“Quiet!” exclaimed the man. “Lord bless you the place is like a cemetery for the deaf and dumb. There’s the solicitors on the ground floor and the architects on the first floor. They both clear out about six, and when they’re gone the house is as empty as a blown hegg. I don’t wonder poor Mr. Blackmore made away with his-self. Livin’ up there all alone, it must have been like Robinson Crusoe without no man Friday and not even a blooming goat to talk to. Quiet! It’s quiet enough, if that’s what you want. Wouldn’t be no good to me .”

With a contemptuous shake of the head, he turned and retired down the next flight, and, as the echoes of his footsteps died away we resumed our ascent.

“So it would appear,” Thorndyke commented, “that when Jeffrey Blackmore came home that last evening, the house was empty.”