"About his personal appearance and habits, I mean. You see, Wigan, your own idea of him is not sufficient. He may have deceived you entirely regarding his character, assuming eccentricity for some purpose. Think the affair out from that point of view, and when you have been to the Yard, come to Chelsea. If you do not mind I will take these two unopened letters. We will look at them together presently."
As a matter of fact, Quarles had opened them before I saw him; indeed, their contents took him out of town, and I did not see him for three days. They were very trying days for me, for the chief took me off the case when he had heard my story. He could not understand why I had not mentioned at once that I had been with the dead man on the previous night, and his manner suggested that my being the criminal was well within the bounds of possibility. I suppose every one likes to have a cut at a successful man occasionally, but I am bound to admit he had some reason for his action. He showed me a halfpenny paper in which an enterprising scribbler, under the headline "Murder in Gray's Inn," had heightened the sensation by another headline, "Strange recognition of a well-known detective by a woman and a boy."
"We mustn't give the press any reason to suppose that we want to thwart justice for the purpose of shielding an officer," the chief said. "Cochran will take charge of the case, and I am letting the press know this."
There was nothing to be said, and I left him feeling very much like a criminal, and very conscious of being in an awkward position. Unless the case were satisfactorily cleared up there would be plenty of people to suspect me.
Quarles, when at last we foregathered in the empty room, was sympathetic but not surprised; Zena, who had come back to town immediately on receiving a letter from me, was furious that I should be suspected.
"I have been busy," said the professor. "I opened those letters, Wigan. Of course Zena's first question on her arrival was why Mr. Parrish had not opened them. Her second question was: Why did he live the life of a recluse in Gray's Inn? How would you answer those questions?"
"I see no reason why a recluse should not live in Gray's Inn," I answered, "and an eccentric person, obsessed with one idea in life, might throw letters aside without opening them."
"Quite a good answer," said Quarles. "Now, here are the letters. This one is dated eighteen months ago, postmark Liverpool, written at Thorn's Hotel, Liverpool. 'Dear Jack,—Back again like the proverbial bad penny. Health first class; luck medium. Pocket full enough to have a rollick with you. Shall be with you the day after to-morrow.—Yours, C.M.' Your friend Parrish was not a man you would expect to rollick, I imagine?''
"No."
"So either he entirely deceived you or had changed considerably since 'C.M.' had seen him. Here is the other letter. Postmark Rome, dated three years ago, but no address. Just a message in indifferent English: 'Once more you do me good and I repay in interest. B. knows and comes to you. Beware.—Emanuele.'"