“Surely not! The more pieces of the puzzle we have to handle the less difficult should be the final task of putting them together.”
“Not when every piece is a fresh puzzle in itself.”
“Why, what has disconcerted you to-day?”
“Mrs. Hillmer.”
“What of her?”
“I have had another talk with the maid,—her companion, you know,—a girl named Dobson. It struck me that it was advisable to know more about Mrs. Hillmer than we do at present.”
Bruce made no comment, but he could not help reflecting that Corbett, the stranger from Wyoming, had entertained the same view.
“Well,” continued the detective, “I went about the affair as quietly as possible, but the maid, though willing, could not tell me much. Mrs. Hillmer, she thinks, married very young, and was badly treated by her husband. Finally, there was a rumpus, and she went on the stage, while Hillmer drank himself to death. He died a year ago, and they had been separated nearly five years. He was fairly well-to-do, but he squandered all his money in dissipation and never gave her a cent. Three years last Michaelmas she set up her present establishment at Raleigh Mansions, and there she has been ever since.”
“Then where does the money come from? It must cost her at least £2,000 a year to live.”