he went on. "Closed, and Wraypoole not at home."
Stainsby was watching the detective in the same enquiring fashion as the housekeeper.
"Yes?" he said. Then, as if volunteering valuable information, he added. "He's out a good deal now—never knew him to be out so much!"
Wedgwood looked the apprentice up and down, considering him.
"Look here, my lad!" he said suddenly. "You've still got some suspicion about your master, haven't you? You had when you came to see me, you know!"
"I thought there were suspicious circumstances then, Mr. Wedgwood, and I think so now!" answered Stainsby. "Haven't changed my opinion—at all!"
"But you don't know any more?" suggested the detective. "You were to come and tell me if you found anything out—anything new."
"I can't say there's anything new," replied Stainsby. "Nothing positive! There's one thing I've noticed, though. Ever since that happened, Wraypoole's paid less and less attention to his business. He's left nearly everything to me. He's always out—most of the day he's out. And him and the housekeeper's out a good deal at nights, now—evenings, I mean.
