'This is the second time--and the same name still--Edmund Gray. It fills me with uneasiness--I am terrified, George. I know not what may be the next blow--what may be taken from me--my mortgages--my houses--my land--everything. Go. I can do the work of the office--all the work--by myself. But this work I cannot do. I am not able to think about it. These thoughts overpower me and cloud my reason.' 'Well,' said George, 'I will do what I can. I don't suppose there is any Edmund Gray at all: but one must try to find out. There can be no harm in paying a visit to Gray's Inn. If the thing had been done yesterday, it would be necessary to strike at once with a warrant for the arrest of the said Edmund Gray. As it is four months since the last robbery, there can be small harm in the delay of a day or two. I will go and inquire a little.' Nothing easier than to inquire. There was the man's address: everybody knows Gray's Inn: everybody knows South Square. The place is only ten minutes' walk from Lincoln's Inn. George took his hat, walked over and proceeded straight to No. 22, expecting to find no such name on the door-posts. On the contrary, there it was. '2nd Floor, Mr. Edmund Gray,' among the other occupants of the staircase. He mounted the stairs. On the second floor right was the name over the door, 'Mr. Edmund Gray.' But the outer door was closed. That is a sign that the tenant of the Chambers is either not at home or not visible. On the first floor were the offices of a Firm of Solicitors. He sent in his card. The name of Dering and Son commands the respectful attention of every solicitor in London. One of the partners received him. The firm of Dering and Son was anxious to see Mr. Edmund Gray, who had the Chambers overhead. At what hours was Mr. Edmund Gray generally in his rooms? Nobody knew, not either of the partners, not any of the clerks. He might have been met going up and down the stairs, but nobody knew him by sight or anything about him. This at first sight seemed suspicious; afterwards George reflected that men may live for years on the same staircase and never know anything about each other. Men who live in Gray's Inn do not visit each other: there is little neighbourly spirit among men in Chambers, but rather an unspoken distrust. 'But,' said the partner, 'I can tell you who is his landlord. He does not take the rooms of the Inn direct, but as we do, from one who has several sets on a long lease, and sublets the rooms. They may know something about the man at the Steward's office across the Square. If not, the landlord will certainly know.'