Her husband nudged her away. “That's O.K., Emma: you get back to the kitchen.” He put the Superintendent's card down on the counter, and said with a smile that showed a set of discoloured teeth: “That's right, what she says. We haven't set eyes on Mr Hyde, not since last Tuesday.”
“What does he do here?”
Mr Brown caressed his stubbly chin. “Well, you see, in a manner of speaking he owns the place.”
Hannasyde frowned. “You mean he owns this shop?”
“No, not to say the shop, he doesn't. The whole house is his.”
“He's your landlord, in fact?”
“That's it,” agreed Mr Brown. “He's an agent for one of them big firms up north. I don't know as he's got what you'd call a fixed address, barring this. You see, he travels about a lot in the way of business.”
“Do you mean that he has an office here, or what?”
“That's right You can see it if you like. There ain't anything there.”
“How long has he been here?”