We waited for no more words, but set out at once, walking briskly through the night that seemed doubly dark, doubly silent and mysterious, at the witch's hour of one o'clock.
We had walked half the distance to the station; in perfect silence, and I was studying the best way to approach Jim and overcome his reticence, when suddenly he opened his lips, to give me a glimpse of his "true inwardness," that nearly took me, figuratively, off my feet.
"Men are only men, after all," he began, sententiously, "and detectives are only common men sharpened up a bit. I wonder, now, how you are going to get the address of this Dr. Denham?"
I started so violently, that he must have perceived it, dark though it was.
What a blunder! I had walked away from the cottage forgetting to ask for Dr. Denham's address.
Uttering an exclamation of impatience, I turned sharply about.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm going back after the address, of course."
"I wouldn't do that; time's precious. Do you go ahead and send the message. I'll run back and ask after the address."