late brother was a bachelor. I'm the only blood-relation he had in the world. Why shouldn't I visit his lodgings and do what I like there?"
"I should have thought you'd have come here first and made sure about him!" retorted Wedgwood.
"I was sure about him! There was quite enough in what bit there was in the papers this morning to assure me that the murdered man was my brother John. No, sir!—my duty was not here, but at Porteous Road. John was dead!—I could do no good looking at him. That could wait. But what he had at his lodgings couldn't!"
"What do you mean, Mr. Wraypoole?" asked the inspector.
"I mean, sir, that if whoever it was that murdered my brother was clever enough to do so in the way he did, he was clever enough to go to John's rooms and get certain papers which it was not in my interest he should get. So as soon as I heard of the murder I went myself."
"What papers do you refer to?"
"Well—papers relating to property—such like."
"Oh!—your late brother had property had he? Much?"
