Viner gave him a steady look.
“The man who murdered and robbed Ashton!” he answered. “And that man was not Hyde.”
“You’ll have that to prove,” retorted Drillford, derisively. “I know what a jury’ll think with all this evidence before it!”
“We shall prove a good many things that’ll surprise you,” said Viner quietly. “And you’ll see, then, the foolishness of jumping at what seems to be an obvious conclusion.”
He motioned Felpham to follow, and going outside, turned in the direction of the Harrow Road.
“I’m going to have a look at the place where these things were found,” he said. “Come with me. You see for yourself,” he continued as they walked on, “how ridiculous it is to suppose that Hyde planted them. The whole affair is plain enough, to me. The real murderer read—or may have heard—Hyde’s statement before the coroner, and in order to strengthen the case against Hyde and divert suspicion from himself, sought out this shed and put the things there. Clumsy! If Hyde had ever had the purse, which more certainly disappeared with the rest of the property, he’d never have gone to that shed at all.”
“We’ll make the most of all that,” said Felpham. “But I gathered, from what you said just now to Drillford, that you know more about this case than you’ve let out. If it’s in Hyde’s favour—”
“I can’t tell you what I know,” answered Viner. “I do know some strange things, which will all come out in good time. If we bring the murder home to the right man, Hyde of course will be cleared. I’ll tell everything as soon as I can, Felpham.”
They walked quickly forward until they came to the higher part of the Harrow Road; there, at a crowded point of that dismal thoroughfare, where the shops were small and mean, Felpham suddenly lifted a finger towards a sign which hung over an open front filled with the cheaper sorts of vegetables.
“Here’s the place,” he said, “a corner shop. The shed, of course, will be somewhere behind.”
Viner looked with interest at the refuge which Hyde had chosen after his hurried flight from the scene of the murder. A shabby looking street ran down from the corner of the greengrocer’s shop; the first twenty yards of it on that side were filled with palings, more or less broken and dilapidated; behind them lay a yard in which stood a van, two or three barrows, a collection of boxes and baskets and crates, and a lean-to shed, built against the wall of the adjoining house. The door of this yard hung loosely on its rusty hinges; Viner saw at once that nothing could be easier than for a man to slip into this miserable shelter unseen.
“Let’s get hold of the tenant,” he said. “Better show him your card, and then he’ll know we’re on professional business.”
The greengrocer, a dull-looking fellow who was measuring potatoes, showed no great interest on hearing what his callers wanted. Summoning his wife to mind the shop, he led Viner and Felpham round to the yard and opened the door of the shed. This was as untidy as the yard, and filled with a similar collection of boxes, baskets and crates. In one corner lay a bundle of empty potato sacks—the greengrocer at once pointed to it.
“I reckon that’s where the fellow got a bit of a sleep that night,” he said. “There was nothing to prevent him getting in here—no locks or bolts on either gate of the yard or that door. He may have been in here many a night, for all I know.”
“Where did you find those valuables this morning?” asked Viner.
The greengrocer pointed to a shelf in a corner above the bundle of sacking.
“There!” he answered. “I wanted some small boxes to take down to Covent Garden, and in turning some of these over I came across a little parcel, wrapped in paper—slipped under a box that was turned top downwards on the shelf, you understand? So of course I opened it, and there was the watch and chain and ring.”
“Just folded in the papers that you handed to the police?” suggested Viner.
“Well, there was more paper about ’em than what I gave to Inspector Drillford,” said the greengrocer. “A well-wrapped-up bit of parcel it was—there’s the rest of the paper there, where I threw it down.”
He pointed to some loose sheets of paper which lay on the sacking, and Viner went forward, picked them up, looked quickly at them, and put them in his pocket.
“I suppose you never heard anybody about, that night?” he asked turning to the greengrocer.
“Not I!” the man replied. “I sleep too sound to hear aught of that sort. There’s nothing in here that’s of any value. No—a dozen folk could come into this yard at night and we shouldn’t hear ’em—we sleep at the front of the house.”
Viner slipped some silver into the greengrocer’s hand and led Felpham away. And when they reached a quieter part of the district, he pulled out the papers which he had picked out of the corner in the shed and held them in front of his companion’s eyes.
“We did some good in coming up here, after all, Felpham!” he said, with a grim smile. “It wasn’t a mere desire to satisfy idle curiosity that made me come. I thought I might, by sheer good luck, hit on something, or some idea that would help. Now then, look at these things. That’s a piece of newspaper from out of a copy of the Melbourne Argus of September 6th last. Likely thing for Langton Hyde to be carrying in his pocket, eh?”
“Good heavens, that’s certainly important!” exclaimed Felpham.
“And so is this, and perhaps much more so,” said Viner, making a second exhibit. “That’s a sheet of brown wrapping-paper with the name and address of a famous firm of wholesale druggists and chemical manufacturers on one side—printed. It’s another likely thing for Hyde
