We made our way across to the house indicated, the ground floor of which
was occupied by a solicitor's offices and was distinguished by a
good-sized brass plate. Although it had now been dark some time there
was no light on the lower stairs, but we encountered on the first-floor
landing a man who had just lit the lamp there. Thorndyke halted to
address him.

"Can you tell me who occupies the chambers on the third floor?"

"The third floor has been empty about three months," was the reply.

"We are going up to look at the chambers on the second floor," said
Thorndyke. "Are they pretty quiet?"

"Quiet!" exclaimed the man. "Lord bless you the place is like a cemetery
for the deaf and dumb. There's the solicitors on the ground floor and
the architects on the first floor. They both clear out about six, and
when they're gone the house is as empty as a blown hegg. I don't wonder
poor Mr. Blackmore made away with his-self. Livin' up there all alone,
it must have been like Robinson Crusoe without no man Friday and not
even a blooming goat to talk to. Quiet! It's quiet enough, if that's
what you want. Wouldn't be no good to me."

With a contemptuous shake of the head, he turned and retired down the
next flight, and, as the echoes of his footsteps died away we resumed
our ascent.

"So it would appear," Thorndyke commented, "that when Jeffrey Blackmore
came home that last evening, the house was empty."