"A thousand pounds, Wigan," he remarked. "Shall we go for it?"
I laughed; I thought he was joking.
"You are not busy, are you; you could give the time?" he queried.
"It is hardly in my line, is it?"
"Money is in everybody's line," he returned. "A thousand divided by three is three hundred and thirty-three pounds six shillings and eight pence. Zena shall go with us. Let's get Bradshaw."
Two days later we were in Boston, comfortably housed at an old-fashioned hostelry called the Heron. Before leaving London I had got the outline of the case, and a few hours in Boston enabled me to fill in the details of the story as I have set it down here.
We had a small sitting-room at the Heron, as crammed full of furniture as the room in Chelsea was empty.
"Who could really think in a room like this?" said Quarles.
"I don't know whether it's the fault of the room," I answered, "but I have no ideas at all about this affair."
Zena laughed.