“Yes, that is very necessary,” said Thorndyke. “You two had better go on together and set down Gray and me in the Kingsland-road, where he and I have some other business to transact.”
I glanced at him quickly as he made this astonishing statement—for we had no business there, or anywhere else that I knew of. But I said nothing. My recent training had not been in vain.
A few minutes later, near to Dalston Junction, he stopped the carriage, and, having made our adieux, we got out. Then Thorndyke strode off down the Kingsland-road but presently struck off westward through a bewildering maze of seedy suburban streets and shabby squares in which I was as completely lost as if I had been dropped into the midst of the Sahara.
“What is the nature of the business that we are going to transact?” I ventured to ask as we turned yet another corner.
“In the first place,” he replied, “I wanted to hear what conclusions you had reached in view of this discovery at the cemetery.”
“Well, that won’t take long,” I said, with a grin. “They can be summed up in half a dozen words: I have come to the conclusion that I am a fool.”
He laughed good-humouredly. “There is no harm in thinking that,” he said, “provided you are not right—which you are not. But did that empty coffin suggest no new ideas to you?”
“On the contrary,” I replied, “it scattered the few ideas that I had. I am in the same condition as Superintendent Miller: an inextricable muddle.”
“But,” he objected, “you are not in the same position as the Superintendent. If he knew all that you and I know, he wouldn’t be in a muddle at all. What is your difficulty?”
“Primarily the discrepancies about this man Crile. There seems to be no possible doubt that he died. But apparently he was never buried; and you and Miller seem to believe that he is still alive. Further, I don’t see what business Crile is of ours at all.”