"But he may go on lying low. What will you do then?"
"Yes, that is the danger. We may have to deal with the perfect villain who knows when to leave well alone. I have never met him, but he may exist, nevertheless."
"And then we should have to stand by and see our friends go under."
"Perhaps," said Thorndyke; and we both subsided into gloomy and silent reflection.
The place was peaceful and quiet, as only a backwater of London can be. Occasional hoots from far-away tugs and steamers told of the busy life down below in the crowded Pool. A faint hum of traffic was borne in from the streets outside the precincts, and the shrill voices of newspaper boys came in unceasing chorus from the direction of Carmelite Street. They were too far away to be physically disturbing, but the excited yells, toned down as they were by distance, nevertheless stirred the very marrow in my bones, so dreadfully suggestive were they of those possibilities of the future at which Thorndyke had hinted. They seemed like the sinister shadows of coming misfortunes.
Perhaps they called up the same association of ideas in Thorndyke's mind, for he remarked presently:
"The newsvendor is abroad to-night like a bird of ill-omen. Something unusual has happened; some public or private calamity, most likely, and these yelling ghouls are out to feast on the remains. The newspaper men have a good deal in common with the carrion-birds that hover over a battle-field."
Again we subsided into silence and reflection. Then, after an interval, I asked:
"Would it be possible for me to help in any way in this investigation of yours?"
"That is exactly what I have been asking myself," replied Thorndyke.
"It would be right and proper that you should, and I think you might."