I told you that he'd been away from the warehouse a great deal lately, going out of a morning and not coming back till latish at night. Well, yesterday morning he went out soon after breakfast, as had become pretty usual, but last night he never came in. This morning a man named Gregson came to the warehouse. He's a chap I've seen before now and then—I think he's had a similar business down Whitechapel way. He asked to see the housekeeper. I took him up to the living-rooms and called her. Then he told me that Mr. Wraypoole had sold him the business, stock, private furniture, everything in the place, and produced a receipt for the lot."
"How much had been paid?" asked Wedgwood quickly.
"Three hundred pounds," answered Stainsby. "I noticed that—I took care to glance at the figures."
"From what you know," said Wedgwood, "would that be a reasonable figure?"
"I should think not!" exclaimed Stainsby. "Giving it away, if you ask me! There's at least three hundred pounds worth of stuff in the warehouse now, and there's good furniture upstairs. I should think the furniture's worth three hundred."
