" "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. . “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. And then you can go home and think things over before we talk again. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. He speaks English. E. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said.
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