"Well, here's a question I want to put to you—you'll not understand it, but you can answer it—I'll see you lose nothing by any help you give me. Now, I daresay you've a fair lot of old wood knocking about that warehouse—casks, boxes, such like, eh? And no doubt some of it's used for firewood, what? Just so—now who chops it up for firewood?"
"I do!" replied Stainsby, obviously surprised. "Why, Mr. Wedgwood?"
"Part of your job, eh?" continued the detective. "All right! What do you chop it up with, now?"
"A hatchet," said Stainsby. "What else?"
"Do you know what a billhook is?"
"Yes! Seen men trimming hedgerows with 'em in the country."
"Have you ever seen one, an old one, lying about at Wraypoole's? Have you ever had one in use there? Do you know if he had such a thing?"
But Stainsby shook his head.
"No! We've a couple of old hatchets—square-headed choppers, you know—in the wood shed, but I've never seen a billhook there."
"Well—keep what I've asked you to yourself," said Wedgwood. "And look here—if anything occurs, if you hear anything, or see
