He made off to the county police-station, and Maisie and Tom and I went on to our house, and were presently inside.  My mother was so relieved at the sight of me that she forbore to scold me at that time for going off on such an errand without telling her of my business; but she grew white as her cap when I told her of what I had chanced on, and she glanced at the stair and shook her head.

“And indeed I wish that poor man had never come here, if it’s this sort of dreadfulness follows him!” she said.  “And though I was slow to say it, Hugh, I always had a feeling of mystery about him.  However, he’s gone now—­and died that suddenly and quietly!—­and we’ve laid him out in his bed; and—­and—­what’s to be done now?” she exclaimed.  “We don’t know who he is!”

“Don’t trouble yourself, mother,” said I.  “You’ve done your duty by him.  And now that you’ve seen I’m safe, I’m away to bring Mr. Lindsey down and he’ll tell us all that should be done.”

I left Maisie and Tom Dunlop keeping my mother company and made haste to Mr. Lindsey’s house, and after a little trouble roused him out of his bed and got him down to me.  It was nearly daylight by that time, and the grey morning was breaking over the sea and the river as he and I walked back through the empty streets—­I telling him of all the events of the night, and he listening with an occasional word of surprise.  He was not a native of our parts, but a Yorkshireman that had bought a practice in the town some years before, and had gained a great character for shrewdness and ability, and I knew that he was the very man to turn to in an affair of this sort.

“There’s a lot more in this than’s on the surface, Hugh, my lad,” he remarked when I had made an end of my tale.  “And it’ll be a nice job to find out all the meaning of it, and if the man that’s been murdered was the man Gilverthwaite sent you to meet, or if he’s some other that got there before you, and was got rid of for some extraordinary reason that we know nothing about.  But one thing’s certain:  we’ve got to get some light on your late lodger.  That’s step number one—­and a most important one.”

The superintendent of police, Mr. Murray, a big, bustling man, was outside our house with Chisholm when we got there, and after a word or two between us, we went in, and were presently upstairs in Gilverthwaite’s room.  He lay there in his bed, the sheet drawn about him and a napkin over his face; and though the police took a look at him, I kept away, being too much upset by the doings of the night to stand any more just then.  What I was anxious about was to get some inkling of what all this meant, and I waited impatiently to see what Mr. Lindsey would do.  He was looking about the room, and when the others turned away from the dead man he pointed to Gilverthwaite’s clothes, that were laid tidily folded on a chair.

“The first thing to do is to search for his papers and his keys,” he said.  “Go carefully through his pockets, sergeant, and let’s see what there is.”