"I am not in the habit of enquiring into the private affairs of my tenants," was the rather haughty answer. "If there be any secret at the Maze--though I think no one has assumed it but yourself--you may rely upon it that it is not in any way connected with Salter. Are you taking your final departure?"
"It looks like it, Sir Karl"--nodding towards the luggage going onwards. "When the game's at the other end of the world, and dead besides, it is not of much use my staying to search after it in this. I hope the next I have to hunt will bring in more satisfaction."
They said farewell cordially. The detective in his natural sociability; Karl in his most abundant gratitude for the relief it would give his brother. And Mr. Detective Tatton, hastening on in the wake of the portmanteau, took the passing up-train, and was whirled away to London.
A minute or two afterwards Karl met his agent. He was beginning to impart to him the tidings about Salter, when Smith interrupted him.
"I have heard it, Sir Karl. I got a letter from a relative this morning, which told me all. The information has taken Tatton off the land here, I expect: I saw you speaking to him."
"You are right."
"As to poor Salter, the release is probably a happy one. He is better off than he ever could have been again in this world. But what on earth put Scotland Yard on the false scent that he was at Foxwood, will always be a problem to me. Tatton's gone for good, I suppose, sir!"
"He said so."
"And Sir Adam is, in one sense, free again. There will be less danger in his getting away from Foxwood now, if it be judged desirable that he should go."
Karl shook his head. There was another impediment now to his getting away--grievous sickness.