His labours had consumed the best part of the morning, but in any case he was in no mood for his ordinary work. Opening the window a little wider to let the fumes escape, he took his hat from the peg and went forth, turning his steps in the direction of Regent’s Park.
Chapter VII.
The Flash Note Factory
To the lover of quiet and the admirer of urban comeliness, the ever-increasing noise and turmoil of London and its ever-decreasing architectural interest and charm give daily an added value to the Inns of Court, in whose peaceful precincts quiet and comeliness yet survive. And of the Inns of Court, if we except Old Buildings, Lincoln’s Inn, The Temple with its cloisters, its fountain and its ancient church, makes the strongest appeal to the affections of that almost extinct creature, the Londoner; of which class the last surviving genuine specimens are to be found in its obsolete chambers, living on amidst the amenities of a bygone age.
But it was neither the quiet nor the architectural charm of the old domestic buildings that had caused Mr. Superintendent Miller of the Criminal Investigation Department to take the Temple on his way from Scotland Yard to Fleet Street (though it was as short a way as any), nor was it a desire to contemplate the houses attributed to Wren that made him slow down when he reached King’s Bench Walk and glance hesitatingly up and down that pleasant thoroughfare—if a thoroughfare it can be called. The fact is that Mr. Miller was engaged in certain investigations, which had led him, as investigations sometimes do, into a blind alley; and it was in his mind to see if the keen vision of Dr. John Thorndyke could detect a way out. But he did not want a formal consultation. Rather, he desired to let the matter arise, as it were, by chance, and he did not quite see how to manage it.
Here, as he stood hesitating opposite Thorndyke’s chambers, Providence came to his aid; for, at this moment, a tall figure emerged from the shadow of the covered passage from Mitre Court and came with an easy, long-legged swing down to tree-shaded foot-way. Instantly, the Superintendent strode forward to intercept the newcomer and the two met halfway up the Walk.
“You were not coming to see me, by any chance?” Thorndyke asked when the preliminary greetings had been exchanged.
“No,” replied Miller, “though I had half a mind to look in on you, just to pass the time of day. I am on my way to Clifford’s Inn to look into a rather queer discovery that has been made there.”
Here the Superintendent paused with an attentive eye on Thorndyke’s face, though experience should have told him that he might as well study the expression of a wig-maker’s block. As Thorndyke showed no sign of rising to the bait, he continued: “A remarkably queer affair. Mysterious, in fact. Our people are rather stuck, so I am going to have a look round the chambers to see if I can pick up any traces.”
“That is always a useful thing to do,” said Thorndyke. “Rooms, like clothes, tend to take certain impressions from those who live in them. Careful inspection, eked out by some imagination, will usually yield something of interest.”
“Precisely,” agreed Miller. “I realized that long ago from watching your own methods. You were always rather fond of poking about in empty houses and abandoned premises. By the way,” he added, forced into the open by Thorndyke’s impassiveness, “I wonder if you would care to stroll up with me and have a look at these chambers?”