He had ascertained that she was known as Mrs. Mumms, that she was a widow, with a son and a daughter. The son was shopboy to a greengrocer in Jermyn-street, the daughter was in service in one of the western suburbs—Richmond or Twickenham it was said—but there was no positive certainty as to this.
Mr. Wrench elected to try the son, to begin with. He went to the greengrocer’s where he worked, and bought some fruit, had the satisfaction of seeing the lad in question, but he did not deem it advisable to make any inquiries of him at that time—he awaited a more fitting opportunity.
On the following morning he paced up and down Jermyn-street till he saw young Mumms come out with his basket on his arm.
Mr. Wrench waited till he came by his side, then he said—
“Hold hard for a moment—I want to ask you a question.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lad, coming to a halt.
“Do you happen to know the name Crowdace in this neighbourhood?”
“Can’t say I do. What street does he live in?”
“I have been told he lives in Ryle-street.”
“Don’t know the name.”