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 "Mr. Wraypoole's out at present," replied the young woman. "But his apprentice is somewhere about. Is it anything I can do?"

"I want to see Mr. Wraypoole himself," said Wedgwood. "When is he likely to be back?"

"I couldn't say as to that," she replied, still watching him closely. "He's gone to the City, I believe, and he mayn't be home till late. Perhaps you can leave a message for him?"

"No, thank you," answered Wedgwood. "I'll call again some time. Doesn't matter about the name—I shall be looking in."

He went off along the street, conscious that the woman was watching him; there had been a close enquiry in her eyes and an inquisitiveness in her manner which made him suspect that she took him for what he was. He walked along wondering about this—and suddenly, well down the road encountered Thomas Wraypoole's apprentice, Stainsby.

Stainsby stopped, with a quick glance of recognition which swiftly changed to a look of enquiry. Wedgwood stopped, too.

"Hello!" he exclaimed. "You, eh?" He looked round and drew the apprentice aside into a narrow street that opened off the main road just there. "Just called at your place,"