It was the inspector's conviction that
a man who had anything to do with a murder would require a steady
supply of stimulants next day.
Mrs. Hill kept a small confectionery shop adjoining a cinema theatre to
supplement her husband's wages by a little earnings of her own in order
to support her child. Although the shop was an unpretentious one, and
catered mainly for the ha'p'orths of the juvenile patrons of the picture
house next door, it was called "The Camden Town Confectionery Emporium,"
and the title was printed over the little shop in large letters.
Inspector Chippenfield walked into the empty shop, and rapped sharply on
the counter.
A little thin woman, with prematurely grey hair, and a depressed
expression, appeared from the back in response to the summons. She
started nervously as her eye encountered the police uniform, but she
waited to be spoken to.
"Is your name Hill?" asked the inspector sternly. "Mrs. Emily Hill?"
The woman nodded feebly, her frightened eyes fixed on the
inspector's face.
"Then I want to have a word with you," continued the inspector, walking
through the shop into the parlour. "Come in here and answer my
questions.
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