"It is your son. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. ” “The inference is, then,” the detective said smoothly, “that this man obtained admission to your rooms by means of a false key, that he burnt some papers here and shot himself within a few moments of your return. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. You’ll need that. \"Thanks for coming. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. By the by, my dear, I forgot to ask your name—perhaps you'll oblige me with it now? Hell and the devil!—gone!" He looked around in vain. He continued thoughtfully.
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