“I understand. Agreed,” called Kent. “To-morrow morning, then.”
And he walked, whistling a melancholious theme, to the platform. Another whistle answered his. It was that of his train, disappearing around the curve a mile down the track.
Belated, but elated, Kent, after some inquiries, reached his destination by an intricate exchange of trolley lines, and went direct to Cambridge. He found his friend, one of the finest and profoundest philosophers of his time, sitting in a closed house over a game of that form of solitaire appropriately denominated “Idiot’s Delight.”
“Very soothing to the mind,” murmured the professor, after welcoming his guest. “So many matters turn out wrong in this world that one finds relief in a problem which usually turns out right.”
“I’ve a little problem of my own which may or may not turn out right,” said Kent, “and I want your help.”
“It is long since you have done me the honor to consult me,” said the old scholar, smiling. “Not, indeed, since the instance of the cabinet member who was obsessed with a maniacal hatred of apples.”
“Without you, I should never have so much as approached the solution of Mr. Carolan’s recall,” returned Kent. “But this present affair calls for aid, not advice.”
“Either is equally at your service,” replied the philosopher courteously.
Kent outlined the case to him.
“You see,” he said, “there is an obvious connection between the unknown body on the beach, and the Blair tragedy.”