself, as he had said to Gilbert, that when a conclusion was obvious, then it was necessary to beware of it. His long experience had taught him that obvious conclusions rarely turned out to be correct.

"Well, where are we?" Gale mused, sitting down again. "Let us say Silwood had a motive for murdering Thornton, and did actually kill him, and having committed the murder, fled the country on the pretence of taking a holiday—suppose all this; where does it land us?"

Here a curious idea came into Gale's mind. He considered it doubtfully for two or three minutes; then, reminding himself of his favourite theory that nothing was impossible, he gave it tentatively a place in his thoughts.

"Suppose," he said to himself, "that Silwood is not dead, and that all this palaver about the certificate of death from the Italian magistrate is a skilfully manufactured affair, a mere pretence, in fact, with the object of defeating justice? If this were so, it would complete the case with a vengeance. Still, why shouldn't Silwood be dead? Well, I must look into it, though the idea that he is alive seems rather far-fetched."

Far-fetched or not, the idea fascinated the inspector as it appealed to his imagination; it haunted him so that he could not drive it out of his mind.

"Suppose," he kept saying to himself over and over again, "Silwood is not dead. If he is not dead, what does that imply? Does it mean that there is some conspiracy, a conspiracy in which the Eversleighs are involved?"

Gale pondered deeply. He had the feeling that somehow he was on the verge of a great discovery; but, as he thought still further, he was not so sure. It seemed absurd to connect the Eversleighs with anything of the sort. Finally, he came to a decision. Rising from his chair, he pressed an electric bell, and told a man who instantly appeared in answer to his call to ask Mr. Gilbert Eversleigh to step into the room.

Gilbert, expecting that the coroner had been heard from, came in eagerly.

"The coroner?" he asked.

"No, Mr. Gilbert. I wished you to tell me again the name of the place in Italy where Mr. Silwood died."

"Camajore, in the province of Tuscany—it is in the north of Italy, on the west coast or a few miles inland."

"Camajore?" repeated Gale. "How is it spelt?"

Gilbert spelt the word.

"Do you know the place?" asked the officer.

"Not at all."

"Do you happen to know the best and quickest way of getting to it?"

"You would take the train for Genoa, I fancy. Camajore is only a short distance from Genoa. But why do you ask me this?"

"It will be necessary, I think, for us to have the death of Mr. Silwood confirmed."

"I understand," said Gilbert, but he had only a glimmering of the inspector's meaning. "It will be as well—as a matter of form."

"Quite so," said Gale. "All sorts of inquiries will be made, and we must be in a position to answer them. By the way, Mr. Gilbert, would you mind telling me if Mr. Silwood was on terms of intimacy with Mr. Thornton—would you say that Mr. Silwood was as much of a friend of Mr. Thornton as your father was?"

"Mr. Thornton certainly knew Mr. Silwood very well, though perhaps he was hardly on the same terms of intimate friendship as my father was."

"Still there was a considerable acquaintance?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Do you think Mr. Thornton knew Mr. Silwood well enough to go to the latter's rooms at midnight or thereabouts?"

"I should scarcely have thought so. It's rather an extreme thing to go to a man's rooms at that time of night."

"But if there was some pressing reason?"

"Of course, necessity knows no law, but I can't suppose for one instant there was such a necessity. I believe that Mr. Thornton's relations with both Mr. Silwood and my father were of the most cordial character; indeed, I am certain they were. There was absolutely no hint of anything else. I know that for many years past Mr. Thornton reposed the greatest confidence in my father's firm."

"So I understand," assented Gale. "Now, Mr. Gilbert, I must ask you to leave me. I shall tell you the instant I hear from the coroner."

And Gilbert went out once more.

As soon as he had gone, Gale rang his bell again.

"I cannot go myself," he mused; "I must be present at the inquest—that is necessary. I must send Brydges."

Brydges was the detective who ranked next to himself in Scotland Yard. In a moment or two more Brydges was in the presence of the chief.

"You have heard about the Lincoln's Inn case?" asked Gale.

"Yes, something, but not accurately—just what they are saying in the Yard."

"And that is?"

"That the body of the missing millionaire has been found in a room at the top of a house in Stone Buildings, the said room being the sitting-room of a Mr. Cooper Silwood, a solicitor, a member, in fact, of the firm of solicitors who did the dead man's legal business. A very curious position, is it not?" commented Brydges.

"Very curious indeed. All the more so because Mr. Silwood too is dead."

"Yes, I heard that also."

"It is with reference to Silwood's death that I want you just now. I wish you to go to Italy, to a place called Camajore, some miles from Genoa, and find out everything you can about his death."

"Ah!" exclaimed Brydges; "I see. You think his death may be a fake; is that it?"

"Well, it occurred to me that it might be so; at any rate, I think it well worth inquiring further into. You can leave to-night for Genoa?"

"Yes, certainly."

"And you will wire the results of your mission in cipher to me as soon as possible," said Gale.

"Am I to consult the local authorities?"

"Yes; I'll have a letter of credentials prepared for you. You will present it to the police at Genoa, and I do not imagine you will find any difficulty. Now, go and make your preparations."

Left alone once again, Gale took up the thread of his musings.

"There is one other point," he thought, "and that is the presence in Chancery Lane, on the night when Thornton disappeared, of that mysterious workman, who possessed the key to the iron gates of the small footway communicating with the court of Stone Buildings and Chancery Lane itself.

"What was it I was told? A workman, or a man dressed as a workman, let himself out of the iron gate late at night; the man appeared to be flurried, to act in a suspicious manner. In about half an hour he returned, and let himself in again. He was seen no more that night. And it was the night—the night presumably of the murder.

"This assuredly must be followed up; it looks like a clue. I must get hold of the waster who told the story, and hear for myself what he has to say. I wonder if he spoke the truth, or if he invented the whole thing. And if this story is true, and if this workman had something to do with Thornton's death, how is he to be connected with Cooper Silwood? If this workman committed the murder, how did he get possession of the key to Silwood's chambers? Perhaps, during Silwood's absence, he got into the room. Well, it comes back to getting the date on which Silwood left London for his holiday—that's what I must ascertain."

The inspector had reached this conclusion when there was a knock at his door, and a constable entered and informed him that the coroner had sent a message to the effect that he was waiting for him in Silwood's chambers.

Gale called Gilbert, who had been sitting outside wearily and impatiently, and the two men got into a cab and drove to the scene of the discovery of the body. On their way thither Gale put a question.

"I am very anxious to get to know the day on which Mr. Silwood left London," said the officer; "do you think you could find that out for me this afternoon?"

"I think the office will be closed, but I'll go and see, if you like."

"I wish you would. Suppose you go round to New Square while I go on to Mr. Silwood's chambers?"

Gilbert agreed, and presently was in the office of Eversleigh, Silwood and Eversleigh, where, to his great surprise, he found Williamson still on the premises, apparently hard at work.

"What a day this has been, Mr. Gilbert!" cried Williamson. "I thought I'd wait to see if there was any more news. Your father and Mr. Ernest have just gone home. I'm afraid your father, Mr. Gilbert, is very poorly—not that that is strange, after what has happened."

"No, indeed," said Gilbert. "Can you tell me, Mr. Williamson," he went on, "the day on which Mr. Silwood left for his holiday?"

"A fortnight ago, exactly, to-day I had a note from him, saying he was off to Italy. I don't know whether he went by the night mail on the evening of the Friday or by the continental express on the Saturday morning; he did not mention which train he was going by."

"A fortnight ago to-day? That was July 31st. And Friday was the 30th."

"Precisely," said Williamson, with a touch of malice, "and that is the very day—that Friday—on which Mr. Thornton disappeared. It has a strange look, Mr. Gilbert; I can make nothing of it—nothing at all."

"You are sure of the date?" asked Gilbert, sharply.

"As I said, it was either on the Friday night or on the Saturday morning that Mr. Silwood left."

Gilbert, as he went to tell Inspector Gale what he had learned, could not but confess to himself that the matter did wear a very strange look indeed.

When he got to Stone Buildings, he saw the inspector, the coroner, an assistant, and two constables. It was Gale who spoke.

"The coroner," he remarked, "is having the body taken to the nearest mortuary, Mr. Gilbert, and he will report later. Meanwhile, I have made an examination of these apartments, and I am bound to say that everything in them appears to be in good order. I see no sign of disorder, no indication of a struggle. And I have looked into the bedroom, and there also I can see nothing to take hold of. Mr. Silwood, I should say, prepared in the most leisurely fashion for his trip; not a thing betokens hurry or flurry—this is all satisfactory enough, so far as it goes."

Gale addressed a few words to the coroner, and then the body was removed. As Gilbert turned to leave the room, Gale put his arm on his sleeve.

"What about the date?" he asked.

"Mr. Silwood left either that Friday night or next morning—which, is not certain."

Gale looked at Gilbert, earnestly, but he did not speak; his silence was eloquent enough.

"You think," said Gilbert, slowly, "that Silwood murdered——?"

He did not complete the sentence.

"I say nothing definite, Mr. Gilbert; but don't you think it looks that way?"

"It is impossible—impossible!" said Gilbert.

But Gale shook his head.

When Gilbert got to Waterloo, on his way to see Kitty, he heard at the bookstall people eagerly asking for the latest editions of the evening papers. On the placards he saw in big black letters—

"The Body of the Missing Millionaire discovered."

"Is it Murder?"

How was he to tell Kitty, his darling? What could he say to her?

But when he arrived at Surbiton, he was surprised to find that Kitty showed considerable calmness in the circumstances.

"I was sure my father was dead," she said to him, as they talked over the discovery of the body. "I was certain that if he had been alive he would have come to me. I never had any hope. And, Gilbert, I do not believe that Mr. Silwood killed him. Why should he have done so? I wonder if the darkness which surrounds my father's death will ever be cleared away?"

"It is shrouded in mystery at present, my darling," said Gilbert, immensely relieved that Kitty was bearing up so well; "but perhaps some evidence will be forthcoming at the inquest. It is to take place on Tuesday."

"I think I should like to be present," said Kitty, after a long pause.

"It may be very painful for you, and I do not believe you will be called on."

"It is my duty, I suppose, and I must not shrink from it."

"My own brave little girl," said Gilbert, kissing her fondly.