He had anticipated newspaper praise on his sharpness: judicial
commendation, a favourable official entry in the departmental records of
Scotland Yard, with perhaps promotion for the good work he had
accomplished in this celebrated case. These rosy visions had been
temporarily dissipated by the conversation he had had with Crewe that
morning. If Crewe had not succeeded in destroying Rolfe's conviction that
the murderer of Sir Horace Fewbanks had been caught, he had pointed out
sufficient flaws in the police case to shake Rolfe's previous assurance
of the legal conviction of Birchill for the crime. The way in which Crewe
had pulled the police case to pieces had shown Rolfe that the conviction
of Birchill was by no means a foregone conclusion, and had left him a
prey to doubts and anxiety which Inspector Chippenfield's subsequent
depreciation of the detective's views had not altogether removed.
The little shop kept by the Hills was empty when Rolfe entered it, but
Mrs. Hill appeared from the inner room in answer to his knock. The
faded little woman did not recognise the police officer at first, but
when he spoke she looked into his face with a start.
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