“Well, I have some that want it at the present time. Suppose I bring them over now. Could you look at them?” Five minutes later he returned with his suitcase and spread out the clothes as he had done for Lizzie Johnston an hour or two before. Like the maid, Mrs. Billing glanced over them and remarked that there didn’t seem to be much wrong.
French picked up the grey sock.
“But you see they have not been very neatly darned. This grey one has been done with a different coloured wool. I thought perhaps you could put that right.”
Mrs. Billing took the grey sock and stared at it for some time, while a puzzled expression grew on her face. French, suddenly keenly excited, watched her almost breathlessly. But after turning it over she put it down, though the slightly mystified look remained.
“Here are some underclothes,” French went on. “Do these want any mending?”
Slowly the landlady turned over the bundle. As she did so incredulity and amazement showed on her bird-like features. Then swiftly she turned to the neck of the vest and the shirt cuffs and scrutinised the buttons and links.
“My Gawd!” she whispered, hoarsely, and French saw that her face had paled and her hands were trembling.
“You recognise them?”
She nodded, her flood of speech for once paralysed.
“Where did you get them?” she asked, still in a whisper.