The day following, Gilbert had ample proof that he had set the ball rolling with a vengeance. Pressmen, it seemed to him, descended upon him from every quarter of the town, eager, clamorous, importunate, determined not to be sent empty away. But, after all, Gilbert had not much to tell them. They managed, notwithstanding, to write sensational and, for the most part, highly over-coloured articles round the missing man. One or two of the evening papers wrote leaders on the subject, and in many ways the public interest in Thornton's disappearance was excited to the highest pitch. For one thing, his wealth was exaggerated to such an extent that he was represented as a sort of colonial Croesus, and in London, and throughout the country, people talked of and speculated about the man now everywhere described as "The Missing Millionaire." Indeed, the reward of a thousand pounds was hardly needed to stimulate public curiosity and sympathy and activity. High and low, rich and poor, the man of Mayfair and the man of Whitechapel, conversed about it with the same relish, the same wonder. The man in the street, shopmen, clerks, labourers, even beggars and outcasts, all heard of the mysterious disappearance of Thornton, and were all anxious to know the explanation of so extraordinary a thing. In brief, it was the one topic of the moment. And the offer of the large reward was not without a certain effect. It had become a matter of general knowledge that Morris Thornton, on leaving the Law Courts Hotel, told the porter there that he was going for a stroll along Holborn and probably up and down Chancery Lane. From this it fell out that many people of the amateur detective variety investigated this quarter, especially at night, but without being much or any the wiser. Yet, indirectly, one of them did better than he knew, for from him a certain human wreck, to whom a doorway in Chancery Lane was a frequent refuge, learned of the disappearance of Morris Thornton. Inquiring with great earnestness what was the date of Thornton's disappearance, he was informed that it was Friday, July 30th. It was now Friday, August 13th. "That is exactly a fortnight ago," said the wreck, with an unmistakable note of exultation in his voice. "The very night--the very night," he muttered, but so indistinctly that the other could not catch the words. "What is it you say?" he asked, but the wreck declined to satisfy his curiosity. "Oh, nothing--nothing at all," he replied. "Did you happen to be here in this street that night?" inquired the other, suspiciously. "Yes, I was." "And did you see any thing or any one?" "I saw nothing--I saw nobody," said the wreck, promptly. But next morning he had a different story to tell.