Francis Eversleigh bowed to the wreck, who had once been a gentleman.
"I am Francis Eversleigh," he said; "this is my son Gilbert. You have something to tell us?" he suggested.
"Yes; but first I wish to say that my information by itself may not be of much use. Still, I think it may put you on the track. If that is the case, I wish you to promise me that I shall have some share of the reward."
"That will be only fair."
"Mr. Thornton," said the wreck, without further preface, "disappeared on the night of Friday, July 30th. He went out for a stroll in Holborn, and was to go into Chancery Lane. I was in Chancery Lane that night, and I saw something that struck me as very curious."
The wreck paused impressively.
"What was it you saw?" asked Gilbert.
"I saw a man," responded the wreck—"some sort of workman he appeared to be from his dress—come out of the iron gate, the small iron gate at the north-east corner of this Inn—Lincoln's Inn."
"But it's always kept locked at night," objected Francis Eversleigh.
"It was unlocked that night, at any rate," observed the wreck. "I heard the sound—it was a low sound, but the night was very still—of the unlocking. I saw the man lock the gate again, and he looked round him like a man afraid of being spied upon. He did not see me, for I was in the shadow of a doorway. He seemed to me to be rather flurried. Presently he walked rapidly away. I thought it very strange that a workman should have the key of the gate and at such an hour. I wondered what it could mean, but I might have forgotten all about it if the same man had not returned. He had not been gone for more than half an hour when back he came, unlocked the gate, and passed on within. I spent the night in the doorway, but he did not appear again. Very remarkable, was it not?" asked the wreck.