“Yes.”
“How does he come into it?”
“My uncle, Sir George Granville, is responsible for that. Perhaps you know him?”
“I know him by sight,” she said.
“I have been staying with him,” continued the young man. “And when I rang him up from the police station at Ashlingsea, after leaving you, he was greatly excited about my discovery. He knows Crewe very well—they used to be interested in chess, and that brought them together. Crewe had come down to Staveley for the week-end as my uncle’s guest, and they were sitting up for me when I telephoned from Ashlingsea.”
“Was that Mr. Crewe who was with you this morning?” she asked.
“Yes. Rather a fine looking man, don’t you think?”
She had other things to think of than the appeal of Mr. Crewe’s appearance to her feminine judgment.
“What did he want at Grange’s shop?” she asked.
It occurred to him that he would like to ask that question concerning her own visit there. What he said was: