Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. “I hope that Mr. CHAPTER V. ‘Say it. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. ‘Must be another of her lies. For a time she promenaded the room. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. You are a detective?" "Yes.
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