"Then, naturally, I shouldn't," observed Starmidge. "My acquaintance is chiefly with police-court solicitors. And you say he'd private rooms some where? Where, now?"
"Paper Buildings, Temple," replied the clerk. "He'd a suite of rooms there—he's had 'em for years."
"Bachelor, then?" inquired the detective.
"Yes—he's a bachelor," agreed Simmons.
"You know he hasn't been at his rooms since Saturday—you've ascertained that?" continued Starmidge.
"He's never been at his rooms since he left them after breakfast on Saturday morning," replied Simmons. "I went there at eleven o'clock Monday—that was yesterday—again at four: twice on Tuesday. I was coming away from the Temple when I got the paper and read about this affair."
"When did you see him last?" asked Starmidge.
"Half-past-twelve Saturday. He went out—dressed just as it says in your description. And," concluded the clerk, with a shake of his head which suggested his own inability to understand matters, "he never said a word to me about coming down here."
"Did he say anything to anybody at his rooms about going away?—for the week-end, for instance?" asked the detective. "There'd be somebody there, of course."
"Only a woman who tidied up for him and got his breakfast ready of a morning," said Simmons. "He took all his other meals out. No—he said nothing to her. But he wasn't a week-ender: he very rarely left his rooms except for the office."