As I let myself in with my key and closed the street door, Cornish stepped out of the dining-room.
“I thought you were lost, Gray,” said he. “Where the deuce have you been all this time?” Then, as I came into the light of the hall lamp, he exclaimed: “And what in the name of Fortune have you been up to?”
“I have had a wetting,” I explained. “I’ll tell you all about it presently.”
“Dr. Thorndyke is in the dining-room,” said he; “came in a few minutes ago to see you.” He seized me by the arm and ran me into the room, where I found Thorndyke methodically filling his pipe. He looked up as I entered and regarded me with raised eyebrows.
“Why, my dear fellow, you’ve been in the water!” he exclaimed. “But yet your clothes are not wet. What has been happening to you?”
“If you can wait a few minutes,” I replied, “while I wash and change, I will relate my adventures. But perhaps you haven’t time.”
“I want to hear all about it,” he replied, “so run along and be as quick as you can.”
I bustled up to my room, and having washed and executed a lightning change, came down to the dining-room, where I found Cornish in the act of setting out decanters and glasses.
“I’ve told Dr. Thorndyke what took you to Hoxton,” said he, “and he wants a full account of everything that happened. He is always suspicious of cremation cases, as you know from his lectures.”
“Yes, I remember his warnings,” said I. “But this was a perfectly commonplace, straightforward affair.”