‘And about the workbox?’
‘Well, from what was casually dropped, I think Mrs. Manston had a few articles of furniture she didn’t want, and when she was leaving they were put in a sale just by. Amongst her things were two workboxes very much alike. One of these she intended to sell, the other she didn’t, and Mr. Brown, who collected the things together, took the wrong one to the sale.’
‘What was in it?’
‘O, nothing in particular, or of any value—some accounts, and her usual sewing materials I think—nothing more. She didn’t take much trouble to get it back—she said the bills were worth nothing to her or anybody else, but that she should have liked to keep the box because her husband gave it her when they were first married, and if he found she had parted with it, he would be vexed.’
‘Did Mrs. Manston, when she called recently with her husband, allude to this, or inquire for it, or did Mr. Manston?’
‘No—and I rather wondered at it. But she seemed to have forgotten it—indeed, she didn’t make any inquiry at all, only standing behind him, listening to his; and he probably had never been told anything about it.’
‘Whose sale were these articles of hers taken to?’
‘Who was the auctioneer? Mr. Halway. His place is the third turning from the end of that street you see there. Anybody will tell you the shop—his name is written up.’
Edward went off to follow up his clue with a promptness which was dictated more by a dogged will to do his utmost than by a hope of doing much. When he was out of sight, the tall and cloaked man, who had watched him, came up to the woman’s door, with an appearance of being in breathless haste.
‘Has a gentleman been here inquiring about Mrs. Manston?’