want it to get out, yet awhile, anyway. Now, do you know the address of this man's brother—Thomas, I think you said?"
"Thomas: no, I don't. He has a business—a shop, I fancy—in the Wandsworth district, but that's all I know. I should have thought he would have turned up here—he must have seen the news in the papers."
"Not been here yet, nor communicated with us in any way," remarked Wedgwood. "The inquest'll be opened to-morrow afternoon—if we don't get hold of this brother, I suppose you can identify the body?"
"I can, of course. But Thomas Wraypoole will surely come forward! As far as my recollection goes, John told me, more than once, that there were just the two of them—and both bachelors. You could get Thomas Wraypoole's address out of the directory, you know."
"Just going to look for it," answered Wedgwood, and turned to a bulky volume ranged with other books of reference on an adjacent shelf, "Wandsworth, you say? Um!—well, I suppose this is the man. Thomas Wraypoole, oil and colour merchant, 1023 Wandsworth Road. I'll get on the telephone to him."
Thomas Wraypoole, however, was not to be got at—just then, at any rate. His manager, answering Wedgwood's call, said that Mr.
