here—and found Mr. Wraypoole . . . as you have seen him!"
"How long were you away, Miss Tandy?" asked Wedgwood imperturbably.
"Twelve to fifteen minutes," replied the typist. "A quarter of an hour at the very outside."
"Did you see anybody leaving the flats as you entered—when you came back?"
"No—no one!"
"Are those street doors always open—as we found them just now?"
"Always—until eleven o'clock."
"Then anyone can walk in, and up the stairs?"
"Oh, certainly!"
"Did you leave your door open when you went off to Miss Callender's?"
"Yes—I left it ajar. It was like that when I came back."
Wedgwood, who had been making shorthand notes, closed his pocket-book and put it away. He suddenly turned again to Miss Tandy.
"Where," he asked sharply, "is the manuscript this man brought to you?"
Miss Tandy pointed to the door of the parlour.
"He laid it on my desk," she answered. "It should be on the blotting-pad."
