conceive such circumstances, and so, probably, will you if
you think it over."

"Did you gather anything of importance from the evidence at the
inquest?" I asked.

"It is difficult to say," he replied. "The whole of my conclusions in
this case are based on what is virtually circumstantial evidence. I
have not one single fact of which I can say that it admits only of a
single interpretation. Still, it must be remembered that even the most
inconclusive facts, if sufficiently multiplied, yield a highly
conclusive total. And my little pile of evidence is growing, particle
by particle; but we mustn't sit here gossiping at this hour of the day;
I have to consult with Marchmont and you say that you have an early
afternoon engagement. We can walk together as far as Fleet Street."

A minute or two later we went our respective ways, Thorndyke toward
Lombard Street and I to Fetter Lane, not unmindful of those coming
events that were casting so agreeable a shadow before them.

There was only one message awaiting me, and when Adolphus had delivered
it (amidst mephitic fumes that rose from the basement, premonitory of
fried plaice), I pocketed my stethoscope and betook myself to Gunpowder
Alley, the aristocratic abode of my patient, joyfully threading the now
familiar passages of Gough Square and Wine Office Court, and meditating
pleasantly on the curious literary flavor that pervades these
little-known regions. For the shade of the author of _Rasselas_ still
seems to haunt the scenes of his Titanic labors and his ponderous but
homely and temperate rejoicings. Every court and alley whispers of
books and of the making of books: forms of type, trundled noisily on
trolleys by ink-smeared boys, salute the wayfarer at odd corners; piles
of strawboard, rolls or bales of paper, drums of printing-ink or roller
composition stand on the pavement outside dark entries; basement
windows give glimpses into Hadean caverns tenanted by legions of
printer's devils; and the very air is charged with the hum of press and
with odors of glue and paste and oil. The entire neighborhood is given
up to the printer and binder; and even my patient turned out to be a
guillotine-knife grinder--a ferocious and revolutionary calling
strangely at variance with his harmless appearance and meek bearing.

I was in good time at my tryst, despite the hindrances of fried plaice
and invalid guillotinists; but, early as I was, Miss Bellingham was
already waiting