The fog had thinned to a mere haze when the porter admitted me at the Inner Temple Gate, so that, as I passed the Cloisters and looked through into Pump-court I could see the lighted windows of the residents’ chambers at the far end. The sight of them encouraged me to hope that the chambers in King’s Bench-walk might throw out a similar hopeful gleam. Nor was I disappointed; and the warm glow from the windows of No. 5a sent me tripping up the stairs profoundly relieved, though a trifle abashed at the untimely hour of my visit.
The door was opened by Thorndyke himself, who instantly cut short my apologies.
“Nonsense, Gray!” he exclaimed, shaking my hand. “It is no interruption at all. On the contrary, how beautiful upon the staircase are the feet of him that bringeth—well, what sort of ti
