"Of course, the coincidence is remarkable, but what more can you say about it? Silwood is dead, and that settles everything—so far as it can be settled. There does not seem to be much more to say."
"Though it does not appear to be much good," persisted Westgate, "still, the key of the situation, as I said before, lies with Silwood. I wish I knew more about that man. Personally, I feel certain that Silwood, when he went off for his holiday that Saturday morning, locked the door on the dead body of Thornton."
"How you harp on this, Westgate! You have no evidence for what you say, either."
"There is a strong presumption, however."
"The exact time of Thornton's death is not known, yet you are arguing as if it was. You cannot say for certain that Thornton was dead that morning at all."
"The doctors agreed that Thornton had been dead about fifteen days when the body was found. That brings his death pretty well, or, at any rate, very close, to the time of his disappearance."
"Still there might be a gap of a good many hours."
"I doubt it," said Westgate, stubbornly. "Let me tell you what happened, as it seems to me. On leaving the Law Courts Hotel, Thornton went to Chancery Lane, got somehow or other into Silwood's rooms, and died there suddenly a short while afterwards. I am convinced that he saw Silwood when he got into the room, and that something occurred between him and Silwood—I don't even attempt to guess what it was—which produced such an effect upon his weak heart that he dropped dead from the shock."
"Your explanation is plausible, but it suffers from your not being certain that Silwood was there with Thornton at the time of the latter's death. In assuming Silwood's presence, you assume too much. But go on with your mapping out of what happened. Suppose we take your suppositions as certainties, what next?"
"When Silwood saw that Thornton was dead, he would ask himself what he was to do," Westgate resumed. "There was the body in the room, and its being there had to be accounted for somehow. Silwood, I am positive, shrank from saying anything about it—shrank to such an extent that he made up his mind to fly rather than appear to have any connection whatever with it."