the fact that by John's death Thomas came into a nice little property, easily realizable at a time when, according to Stainsby, business was not over good with him. Altogether, thought Wedgwood, there was a certain amount of presumptive evidence against Thomas to warant. . . .
But there he stopped dead—as in every other passage of this case, he found a blank wall confronting him. He knew nothing conclusive. Suspicion, after all, he said to himself, is but suspicion, it isn't evidence. Evidence was what he wanted, even if nothing but circumstantial, and in the hope of getting something to add to his store he presently went off to the bank in Wandsworth Road and asked for an interview with its manager.
In the course of his professional career Wedgwood had more than once had occasion to interview bank managers and he was well acquainted with the fact that there is nothing to be extracted from them in respect to their customers unless very serious reason is adduced. This particular manager opened his eyes when Wedgwood explained the why and wherefore of his visit, and from a certain expression in his face the detective surmised that Thomas Wraypoole's recent doings had roused suspicion in other breasts than his own.
