"Who, indeed!" assented Hetherwick. "Vanished!—without a trace."
"Oh, well!" said Matherfield cheerfully, "you never know when you might light on a trace. But here we are at this unsavoury Fligwood's Rents."
The cab pulled up at the entrance to a dark, high-walled, stone-paved alley, which at that moment appeared to be full of women and children; so, too, did the windows on either side. The whole place was sombre and evil-smelling, and Hetherwick felt a sense of pity for the unfortunate man whose luck had been bad enough to bring him there.
"A murder, a suicide, or a sudden death is as a breath of heaven to these folk!" said Matherfield as they made their way through the ragged and frowsy gathering. "It's an event in uneventful lives. Here's the place," he added, as they came to a doorway whereat a policeman stood on guard. "And here are the stairs—mind you don't slip on 'em, for the wood's broken and the banisters are smashed."
Hetherwick cautiously followed his guide to the top of the house. There at another door stood a second policeman, engaged when they caught sight of him in looking out through the dirt-obscured window of the landing. His bored countenance brightened when he saw Matherfield; stepping back he quietly opened the door at his side. And the two new-comers, silent in view of the task before them, tiptoed into the room beyond.
It was, as Matherfield had remarked, a poor place, but it was clean and orderly, and its occupant had evidently tried to make it as habitable and comfortable as his means would allow. There were one or two good prints on the table; half a dozen books on an old chest of drawers; in a cracked vase on the mantelpiece there were a few flowers, wilted and dead. Hetherwick took in all this at a glance; then he turned to Matherfield, who silently drew aside a sheet from the head and shoulders of the rigid figure on the bed, and looked inquiringly at his companion. And Hetherwick gave the dead man's face one careful inspection and nodded.
"Yes!" he said. "That's the man!"
"Without doubt?" asked Matherfield.
"No doubt at all," affirmed Hetherwick. "That is the man who was with Hannaford in the train. I knew him instantly."
Matherfield replaced the sheet and turned to a small table which stood in the window. On it was a box, a square, old-fashioned thing, clamped at the corners.