Well, that was a serious offence; he'd get him for that, anyhow, if he could only catch him. But this wife—who was she? Thinking that the housekeeper, turned over to Gregson with Stainsby and the furniture, might know, he went down the road to the warehouse.
The door of the warehouse was open, and a tall, somewhat distracted-looking man, in a much-stained overall, was standing in the middle of the floor, glancing around at the various goods as if either estimating their worth or thinking that they needed more orderly arrangement.
"Mr. Gregson?" enquired Wedgwood.
"That's me, sir—what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?" asked the new occupant. "Bit out of order here, yet, sir—I only came into possession yesterday."
Before answering Wedgwood looked about him. He expected to see Stainsby, but Stainsby was not visible. He went closer to Gregson and gave him a look which implied a desire for confidence.
"You bought this business from Thomas Wraypoole, Mr. Gregson, didn't you?" he said. "Can you tell me where Thomas Wraypoole is?"
"Not the least idea, sir! He mentioned to me once that he thought of taking up an agency
