"Ah!—he mentioned that, did he?" asked Wedgwood. "Trust, eh?"
"He did say 'I suppose she's to be trusted not to let it out of her hands?' when I told him I should have to give part of his manuscript to Miss Callender. Of course, I assured him he could trust her as he would trust me."
"Then there evidently was something of a secret nature about the work," said Wedgwood. "Well, ma'am, I think it's very obvious that the man who murdered him did so in order to get possession of the manuscript. And—he's got it! Now we've got to find—him!"
He went away on that, and after a brief look-in at the police-station close by, boarded a bus and journeyed to Paddington. And during his half-hour's journey Wedgwood occupied himself in speculating on his chances of bringing Wraypoole's assailant to justice. It was too soon to say whether they were good or bad, but of one thing he was already certain: this was no ordinary case of murder. But that it was murder, and intentional murder, there was no doubt. At first, Wedgwood had thought that possibly there had been no intent; that Wraypoole's assailant had merely meant to stun him in order to rob him of the manuscript. But the doctors had pointed out that Wraypoole had been struck again and again; there was
