dress, I think, ma'am?" he said. "I shall go along there. This manuscript, now, that was brought you to type?—did he give you to understand that it was at all valuable?"
"He said nothing about that," replied Miss Tandy. "His only concern was about it being done—typed, you know—by a certain hour tomorrow."
"He didn't suggest that it was something—shall we say important?"
"Important that the typed copy should be finished," said Miss Tandy. "Not of special importance in any other way, that I know of."
"Did you look it over?" asked Wedgwood.
"I just glanced it over. It was of the sort that I'd done before for him—genealogical stuff, pedigrees, and so forth."
"Just another question," said Wedgwood. "He didn't give you the impression of being in any fear of anything?—of being followed by anybody, for instance?"
"Oh, dear me, no!" exclaimed Miss Tandy. "He was quite ordinary—a quiet, well-spoken man—quite a gentleman, in fact—very good manners. No!—the only thing he was in any way what you might call anxious about was that I should do the work myself, or be helped with it by somebody I could trust."
