“And how did he obtain it?”
“Oh, he just bought it at a wholesale druggist’s. Rather casual of the druggist to have supplied him, I think, but still, he needn’t have made such a secret of it. However, since then he has been possessed by this obsession. He imagines that he is constantly under observation. He thinks that some man hangs about near his rooms and watches his comings and goings and follows him about whenever he goes abroad. I suppose there can’t be anything in it?”
“Of course not. The police have something better to do than spend their time shadowing harmless idiots. Why on earth should they shadow him? If they have any suspicions of him, those suspicions relate to the past, not to the present.”
“But I don’t think Tony connects these watchers with the police. I fancy he suspects them of being agents of Dr. Thorndyke. You remember that he was suspicious and uneasy about Dr. Thorndyke from the first; and I know that he suspects him of having set the superintendent on him about the cocaine.”
“The deuce he does!” I exclaimed, a little startled. “Have you any idea what makes him suspect Thorndyke of that?”
“He says that the superintendent accepted his statement at the time when the cocaine was found, or at least, did not seem disposed to press him on the question as to where he obtained it, and that this inquisition occurred only after you had put the case in Dr. Thorndyke’s hands.”
I reflected on this statement with some surprise. Of course, Wallingford was quite right, as I knew from first-hand knowledge. But how had he arrived at this belief? Was it a mere guess, based on his evident prejudice against Thorndyke? or had he something to go on? And was it possible that his other suspicions might be correct? Could it be that Thorndyke was really keeping him under observation? I could imagine no object for such a proceeding. But Thorndyke’s methods were so unlike those of the police or of any one else that it was idle to speculate on what he might do; and his emphatic advice to Miller showed that he regarded Wallingford at least with some interest.
“Well, Barbara,” I said, mentally postponing the problem for future consideration, “let us forget Wallingford and everybody else. What are we going to do this afternoon? Is there a matinée that we could go to, or shall we go and hear some music?”
“No, Rupert,” she replied. “I don’t want any theatres or music. I can have those when you are not here. Let us go and walk about Kensington Gardens and gossip as we used to in the old days. But we have a little business to discuss first. Let us get that finished and then we can put it away and be free. You were going to advise me about the house in Hilborough Square. My own feeling is that I should like to sell it and have done with it once for all.”
“I shouldn’t do that, Barbara,” said I. “It is a valuable property, but just at present its value is depreciated. It would be difficult to dispose of at anything like a reasonable price until recent events have been forgotten. The better plan would be to let it at a low rent for a year or two.”