and dead woman lay. "One of these two was the actual murderer of John Wraypoole! One—but even now I don't know which!"
And in that uncertainty Wedgwood remained for some time. But months later, when the Mortover Grange affair had been relegated to the usual fate of all nine days' wonders, and Avice Mortover had been established in her property and had married Nottidge, the detective, chancing to meet Mr. Patello in Bloomsbury, took him into the police-station, and after a little desultory chat about nothing, showed him some curiosities of criminal association, and amongst them a billhook.
"Ever seen anything like that, Mr. Patello?" he asked. "Look at it!"
Mr. Patello handled the thing with faint curiosity.
"Well, I don't know, sir," he answered. "Wood-chopper, of course. And very like one that somebody stole from my wood-shed last year. Any particular interest attached to it, sir?"
"Oh, nothing much!" replied Wedgwood. "A man was murdered with it—that's all!"
