"Scotland Yard is trying to find him, and will before long," said Gaylor, thinking to awe the woman; but her face did not change, unless to grow more grim.
"By that do you mean the perlice?"
He bowed, looking about eighteen.
Her thin lips curled. "And are you a policeman?"
"I am a member of the Criminal Investigation Department."
"Why didn't they let you finish going to school?"
"I am nearly thirty," the detective informed her, laughing.
"Hm! I suppose the Kipper & Beeching men were dummies of the police, then?" She was sharp enough, in her way.
"We employ the firm occasionally. But it is in the name of Scotland Yard that I come to question you."
"How am I to know that? You might be anybody, in that gray suit and them brown boots of yours. And anyhow, I consider you got hold of my address on false pretences. You made me think I might be coming in for a legacy. I don't see why I should answer your questions."
Gaylor took from his pocket an important-looking wallet, and produced his credentials.
Miss Maunsell was convinced, though not impressed.
"Well, all I can say is," she remarked, "that Scotland Yard must be hard put to it to find grown-up men. And I don't approve of their methods."
