arefully and thoughtfully you will find that the
facts now known to us point clearly to one explanation, and one only. It
may not be the true explanation, and I don't suppose it is. But we are
now dealing with the matter speculatively, academically, and I contend
that our data yield a definite conclusion. What do you say, Berkeley?"

"I say that it is time for me to be off; the evening consultations begin
at half-past six."

"Well," said Thorndyke, "don't let us keep you from your duties, with
poor Barnard currant-picking in the Grecian Isles. But come in and see
us again. Drop in when you like, after your work is done. You won't be
in our way even if we are busy, which we very seldom are after eight
o'clock."

I thanked Dr. Thorndyke most heartily for making me free of his chambers
in this hospitable fashion and took my leave, setting forth homewards by
way of Middle Temple Lane and the Embankment; not a very direct route
for Fetter Lane, it must be confessed; but our talk had revived my
interest in the Bellingham household and put me in a reflective vein.

From the remarkable conversation that I had overheard it was evident
that the plot was thickening. Not that I supposed that these two
respectable gentlemen really suspected one another of having made away
with the missing man; but still, their unguarded words, spoken in anger,
made it clear that each had allowed the thought of sinister
possibilities to enter his mind--a dangerous condition that might easily
grow into actual suspicion. And then the circumstances really were
highly mysterious, as I realised with especial vividness now after
listening to my friend's analysis of the evidence.

From the problem itself my mind travelled, not for the first time during
the last few days, to the handsome girl who had seemed in my eyes the
high-priestess of this temple of mystery in the quaint little court.
What a strange figure she made against this strange background, with her
quiet, chilly, self-contained manner, her pale face, so sad and worn,
her black, straight brows and solemn grey eyes, so inscrutable,
mysterious, Sibylline. A striking, even impressive, personality this, I
reflected, with something in it sombre and enigmatic that attracted and
yet repelled.

And here I recalled Jervis's words: "The girl must have been in it if
the father was." It was a dreadful thought, even though only
speculatively uttered, and my heart rejected it; rejected it with an
indign