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 attentive. "Go on!" he commanded. "Go on—to the end of it!"

Wedgwood went on—to the end of his brief call at Mortover Grange. Mr. Umpeltye remained silent for a minute or two. At last he looked up.

"You didn't mention this girl in London to Philip Mortover?" he asked sharply.

"Oh dear no, sir!" replied Wedgwood.

"Nor to his housekeeper—nor to the girl you saw there?"

"I have not mentioned her to anyone down here, sir," said the detective. "Except to you and to the superintendent."

Mr. Umpeltye produced a snuff-box, and after helping himself to a generous pinch, looked over the tops of his spectacles, first at the superintendent and then at the detective.

"Umph!" he said. "I shouldn't wonder if that girl in London is the daughter of Matthew Mortover! And if so"

He paused, and taking another pinch of snuff made a second grunt which seemed to indicate a sort of surprised satisfaction, after which he muttered more to himself than to his guests:

"Aye, that's how it would be if it is so. If so, of course—but that is how it would be!"

He relapsed into silence, nodding at the leaping flames in the grate by which he sat,