“It is not possible to say, but I should think not,” returned Peace.
John Sanderson, the proprietor of the hotel bearing his name, had been dead for some three years, and the business was carried on by his widow, who, to say the truth, had been the presiding genius of the place during her husband’s lifetime.
Of late Mr. Wrench had paid such frequent visits to the establishment that many others besides Peace and his friend were under the impression that the detective was paying court to the amiable and comely widow.
In this, however, they were mistaken, as will very shortly be demonstrated.
Mr. Wrench only attended professionally, if we may make use of such a term.
For a period of many months’ duration—for more than a year—a systematic course of robbery had been carried on at the hotel.
Money was missed from the till, and the cash-box, silver plate, spirits, wines, table linen—in short, almost every description of portable articles disappeared in a most mysterious and unaccountable manner.
The servants were suspected; one after the other had been discharged; a fresh set of assistants were engaged, still every now and then articles, money, and other property was missing, and, taken in the aggregate, the losses by robbery represented a very enormous sum.
Mrs. Sanderson was advised to place the matter in the hands of the police.
Mr. Wrench was deputed to clear up the mystery, and, if possible, to trace out the offending party or parties.