“No, sir,” replied the grinning damsel.  “Dr. Thorndyke is hout.”

“Hout!” I repeated (my surprise leading to unintentional mimicry).

“Yes, sir.  He went hout soon after you, sir, on his bicycle.  He had a basket strapped on to it—­leastways a hamper—­and he borrowed a basin and a kitchen-spoon from the cook.”

I stared at the girl in astonishment.  The ways of John Thorndyke were, indeed, beyond all understanding.

“Well, let me have some dinner or supper at once,” I said, “and I will see what the sergeant wants.”

The officer rose as I entered the surgery, and, laying his helmet on the table, approached me with an air of secrecy and importance.

“Well, sir,” said he, “the fat’s in the fire.  I’ve arrested Mr. Draper, and I’ve got him locked up in the court-house.  But I wish it had been someone else.”

“So does he, I expect,” I remarked.

“You see, sir,” continued the sergeant, “we all like Mr. Draper.  He’s been among us a matter of seven years, and he’s like one of ourselves.  However, what I’ve come about is this; it seems the gentleman who was with you this evening is Dr. Thorndyke, the great expert.  Now Mr. Draper seems to have heard about him, as most of us have, and he is very anxious for him to take up the defence.  Do you think he would consent?”

“I expect so,” I answered, remembering Thorndyke’s keen interest in the case; “but I will ask him when he comes in.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the sergeant.  “And perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping round to the court-house presently yourself.  He looks uncommon queer, does Mr. Draper, and no wonder, so I’d like you to take a look at him, and if you could bring Dr. Thorndyke with you, he’d like it, and so should I, for, I assure you, sir, that although a conviction would mean a step up the ladder for me, I’d be glad enough to find that I’d made a mistake.”

I was just showing my visitor out when a bicycle swept in through the open gate, and Thorndyke dismounted at the door, revealing a square hamper—­evidently abstracted from the surgery—­strapped on to a carrier at the back.  I conveyed the sergeant’s request to him at once, and asked if he was willing to take up the case.

“As to taking up the defence,” he replied, “I will consider the matter; but in any case I will come up and see the prisoner.”

With this the sergeant departed, and Thorndyke, having unstrapped the hamper with as much care as if it contained a collection of priceless porcelain, bore it tenderly up to his bedroom; whence he appeared, after a considerable interval, smilingly apologetic for the delay.

“I thought you were dressing for dinner,” I grumbled as he took his seat at the table.

“No,” he replied.  “I have been considering this murder.  Really it is a most singular case, and promises to be uncommonly complicated, too.”

“Then I assume that you will undertake the defence?”