Wraypoole had gone out just after nine o'clock that morning and had not yet returned; he had no idea where he had gone, nor when he would be back. And Wedgwood, after a few more words with the second-hand bookseller, went off, it being now past one o'clock, to get his dinner and to reflect over it on the events of the morning.
Those reflections led him at the conclusion of his meal in the direction of Porteous Road—he wanted to make a thorough examination of the murdered man's room, and of his papers. But when he presented himself at Mrs. Creech's door, the landlady as if divining his purpose, gave him a significant look.
"If you've come—as you said you would—to go through his things, mister," she announced, "you're too late! His own brother came this morning, early—leastways, before ten o'clock—and he's been in his room ever since, and has only just gone. He's taken a lot of things—papers and such like—away with him in a taxi-cab, and he's locked up all the rest—indeed, he's locked up the room, and I've strict orders not to let anybody enter—not even you, which I told him you'd been last night. He was very particular about it—not a soul to be permitted to enter!"
Wedgwood said nothing for awhile. He was
