“Did you go for your swim before or after the examination?” Thorndyke asked.
“Oh, after,” I replied.
“Then let us hear about the examination first,” said he.
On this I plunged into a detailed account of all that had befallen since my arrival at Market-street, to which Thorndyke listened, not only patiently, but with the closest attention, and even cross-examined me to elicit further details. Everything seemed to interest him, from the construction of the coffin to the contents of Mr. Morris’ shop. When I had finished, Cornish remarked:
“Well, it is a queer affair. I don’t understand that rope at all. Ropes don’t uncleat themselves. They may slip, but they don’t come right off the cleat. It looks more as if some mischievous fool had cast it off for a joke.”
“But there was no one there,” said I. “The shed was empty when I examined it, and there was not a soul in sight on the tow-path.”
“Could you see the shed when you were in the water?” Thorndyke asked.
“No. My head was below the level of the tow-path. But if any one had run out and made off, I must have seen him on the path when I came out. He couldn’t have got out of sight in the time. Besides, it is incredible that even a fool should play such a trick as that.”
“It is,” he agreed. “But every explanation seems incredible. The only plain fact is that it happened. It is a queer business altogether; and not the least queer feature in the case is your friend Morris. Hoxton is an unlikely place for a dealer in antiques, unless he should happen to deal in other things as well; things, I mean, of ambiguous ownership.”
“Just what I was thinking,” said Cornish. “Sounds uncommonly like a fence. However, that is no business of ours.”