“Oh, come in—you won’t hinder me,” returned Peace. “I can go on with my work, and you can have your say. Be seated.”
He handed his visitor a ricketty Windsor chair, which, to all appearance, had been put together in the last century.
Mr. Wrench sat down, and Peace, with his book of leaf gold in one hand and the pad in the other, went on with his work.
The detective cleared his throat, and then said, carelessly—
“I understand that you have visited a number of towns—of course you naturally would do so—in the exercise of your vocation. Am I right?”
“Yes; I’ve been about a goodish bit.”
“Oh, yes, so I hear. Well, now, I must be candid with you. I am in search of an Italian professor and his wife. The former was a teacher of music; but it is more than twenty years since anything has been heard of either.”
“Twenty years!” exclaimed Peace. “It is, then, not at all likely that I should know anything about them. I was but a child at that time.”
“True, but they may be alive now, you know.”
“Ah, that’s another matter. What might be the gentleman’s name?”