already made up his mind as to what he was going to do, Wedgwood went in and ascertaining that the woman was Mrs. Chipchase, asked her for a private interview on business.
Mrs. Chipchase, somewhat surprised, ushered her visitor into a tea-parlour at the back of the shop; Wedgwood examined it with interest as the scene of Wraypoole's talk with the queer woman of Mortover Grange. It was just the sort of place for a secret conference—quiet, dark, shut off. He turned to the confectioner who was regarding him with a wondering enquiry.
"You don't know me, of course, ma'am," he said politely. "I'll tell you who I am and why I'm here in a minute—in strict confidence. But first of all I daresay you've read in the newspapers about a certain affair in London which has come to be known as the Handel Street murder? I thought you would!" he added, as Mrs. Chipchase nodded assent. "Well, ma'am, I'm the detective officer—Detective-Sergeant Wedgwood—in charge of the investigations relating to that case. I've come here as a result of those investigations, and I think you can tell me something."
Mrs. Chipchase stared at him in amazement.
"Lor' bless you, mister!" she exclaimed
