And the offer of the large reward was not without a certain effect.
It had become a matter of general knowledge that Morris Thornton, on leaving the Law Courts Hotel, told the porter there that he was going for a stroll along Holborn and probably up and down Chancery Lane. From this it fell out that many people of the amateur detective variety investigated this quarter, especially at night, but without being much or any the wiser. Yet, indirectly, one of them did better than he knew, for from him a certain human wreck, to whom a doorway in Chancery Lane was a frequent refuge, learned of the disappearance of Morris Thornton. Inquiring with great earnestness what was the date of Thornton's disappearance, he was informed that it was Friday, July 30th. It was now Friday, August 13th.
"That is exactly a fortnight ago," said the wreck, with an unmistakable note of exultation in his voice. "The very night—the very night," he muttered, but so indistinctly that the other could not catch the words.
"What is it you say?" he asked, but the wreck declined to satisfy his curiosity.
"Oh, nothing—nothing at all," he replied.
"Did you happen to be here in this street that night?" inquired the other, suspiciously.
"Yes, I was."
"And did you see any thing or any one?"
"I saw nothing—I saw nobody," said the wreck, promptly.
But next morning he had a different story to tell.