"Here's the place," he said, "a corner shop. The shed, of course, will be somewhere behind."
Viner looked with interest at the refuge which Hyde had chosen after his hurried flight from the scene of the murder. A shabby looking street ran down from the corner of the greengrocer's shop; the first twenty yards of it on that side were filled with palings, more or less broken and dilapidated; behind them lay a yard in which stood a van, two or three barrows, a collection of boxes and baskets and crates, and a lean-to shed, built against the wall of the adjoining house. The door of this yard hung loosely on its rusty hinges; Viner saw at once that nothing could be easier than for a man to slip into this miserable shelter unseen.
"Let's get hold of the tenant," he said. "Better show him your card, and then he'll know we're on professional business."
The greengrocer, a dull-looking fellow who was measuring potatoes, showed no great interest on hearing what his callers wanted. Summoning his wife to mind the shop, he led Viner and Felpham round to the yard and opened the door of the shed. This was as untidy as the yard, and filled with a similar collection of boxes, baskets and crates. In one corner lay a bundle of empty potato sacks—the greengrocer at once pointed to it.
"I reckon that's where the fellow got a bit of a sleep that night," he said. "There was nothing to prevent him getting in here—no locks or bolts on either gate of the yard or that door. He may have been in here many a night, for all I know."
"Where did you find those valuables this morning?" asked Viner.
