Our hero went to his workshop, and Mr. Wrench remained behind. He reflected for some little time, and then rose from his chair and went downstairs. Brickett as usual was behind the bar. “Is that the violinist and picture dealer――the one I had breakfast with?” he inquired. “Aye, surely that be he.” “He’s a sharp customer, a downy sort of card――isn’t he?” said Mr. Wrench. “He’s got his head screwed on the right way if that’s what you mean,” returned the landlord, a little sharply. “Yes, that’s precisely what I do mean. Where does he hail from?” “Hail from? I dunno.” “He’s been travelling about the country, you say?” “That ’im has――been to every mortal place, so I’ve heerd.” “Ah, just so. Where is he to be found now?” “Found! He works in Dennett’s-lane.” “And where is that?” “Not a quarter of a mile from here. Why?” “I will give him a call. What might be his name?” “Peace――Charles Peace. Be you going to call on ’im now?” “Yes.” “Then I’ll show ’ee where his place is.” The landlord went to the door of the house, and pointed out the lane in question to his customer. “There at the further end of that,” said he, “you will find a wooden shed, and in that you will see ’im at work.” “Thank you,” said Mr. Wrench, who at once proceeded in the direction pointed out by his host. CHAPTER XXX. MR. DETECTIVE WRENCH AND CHARLES PEACE. Mr. Wrench was a man who pursued his inquiries with the greatest pertinacity; he was not accustomed to let the “grass grow under his feet.” It was a maxim of his, and one indeed the truth of which had been made manifest, that “you sometimes obtain the most valuable information from a source which appeared at first glance the most unlikely to be fruitful.” It occurred to him that it would be quite as well to interrogate our hero before he (the detective) proceeded to the other towns visited by the missing pair. Possibly the itinerant frame-maker might have some knowledge of the person or persons of whom he was in search; anyway there would be no harm in putting the question to him. “Who knows――” murmured Mr. Wrench, as he took his way along the lane――“who knows but this fellow――who, it would appear, is a sort of Admirable Crichton, in his way, if one is to believe the landlord of the ‘Lion’――may not have come across someone in his various wanderings who may have been acquainted with the Italian professor, who was a musician? It is certain that, to a certain extent, the picture chap is a musician――so here goes for it.” He was by this time at the door of Peace’s workshop, at which he gave a modest knock. It was opened by our hero. “Good morning again,” said the detective. “I want to have a little conversation with you; but you are busy, perhaps. Some other time will do as well.” “Oh, come in――you won’t hinder me,” returned Peace. “I can go on with my work, and you can have your say. Be seated.”