"You are a man of resource," he said. "I perceive that you intend henceforth to act sensibly." Minute after minute passed, and there was no sign of any person leaving or entering Mr. Dowsett's house. Every now and then I consulted my watch. Two o'clock--a quarter-past two--half-past. I began to grow impatient, but, to please Devlin, did not exhibit it. Perfect silence reigned between us; we exchanged not a word. Time waned, and now I more frequently looked at my watch, the hands of which were drawing on to three. They reached the hour and passed it. A quarter-past three. Perplexed and disappointed, I debated on my next move. I soon decided what it should be. I had promised Richard Carton that I would call upon him. I would do so now. If Mr. Dowsett was at home, all the better. I made Devlin acquainted with my resolve, and he said, "Very good; I will go with you." Removing the chair I had placed against the handle of the door, we went from the public-house and crossed the road. I knocked at Mr. Dowsett's door, and a maidservant answered the summons. "Does Mr. Kenneth Dowsett live here?" "Yes, sir." "Is he at home?" "No, sir." "Is Mr. Richard Carton in?" "Yes, sir." "Give him my card, and say I wish to see him." "Will you please walk this way, sir?" said the maidservant. She ushered us into the dining-room, where she left us alone while she went to apprise Richard Carton of my visit. The room was exceedingly well furnished. Good pictures were on the walls, and there was a tasteful arrangement of bric-a-brac and bronzes. I had no time for further observation, the entrance of Richard Carton claiming my attention. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "you have come. I was beginning to be afraid you would disappoint me." "You delivered my letter to my wife?" I asked. "Yes, and the desk. My guardian wanted to persuade me to leave it till this morning, but I would not." "You were quite right." He looked towards Devlin. "A friend," I said, waving my hand as a kind of introduction, "who may be of assistance to us." "But introduce us plainly," expostulated Devlin. "Mr. Devlin," I said, "Mr. Richard Carton." They shook hands, and then Carton inquired whether I had anything to tell him. "Nothing tangible," I replied, "but we are on the road." "Yes," repeated Devlin, "we are on the road." "Excuse me for asking," said Carton to Devlin, "but are you a detective?" "In a spiritual way," said Devlin. Carton's mind was too deeply occupied with the one supreme subject of the murder to ask for an explanation of this enigmatical reply. He turned towards me. "Is your guardian in?" I inquired. "No," said Carton. What should I say next? It would have been folly to make Richard Carton a participant in the strange revelations which were directing my proceedings. "Can you tell me," I asked, "where Athelstan Road is?" "It is in Margate," he replied, in a tone of surprise, "and the number is 28."