"Yes; I shall report to him. And in the mean time these chambers must be closed up and sealed. The inspector will no doubt come and examine everything in them. This is the usual procedure. And of course there will be a coroner's inquest. Nothing more can be done at present, I think. Please sir, do not touch the body," he added, speaking to the doctor, who was scrutinizing it carefully.
"If I went to Scotland Yard, should I find the inspector in?" asked Gilbert.
"You'll find him there at 2.30."
"And there is nothing more that can be done just now?"
"Nothing."
Leaving Silwood's chambers in the charge of the policeman, who had now been reinforced by the arrival of two other constables, the two Eversleighs, the doctor, the locksmith, and the porter filed out of the chamber of mystery and death. As they entered the court of Stone Buildings, they saw that little knots of people had collected, who were discussing something that evidently was unusually interesting. The fact was that the porter, on his way for the doctor and the policeman, had let fall hints of what had been found. The Eversleighs were asked by some gentlemen of the long robe, whom they knew, what was the truth of the matter, and they put before them the bare facts. But the porter and the locksmith were not so reticent. The former gossiped freely, but not without a fitting sense of the greatness of the occasion. The latter went into Chancery Lane by the iron-gated footway leading from the court of Stone Buildings and saw a crowd gathered on the pavement opposite the windows of Cooper Silwood's chambers. Already it had been spread abroad that these chambers had been the scene of some astounding tragedy. The locksmith, on being asked by some one in the crowd if he could throw any light on the subject, forthwith poured forth all he knew, declaring that undoubtedly Morris Thornton, whose dead body had been discovered in Silwood's room, had been foully murdered. And when the rumour ran that it was the body of the Missing Millionaire, of whom everybody had heard, the excitement rose to fever heat in the crowd.
A passing reporter, on the staff of one of the evening papers, saw the crowd, and was soon in possession of the pith of the news, but desirous of getting the fullest particulars, he sought out the locksmith, who told him the whole story, again reiterating his conviction that there had been a murder of the blackest kind.
Thus it was the locksmith's idea of what had happened that coloured the tone of the papers that evening, all of whom made the most of "The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn" and "The Murder of the Missing Millionaire," as they entitled it on their bills in the largest of capitals.
And the affair quickly created an extraordinary sensation.