"I didn't know there was any evidence."
"Didn't you?" said Thorndyke. "But you know as much as I know. You have all the essential facts; but apparently you haven't collated them and extracted their meaning. If you had, you would have found them curiously significant."
"I suppose I mustn't ask what their significance is?"
"No, I think not. When I am conducting a case I mention my surmises to nobody—not even to Jervis. Then I can say confidently that there has been no leakage. Don't think I distrust you. Remember that my thoughts are my client's property, and that the essence of strategy is to keep the enemy in the dark."
"Yes, I see that. Of course I ought not to have asked."
"You ought not to need to ask," Thorndyke replied, with a smile; "you should put the facts together and reason from them yourself."
While we had been talking I had noticed Thorndyke glance at me inquisitively from time to time. Now after an interval of silence, he asked suddenly:
"Is anything amiss, Berkeley? Are you worrying about your friends' affairs?"
"No, not particularly; though their prospects don't look very rosy."
"Perhaps they are not quite so bad as they look," said he. "But I am afraid something is troubling you. All your gay spirits seem to have evaporated." He paused for a few moments, and then added: "I don't want to intrude on your private affairs, but if I can help you by advice or otherwise, remember that we are old friends and that you are my academic offspring."