"It's of John Wraypoole that I want to tell you, sir," continued Wedgwood. "And Thomas Wraypoole's name will come in. John Wraypoole was down here lately, Mr. Umpeltye; he stayed some days at the Ram Hotel."
"He never came to see me," said the old man. "I never heard of his being here, either. But tell me your tale."
Wedgwood went on, epitomizing his story. He soon discovered that Mr. Umpeltye however interested he was in matters of the past had precious little in affairs of the present—so little, indeed, that he had never heard of the Handel Street murder.
"I never read that sort of thing in the newspaper, he observed. "Indeed, I read the newspapers very little. So John Wraypoole has been murdered, eh! And—had his recent visit here any relation to his murder?"
Wedgwood replied that that was just what he wanted to find out, and went on with his details until he came to the visit to the police-station of Avice Mortover. The old man started.
"Avice—Avice Mortover!" he exclaimed. "Aye—Avice was always a favourite name for the Mortover women! A girl in London, earning her own living, and calling herself Avice Mortover, eh?" He gave the detective a searching look, and became even more deeply
