"No," I replied--for it was I who had asked the questions to which she had replied--"I was not acquainted with him."
"What name did she say?" asked Bob, in a whisper.
Bob caught his breath, and said, "That's strange! It is the name of the gentleman who put into our hands No. 79 Lamb's Terrace."
"There is the connection, Bob," I said. "What do you say now to the spectral cat and its having urged us to come to this fire?"
"What can I say, except that it is most bewildering and mysterious?"
"Do you think I am still laboring under a delusion?"
"It was not without a motive," I said, "that I asked your nephew this evening whether he believed that a man who is not interested in something which, to make myself fairly clear, I called a crime, might receive a spiritual visitation which compelled him to take an active part in its discovery. His reply was that he did believe such a thing could be. I believe it, too, more than ever now, after this strange fire; and I believe, also, that there is a crime involved in it, and that I--whether by design or accident I will not pretend to say--shall be instrumental in its discovery. My memory does not deceive me, does it, Bob? You told me yesterday that the gentleman who has met his death in that fire, Mr. Alfred Warner, when he placed 79 Lamb's Terrace in your employer's hands to let, did not mention the name of his last tenant."
"Yes, I told you so," Bob answered, "and there seemed to be no reason why we should ask for it."
"So that it is probable," I continued, "that there is not a disinterested person in London to whom we could go to obtain the name of the last tenant."
I looked at my watch. It was ten o'clock. "If we went to your nephew's house, do you think we should find him up?"
"I am going there, Bob. I have a question to ask him."
He put no opposition in my way. A kind of stupefaction appeared to have come over him. We drove to the residence of Ronald Elsdale, and found him up; his mother had gone to bed. As we entered his room, I observed again an uneasy expression flash into his face, and I saw his blind eyes turn toward the spectral cat.
I left it to Bob to reply, and he said, "Only ourselves."
"It is very odd," said Ronald, "but I have the same impression that I had when I entered my uncle's room this evening, that there is somebody or something else present. It is useless trying to account for it." Then he asked, "Is there anything you wish to know?"