The little man smiled a quaint, crinkly smile of gratification as he explained: 

“I happened to look out of the laboratory window as you turned the corner, sir.”

“How disappointingly simple,” said Jervis.  “We were hoping for something abstruse and telepathic.”

“Simplicity is the soul of efficiency, sir,” replied Polton as he checked the tea-service to make sure that nothing was forgotten, and with this remarkable aphorism he silently evaporated.

“To return to the Bellingham case,” said Thorndyke, when he had poured out the tea.  “Have you picked up any facts relating to the parties—­any facts, I mean, of course, that it would be proper for you to mention?”

“I have learned one or two things that there is no harm in repeating.  For instance, I gather that Godfrey Bellingham—­my patient—­lost all his property quite suddenly about the time of the disappearance.”

“That is really odd,” said Thorndyke.  “The opposite condition would be quite understandable, but one doesn’t see exactly how this can have happened, unless there was an allowance of some sort.”

“No, that was what struck me.  But there seem to be some queer features in the case, and the legal position is evidently getting complicated.  There is a will, for example, which is giving trouble.”

“They will hardly be able to administer the will without either proof or presumption of death,” Thorndyke remarked.

“Exactly.  That’s one of the difficulties.  Another is that there seems to be some fatal defect in the drafting of the will itself.  I don’t know what it is, but I expect I shall hear sooner or later.  By the way, I mentioned the interest that you had taken in the case, and I think Bellingham would have liked to consult you, but, of course, the poor devil has no money.”

“That is awkward for him if the other interested parties have.  There will probably be legal proceedings of some kind, and as the law takes no account of poverty, he is likely to go to the wall.  He ought to have advice of some sort.”

“I don’t see how he is to get it,” said I.

“Neither do I,” Thorndyke admitted.  “There are no hospitals for impecunious litigants; it is assumed that only persons of means have a right to go to law.  Of course, if we knew the man and the circumstances we might be able to help him; but, for all we know to the contrary, he may be an arrant scoundrel.”

I recalled the strange conversation that I had overheard, and wondered what Thorndyke would have thought of it if it had been allowable for me to repeat it.  Obviously it was not, however, and I could only give my own impressions.

“He doesn’t strike me as that,” I said; “but, of course, one never knows.  Personally, he impressed me rather favourably, which is more than the other man did.”

“What other man?” asked Thorndyke.

“There was another man in the case, wasn’t there?  I forget his name.  I saw him at the house and didn’t much like the look of him.  I suspect he’s putting some sort of pressure on Bellingham.”