“By the way,” I said, “you spoke of sending a telegram to Belfield. Did you send it?”
“Yes. I asked him to come to see me to-night at half-past eight, and, if possible, bring his wife with him. I want to get to the bottom of that handkerchief mystery.”
“But do you think he will tell you the truth about it?”
“That is impossible to judge; he will be a fool if he does not. But I think he will; he has a godly fear of me and my methods.”
As soon as our dinner was finished and cleared away, Thorndyke produced the “collecting-box” from his pocket and began to sort out the day’s “catch,” giving explicit directions to Polton for the disposal of each specimen. The hairs and small feathers were to be mounted as microscopic objects, while the larger feathers were to be placed, each in its separate labelled envelope, in its appropriate box. While these directions were being given, I stood by the window absently gazing out as I listened, gathering many a useful hint in the technique of preparation and preservation, and filled with admiration alike at my colleague’s exhaustive knowledge of practical detail and the perfect manner in which he had trained his assistant. Suddenly I started, for a well-known figure was crossing from Crown Office Row and evidently bearing down on our chambers.
“My word, Thorndyke,” I exclaimed, “here’s a pretty mess!”
“What is the matter?” he asked, looking up anxiously.
“Superintendent Miller heading straight for our doorway. And it is now twenty minutes past eight.”
Thorndyke laughed. “It will be a quaint position,” he remarked, “and somewhat of a shock for Belfield. But it really doesn’t matter; in fact, I think, on the whole, I am rather pleased that he should have come.”
The superintendent’s brisk knock was heard a few moments later, and when he was admitted by Polton, he entered and looked round the room a little sheepishly.