"That you were on the wrong tack! The police, he said, had a genius for that sort of thing———"
"Did he say what he thought was the right one?" asked Wedgwood. "That's more to the point!"
"He didn't! But he did tell me this—if it's any use to you. He said that he himself had a very good idea indeed as to who it was that actually killed his brother, but that he was so convinced that it would be utterly and absolutely impossible to prove it that he wasn't going to say anything. It was one of those murders, he said, the secret of which never would be discovered."
Wedgwood turned towards the staircase.
"Oh!" he said dryly. "Well, I'm not of his opinion, Mr. Gregson. And if I am on the wrong tack, the best thing I can do is to hit the right one. Now I'll just have a look round."
"You'll find it a bit untidy up there, I fear," said Gregson. "That hussy went off leaving the rooms anyhow."
Wedgwood went up the stairs, wondering about certain of the things the new occupant of the premises had just said, and particularly about Thomas Wraypoole's remarks as to himself. He turned into what was evidently the principal sitting-room of the place and looked
