On his way to the station he chanced to meet Sir Karl Andinnian: and the latter's heart went up with a great bound. The black bag in Mr. Tatton's hand, and the portmanteau being wheeled along beside him, spoke a whole volume of hope.
"Good morning, Sir Karl. You have misled us finely as to the Maze."
"Why, what do you mean, Mr. Tatton?" asked Karl.
"Salter has turned up in Canada. Or, one might perhaps rather say, turned down; for he is dead, poor fellow."
"Indeed!"
"Indeed and in truth. One of our officers is over there, and was with him when he died. It was too bad of you to mislead us in this way, Sir Karl."
"Nay, you misled yourselves."
"A fine quantity of time I have wasted down here! weeks upon weeks; and all for nothing. I never was so vexed in my life."
"You have yourself to blame--or those who sent you here. Certainly not me. The very first time I had the honour of speaking to you, Mr. Tatton, I assured you on the word of a gentleman that Salter was not at Foxwood."
"Well, come, Sir Karl--what is the secret being enacted within the place over yonder?" pointing his finger in the direction of the Maze.