answered Miss Tandy. "Perhaps ten minutes to—perhaps a quarter to. Of course, I didn't know him. When I opened the door to him, he told me who he was—Mr. John Wraypoole, for whom I'd done work now and then. I asked him into my parlour, and he told me that he'd come personally to see if I could type two copies—one a duplicate—of a certain manuscript, which he'd brought with him, by three o'clock to-morrow afternoon. I said that depended on its length and nature. He showed me the manuscript. It was of the usual pedigree stuff—stiff work. I said I couldn't possibly do it in the time named. He implored me to try, and offered me double prices. He was so insistent that I said I'd see if I could get assistance. So I went out to see a friend of mine, a few doors away, who is also a professional typist. Mr. Wraypoole, of course, stayed here: I left him sitting at my desk in the parlour, reading. I went to my friend's———"
"Her name and address, ma'am, if you please," interrupted the detective.
"Miss Amy Callender, Number 6 Flat, Number 8 House," said Miss Tandy. "That's on the opposite side. I arranged with her to help me; we decided that we could manage the job by the specified time. Then I came back
