His next visit was to Messrs. Tinsley & Sharpe, the Lincoln’s Inn solicitors. Mr. Tinsley was the sole surviving partner, and to him French was presently admitted. It appeared that Mr. Duke had left everything to Sylvia, “Though, poor girl,” Mr. Tinsley added, “by all accounts that won’t be much.” Mr. Tinsley was executor, therefore any further dealings French might have about the robbery would be with him. Mr. Duke and he had been old friends; in fact, he had been Mr. Duke’s best man, he didn’t like to think how many years previously. He had been shocked by the change in the old gentleman when three days prior to his death he had called to see him. He seemed ill and depressed, and had said, “I’m not feeling well, Tinsley. It’s my heart, I’m afraid, and this confounded worry about money matters,” and had gone on to obtain the solicitor’s promise to look after Sylvia “if anything happened.” “In the light of what has since taken place,” Mr. Tinsley concluded, “I am afraid he had made up his mind then that suicide was the easiest way out, though I was terribly surprised and shocked when I heard of it.” “I am sure of that, sir,” French answered as he rose to go. “Then if any further developments occur about the robbery, I shall communicate with you.” He returned to the Yard, made his report, and when he had attended to a number of routine matters, found it was time to knock off work for the day. CHAPTER XV THE HOUSE IN ST. JOHN’S WOOD IT was one of Inspector French’s most constant grumbles that a man in his position was never off duty. He might come home after a hard day’s work looking forward to a long, lazy, delightful evening with a pipe and a book, and before he had finished supper some development at headquarters might upset all his plans and drag him off forthwith to do battle with the enemies of his country’s laws. Not for him was the eight-hour day, overtime at high rates, “on call” or country allowances, expenses. . . . His portion was to get his work done, or take the consequences in lack of promotion or even loss of such position as he held. “And no thanks for what you carry off either,” he would complain, “though if you make a slip you hear about it before you’re an hour older.” But his eye would twinkle as he said it, and most of his friends knew that Mr. Inspector French was making an exceedingly good thing out of his job, and was, moreover, destined by his superiors for even greater and more remunerative responsibilities in the early future. But on this evening his grouse was illustrated, if not justified. Scarcely had he sat down to his meal when a ring came to the door, and he was told that Constable Caldwell wished to speak to him. “Let him wait,” Mrs. French answered before her better half could speak. “Show him into the sitting-room, Eliza, and give him the evening paper.” French half rose, then sank back into his seat.