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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:23 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:23 -0700 |
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diff --git a/10373-h/10373-h.htm b/10373-h/10373-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7113871 --- /dev/null +++ b/10373-h/10373-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13807 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Middle Temple Murder, by J.S. Fletcher</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10373 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Middle Temple Murder</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by J.S. Fletcher</h2> + +<h4>1919</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. HIS FIRST BRIEF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. THE CLUE OF THE CAP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. WITNESS TO A MEETING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. MR. AYLMORE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. THE LEATHER BOX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. THE NEW WITNESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. UNDER SUSPICION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. THE SILVER TICKET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. MARKET MILCASTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE “YELLOW DRAGON”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. AN OLD NEWSPAPER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. MAITLAND <i>alias</i> MARBURY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. ARRESTED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. THE BLANK PAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. MISS BAYLIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. MOTHER GUTCH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. REVELATIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. STILL SILENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. MR. ELPHICK’S CHAMBERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. OF PROVED IDENTITY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. THE CLOSED DOORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. REVELATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. FORESTALLED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV. THE WHIP HAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV. MYERST EXPLAINS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FINAL TELEGRAM</a></td> +</tr> + + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER ONE<br/> +THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER</h2> + +<p> +As a rule, Spargo left the <i>Watchman</i> office at two o’clock. The +paper had then gone to press. There was nothing for him, recently promoted to a +sub-editorship, to do after he had passed the column for which he was +responsible; as a matter of fact he could have gone home before the machines +began their clatter. But he generally hung about, trifling, until two +o’clock came. On this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, he +stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who had charge of the foreign +news, and who began telling him about a telegram which had just come through +from Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: Spargo lingered to hear +all about it, and to discuss it. Altogether it was well beyond half-past two +when he went out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he +reached the threshold the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent +his midnight. In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the +first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of +St. Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Russell Square. Every night and +every morning he walked to and from the <i>Watchman</i> office by the same +route—Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street. He came to +know several faces, especially amongst the police; he formed the habit of +exchanging greetings with various officers whom he encountered at regular +points as he went slowly homewards, smoking his pipe. And on this morning, as +he drew near to Middle Temple Lane, he saw a policeman whom he knew, one +Driscoll, standing at the entrance, looking about him. Further away another +policeman appeared, sauntering. Driscoll raised an arm and signalled; then, +turning, he saw Spargo. He moved a step or two towards him. Spargo saw news in +his face. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Driscoll jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the partly open door of the +lane. Within, Spargo saw a man hastily donning a waistcoat and jacket. +</p> + +<p> +“He says,” answered Driscoll, “him, there—the +porter—that there’s a man lying in one of them entries down the +lane, and he thinks he’s dead. Likewise, he thinks he’s +murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo echoed the word. +</p> + +<p> +“But what makes him think that?” he asked, peeping with curiosity +beyond Driscoll’s burly form. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“He says there’s blood about him,” answered Driscoll. He +turned and glanced at the oncoming constable, and then turned again to Spargo. +“You’re a newspaper man, sir?” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better walk down with us,” said Driscoll, with a grin. +“There’ll be something to write pieces in the paper about. At +least, there may be.” Spargo made no answer. He continued to look down +the lane, wondering what secret it held, until the other policeman came up. At +the same moment the porter, now fully clothed, came out. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on!” he said shortly. “I’ll show you.” +</p> + +<p> +Driscoll murmured a word or two to the newly-arrived constable, and then turned +to the porter. +</p> + +<p> +“How came you to find him, then?” he asked +</p> + +<p> +The porter jerked his head at the door which they were leaving. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard that door slam,” he replied, irritably, as if the fact +which he mentioned caused him offence. “I know I did! So I got up to look +around. Then—well, I saw that!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised a hand, pointing down the lane. The three men followed his +outstretched finger. And Spargo then saw a man’s foot, booted, +grey-socked, protruding from an entry on the left hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Sticking out there, just as you see it now,” said the porter. +“I ain’t touched it. And so—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and made a grimace as if at the memory of some unpleasant thing. +Driscoll nodded comprehendingly. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you went along and looked?” he suggested. “Just +so—just to see who it belonged to, as it might be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just to see—what there was to see,” agreed the porter. +“Then I saw there was blood. And then—well, I made up the lane to +tell one of you chaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Best thing you could have done,” said Driscoll. “Well, now +then—” +</p> + +<p> +The little procession came to a halt at the entry. The entry was a cold and +formal thing of itself; not a nice place to lie dead in, having glazed white +tiles for its walls and concrete for its flooring; something about its +appearance in that grey morning air suggested to Spargo the idea of a mortuary. +And that the man whose foot projected over the step was dead he had no doubt: +the limpness of his pose certified to it. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment none of the four men moved or spoke. The two policemen +unconsciously stuck their thumbs in their belts and made play with their +fingers; the porter rubbed his chin thoughtfully—Spargo remembered +afterwards the rasping sound of this action; he himself put his hands in his +pockets and began to jingle his money and his keys. Each man had his own +thoughts as he contemplated the piece of human wreckage which lay before him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll notice,” suddenly observed Driscoll, speaking in a +hushed voice, “You’ll notice that he’s lying there in a queer +way—same as if—as if he’d been put there. Sort of propped up +against that wall, at first, and had slid down, like.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo was taking in all the details with a professional eye. He saw at his +feet the body of an elderly man; the face was turned away from him, crushed in +against the glaze of the wall, but he judged the man to be elderly because of +grey hair and whitening whisker; it was clothed in a good, well-made suit of +grey check cloth—tweed—and the boots were good: so, too, was the +linen cuff which projected from the sleeve that hung so limply. One leg was +half doubled under the body; the other was stretched straight out across the +threshold; the trunk was twisted to the wall. Over the white glaze of the tiles +against which it and the shoulder towards which it had sunk were crushed there +were gouts and stains of blood. And Driscoll, taking a hand out of his belt, +pointed a finger at them. +</p> + +<p> +“Seems to me,” he said, slowly, “seems to me as how +he’s been struck down from behind as he came out of here. That +blood’s from his nose—gushed out as he fell. What do you say, +Jim?” The other policeman coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Better get the inspector here,” he said. “And the doctor and +the ambulance. Dead—ain’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +Driscoll bent down and put a thumb on the hand which lay on the pavement. +</p> + +<p> +“As ever they make ’em,” he remarked laconically. “And +stiff, too. Well, hurry up, Jim!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo waited until the inspector arrived; waited until the hand-ambulance +came. More policemen came with it; they moved the body for transference to the +mortuary, and Spargo then saw the dead man’s face. He looked long and +steadily at it while the police arranged the limbs, wondering all the time who +it was that he gazed at, how he came to that end, what was the object of his +murderer, and many other things. There was some professionalism in +Spargo’s curiosity, but there was also a natural dislike that a +fellow-being should have been so unceremoniously smitten out of the world. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing very remarkable about the dead man’s face. It was that +of a man of apparently sixty to sixty-five years of age; plain, even homely of +feature, clean-shaven, except for a fringe of white whisker, trimmed, after an +old-fashioned pattern, between the ear and the point of the jaw. The only +remarkable thing about it was that it was much lined and seamed; the wrinkles +were many and deep around the corners of the lips and the angles of the eyes; +this man, you would have said to yourself, has led a hard life and weathered +storm, mental as well as physical. +</p> + +<p> +Driscoll nudged Spargo with a turn of his elbow. He gave him a wink. +“Better come down to the dead-house,” he muttered confidentially. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll go through him,” whispered Driscoll. “Search +him, d’ye see? Then you’ll get to know all about him, and so on. +Help to write that piece in the paper, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo hesitated. He had had a stiff night’s work, and until his +encounter with Driscoll he had cherished warm anticipation of the meal which +would be laid out for him at his rooms, and of the bed into which he would +subsequently tumble. Besides, a telephone message would send a man from the +<i>Watchman</i> to the mortuary. This sort of thing was not in his line now, +now— +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be for getting one o’ them big play-cards out with +something about a mystery on it,” suggested Driscoll. “You never +know what lies at the bottom o’ these affairs, no more you +don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +That last observation decided Spargo; moreover, the old instinct for getting +news began to assert itself. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he said. “I’ll go along with you.” +</p> + +<p> +And re-lighting his pipe he followed the little cortège through the streets, +still deserted and quiet, and as he walked behind he reflected on the +unobtrusive fashion in which murder could stalk about. Here was the work of +murder, no doubt, and it was being quietly carried along a principal London +thoroughfare, without fuss or noise, by officials to whom the dealing with it +was all a matter of routine. Surely— +</p> + +<p> +“My opinion,” said a voice at Spargo’s elbow, “my +opinion is that it was done elsewhere. Not there! He was put there. +That’s what I say.” Spargo turned and saw that the porter was at +his side. He, too, was accompanying the body. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Spargo. “You think—” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he was struck down elsewhere and carried there,” said the +porter. “In somebody’s chambers, maybe. I’ve known of some +queer games in our bit of London! Well!—he never came in at my lodge last +night—I’ll stand to that. And who is he, I should like to know? +From what I see of him, not the sort to be about our place.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what we shall hear presently,” said Spargo. +“They’re going to search him.” +</p> + +<p> +But Spargo was presently made aware that the searchers had found nothing. The +police-surgeon said that the dead man had, without doubt, been struck down from +behind by a terrible blow which had fractured the skull and caused death almost +instantaneously. In Driscoll’s opinion, the murder had been committed for +the sake of plunder. For there was nothing whatever on the body. It was +reasonable to suppose that a man who is well dressed would possess a watch and +chain, and have money in his pockets, and possibly rings on his fingers. But +there was nothing valuable to be found; in fact there was nothing at all to be +found that could lead to identification—no letters, no papers, nothing. +It was plain that whoever had struck the dead man down had subsequently +stripped him of whatever was on him. The only clue to possible identity lay in +the fact that a soft cap of grey cloth appeared to have been newly purchased at +a fashionable shop in the West End. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo went home; there seemed to be nothing to stop for. He ate his food and +he went to bed, only to do poor things in the way of sleeping. He was not the +sort to be impressed by horrors, but he recognized at last that the +morning’s event had destroyed his chance of rest; he accordingly rose, +took a cold bath, drank a cup of coffee, and went out. He was not sure of any +particular idea when he strolled away from Bloomsbury, but it did not surprise +him when, half an hour later he found that he had walked down to the police +station near which the unknown man’s body lay in the mortuary. And there +he met Driscoll, just going off duty. Driscoll grinned at sight of him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re in luck,” he said. “’Tisn’t five +minutes since they found a bit of grey writing paper crumpled up in the poor +man’s waistcoat pocket—it had slipped into a crack. Come in, and +you’ll see it.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo went into the inspector’s office. In another minute he found +himself staring at the scrap of paper. There was nothing on it but an address, +scrawled in pencil:—Ronald Breton, Barrister, King’s Bench Walk, +Temple, London. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER TWO<br/> +HIS FIRST BRIEF</h2> + +<p> +Spargo looked up at the inspector with a quick jerk of his head. “I know +this man,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector showed new interest. +</p> + +<p> +“What, Mr. Breton?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’m on the <i>Watchman</i>, you know, sub-editor. I took an +article from him the other day—article on ‘Ideal Sites for +Campers-Out.’ He came to the office about it. So this was in the dead +man’s pocket?” +</p> + +<p> +“Found in a hole in his pocket, I understand: I wasn’t present +myself. It’s not much, but it may afford some clue to identity.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo picked up the scrap of grey paper and looked closely at it. It seemed to +him to be the sort of paper that is found in hotels and in clubs; it had been +torn roughly from the sheet. +</p> + +<p> +“What,” he asked meditatively, “what will you do about +getting this man identified?” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, usual thing, I suppose. There’ll be publicity, you know. I +suppose you’ll be doing a special account yourself, for your paper, eh? +Then there’ll be the others. And we shall put out the usual notice. +Somebody will come forward to identify—sure to. And—” +</p> + +<p> +A man came into the office—a stolid-faced, quiet-mannered, soberly +attired person, who might have been a respectable tradesman out for a stroll, +and who gave the inspector a sidelong nod as he approached his desk, at the +same time extending his hand towards the scrap of paper which Spargo had just +laid down. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go along to King’s Bench Walk and see Mr. +Breton,” he observed, looking at his watch. “It’s just about +ten—I daresay he’ll be there now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going there, too,” remarked Spargo, but as if speaking +to himself. “Yes, I’ll go there.” +</p> + +<p> +The newcomer glanced at Spargo, and then at the inspector. The inspector nodded +at Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Journalist,” he said, “Mr. Spargo of the <i>Watchman</i>. +Mr. Spargo was there when the body was found. And he knows Mr. Breton.” +Then he nodded from Spargo to the stolid-faced person. “This is +Detective-Sergeant Rathbury, from the Yard,” he said to Spargo. +“He’s come to take charge of this case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh?” said Spargo blankly. “I see—what,” he went +on, with sudden abruptness, “what shall you do about Breton?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get him to come and look at the body,” replied Rathbury. “He +may know the man and he mayn’t. Anyway, his name and address are here, +aren’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come along,” said Spargo. “I’ll walk there with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo remained in a species of brown study all the way along Tudor Street; his +companion also maintained silence in a fashion which showed that he was by +nature and custom a man of few words. It was not until the two were climbing +the old balustrated staircase of the house in King’s Bench Walk in which +Ronald Breton’s chambers were somewhere situate that Spargo spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think that old chap was killed for what he may have had on +him?” he asked, suddenly turning on the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know what he had on him before I answered that +question, Mr. Spargo,” replied Rathbury, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Spargo, dreamily. “I suppose so. He might have +had—nothing on him, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective laughed, and pointed to a board on which names were printed. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t know anything yet, sir,” he observed, “except +that Mr. Breton is on the fourth floor. By which I conclude that it isn’t +long since he was eating his dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s young—he’s quite young,” said Spargo. +“I should say he’s about four-and-twenty. I’ve met him +only—” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the unmistakable sounds of girlish laughter came down the +staircase. Two girls seemed to be laughing—presently masculine laughter +mingled with the lighter feminine. +</p> + +<p> +“Seems to be studying law in very pleasant fashion up here, +anyway,” said Rathbury. “Mr. Breton’s chambers, too. And the +door’s open.” +</p> + +<p> +The outer oak door of Ronald Breton’s chambers stood thrown wide; the +inner one was well ajar; through the opening thus made Spargo and the detective +obtained a full view of the interior of Mr. Ronald Breton’s rooms. There, +against a background of law books, bundles of papers tied up with pink tape, +and black-framed pictures of famous legal notabilities, they saw a pretty, +vivacious-eyed girl, who, perched on a chair, wigged and gowned, and +flourishing a mass of crisp paper, was haranguing an imaginary judge and jury, +to the amusement of a young man who had his back to the door, and of another +girl who leant confidentially against his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I put it to you, gentlemen of the jury—I put it to you with +confidence, feeling that you must be, must necessarily be, some, perhaps +brothers, perhaps husbands, and fathers, can you, on your consciences do my +client the great wrong, the irreparable injury, the—the—” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of some more adjectives!” exclaimed the young man. +“Hot and strong ’uns—pile ’em up. That’s what +they like—they—Hullo!” +</p> + +<p> +This exclamation arose from the fact that at this point of the proceedings the +detective rapped at the inner door, and then put his head round its edge. +Whereupon the young lady who was orating from the chair, jumped hastily down; +the other young lady withdrew from the young man’s protecting arm; there +was a feminine giggle and a feminine swishing of skirts, and a hasty bolt into +an inner room, and Mr. Ronald Breton came forward, blushing a little, to greet +the interrupter. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, come in!” he exclaimed hastily. “I—” +</p> + +<p> +Then he paused, catching sight of Spargo, and held out his hand with a look of +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—Mr. Spargo?” he said. “How do you +do?—we—I—we were just having a lark—I’m off to +court in a few minutes. What can I do for you, Mr. Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +He had backed to the inner door as he spoke, and he now closed it and turned +again to the two men, looking from one to the other. The detective, on his +part, was looking at the young barrister. He saw a tall, slimly-built youth, of +handsome features and engaging presence, perfectly groomed, and immaculately +garbed, and having upon him a general air of well-to-do-ness, and he formed the +impression from these matters that Mr. Breton was one of those fortunate young +men who may take up a profession but are certainly not dependent upon it. He +turned and glanced at the journalist. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do?” said Spargo slowly. “I—the fact is, I +came here with Mr. Rathbury. He—wants to see you. Detective-Sergeant +Rathbury—of New Scotland Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo pronounced this formal introduction as if he were repeating a lesson. +But he was watching the young barrister’s face. And Breton turned to the +detective with a look of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said. “You wish—” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury had been fumbling in his pocket for the scrap of grey paper, which he +had carefully bestowed in a much-worn memorandum-book. “I wished to ask a +question, Mr. Breton,” he said. “This morning, about a quarter to +three, a man—elderly man—was found dead in Middle Temple Lane, and +there seems little doubt that he was murdered. Mr. Spargo here—he was +present when the body was found.” +</p> + +<p> +“Soon after,” corrected Spargo. “A few minutes after.” +</p> + +<p> +“When this body was examined at the mortuary,” continued Rathbury, +in his matter-of-fact, business-like tones, “nothing was found that could +lead to identification. The man appears to have been robbed. There was nothing +whatever on him—but this bit of torn paper, which was found in a hole in +the lining of his waistcoat pocket. It’s got your name and address on it, +Mr. Breton. See?” +</p> + +<p> +Ronald Breton took the scrap of paper and looked at it with knitted brows. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he muttered. “So it has; that’s queer. +What’s he like, this man?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury glanced at a clock which stood on the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you step round and take a look at him, Mr. Breton?” he said. +“It’s close by.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—I—the fact is, I’ve got a case on, in Mr. Justice +Borrow’s court,” Breton answered, also glancing at his clock. +“But it won’t be called until after eleven. Will—” +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty of time, sir,” said Rathbury; “it won’t take +you ten minutes to go round and back again—a look will do. You +don’t recognize this handwriting, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton still held the scrap of paper in his fingers. He looked at it again, +intently. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he answered. “I don’t. I don’t know it at +all—I can’t think, of course, who this man could be, to have my +name and address. I thought he might have been some country solicitor, wanting +my professional services, you know,” he went on, with a shy smile at +Spargo; “but, three—three o’clock in the morning, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“The doctor,” observed Rathbury, “the doctor thinks he had +been dead about two and a half hours.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton turned to the inner door. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll—I’ll just tell these ladies I’m going out +for a quarter of an hour,” he said. “They’re going over to +the court with me—I got my first brief yesterday,” he went on with +a boyish laugh, glancing right and left at his visitors. “It’s +nothing much—small case—but I promised my fiancée and her sister +that they should be present, you know. A moment.” +</p> + +<p> +He disappeared into the next room and came back a moment later in all the glory +of a new silk hat. Spargo, a young man who was never very particular about his +dress, began to contrast his own attire with the butterfly appearance of this +youngster; he had been quick to notice that the two girls who had whisked into +the inner room had been similarly garbed in fine raiment, more characteristic +of Mayfair than of Fleet Street. Already he felt a strange curiosity about +Breton, and about the young ladies whom he heard talking behind the inner door. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, come on,” said Breton. “Let’s go straight +there.” +</p> + +<p> +The mortuary to which Rathbury led the way was cold, drab, repellent to the +general gay sense of the summer morning. Spargo shivered involuntarily as he +entered it and took a first glance around. But the young barrister showed no +sign of feeling or concern; he looked quickly about him and stepped alertly to +the side of the dead man, from whose face the detective was turning back a +cloth. He looked steadily and earnestly at the fixed features. Then he drew +back, shaking his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he said with decision. “Don’t know +him—don’t know him from Adam. Never set eyes on him in my life, +that I know of.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury replaced the cloth. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t suppose you would,” he remarked. “Well, I +expect we must go on the usual lines. Somebody’ll identify him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say he was murdered?” said Breton. “Is +that—certain?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury jerked his thumb at the corpse. +</p> + +<p> +“The back of his skull is smashed in,” he said laconically. +“The doctor says he must have been struck down from behind—and a +fearful blow, too. I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Breton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right!” said Breton. “Well, you know where to find +me if you want me. I shall be curious about this. Good-bye—good-bye, Mr. +Spargo.” +</p> + +<p> +The young barrister hurried away, and Rathbury turned to the journalist. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t expect anything from that,” he remarked. +“However, it was a thing to be done. You are going to write about this +for your paper?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” continued Rathbury, “I’ve sent a man to +Fiskie’s, the hatter’s, where that cap came from, you know. We may +get a bit of information from that quarter—it’s possible. If you +like to meet me here at twelve o’clock I’ll tell you anything +I’ve heard. Just now I’m going to get some breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll meet you here,” said Spargo, “at twelve +o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +He watched Rathbury go away round one corner; he himself suddenly set off round +another. He went to the <i>Watchman</i> office, wrote a few lines, which he +enclosed in an envelope for the day-editor, and went out again. Somehow or +other, his feet led him up Fleet Street, and before he quite realized what he +was doing he found himself turning into the Law Courts. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER THREE<br/> +THE CLUE OF THE CAP</h2> + +<p> +Having no clear conception of what had led him to these scenes of litigation, +Spargo went wandering aimlessly about in the great hall and the adjacent +corridors until an official, who took him to be lost, asked him if there was +any particular part of the building he wanted. For a moment Spargo stared at +the man as if he did not comprehend his question. Then his mental powers +reasserted themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t Mr. Justice Borrow sitting in one of the courts this +morning?” he suddenly asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Number seven,” replied the official. “What’s your +case—when’s it down?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got a case,” said Spargo. “I’m a +pressman—reporter, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +The official stuck out a finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Round the corner—first to your right—second on the +left,” he said automatically. “You’ll find plenty of +room—nothing much doing there this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned away, and Spargo recommenced his apparently aimless perambulation of +the dreary, depressing corridors. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my honour!” he muttered. “Upon my honour, I really +don’t know what I’ve come up here for. I’ve no business +here.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then he turned a corner and came face to face with Ronald Breton. The +young barrister was now in his wig and gown and carried a bundle of papers tied +up with pink tape; he was escorting two young ladies, who were laughing and +chattering as they tripped along at his side. And Spargo, glancing at them +meditatively, instinctively told himself which of them it was that he and +Rathbury had overheard as she made her burlesque speech: it was not the elder +one, who walked by Ronald Breton with something of an air of proprietorship, +but the younger, the girl with the laughing eyes and the vivacious smile, and +it suddenly dawned upon him that somewhere, deep within him, there had been a +notion, a hope of seeing this girl again—why, he could not then think. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, thus coming face to face with these three, mechanically lifted his hat. +Breton stopped, half inquisitive. His eyes seemed to ask a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Spargo. “I—the fact is, I remembered that +you said you were coming up here, and I came after you. I want—when +you’ve time—to have a talk, to ask you a few questions. +About—this affair of the dead man, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton nodded. He tapped Spargo on the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said. “When this case of mine is over, I can +give you as much time as you like. Can you wait a bit? Yes? Well, I say, do me +a favour. I was taking these ladies round to the gallery—round there, and +up the stairs—and I’m a bit pressed for time—I’ve a +solicitor waiting for me. You take them—there’s a good fellow; +then, when the case is over, bring them down here, and you and I will talk. +Here—I’ll introduce you all—no ceremony. Miss +Aylmore—Miss Jessie Aylmore. Mr. Spargo—of the <i>Watchman</i>. +Now, I’m off!” Breton turned on the instant; his gown whisked round +a corner, and Spargo found himself staring at two smiling girls. He saw then +that both were pretty and attractive, and that one seemed to be the elder by +some three or four years. +</p> + +<p> +“That is very cool of Ronald,” observed the elder young lady. +“Perhaps his scheme doesn’t fit in with yours, Mr. Spargo? Pray +don’t—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s all right!” said Spargo, feeling himself uncommonly +stupid. “I’ve nothing to do. But—where did Mr. Breton say you +wished to be taken?” +</p> + +<p> +“Into the gallery of number seven court,” said the younger girl +promptly. “Round this corner—I think I know the way.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, still marvelling at the rapidity with which affairs were moving that +morning, bestirred himself to act as cicerone, and presently led the two young +ladies to the very front of one of those public galleries from which idlers and +specially-interested spectators may see and hear the proceedings which obtain +in the badly-ventilated, ill-lighted tanks wherein justice is dispensed at the +Law Courts. There was no one else in that gallery; the attendant in the +corridor outside seemed to be vastly amazed that any one should wish to enter +it, and he presently opened the door, beckoned to Spargo, and came half-way +down the stairs to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing much going on here this morning,” he whispered behind a +raised hand. “But there’s a nice breach case in number +five—get you three good seats there if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo declined this tempting offer, and went back to his charges. He had +decided by that time that Miss Aylmore was about twenty-three, and her sister +about eighteen; he also thought that young Breton was a lucky dog to be in +possession of such a charming future wife and an equally charming +sister-in-law. And he dropped into a seat at Miss Jessie Aylmore’s side, +and looked around him as if he were much awed by his surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose one can talk until the judge enters?” he whispered. +“Is this really Mr. Breton’s first case?” +</p> + +<p> +“His very first—all on his own responsibility, any way,” +replied Spargo’s companion, smiling. “And he’s very +nervous—and so’s my sister. Aren’t you, now, Evelyn?” +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn Aylmore looked at Spargo, and smiled quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose one’s always nervous about first appearances,” she +said. “However, I think Ronald’s got plenty of confidence, and, as +he says, it’s not much of a case: it isn’t even a jury case. +I’m afraid you’ll find it dull, Mr. Spargo—it’s only +something about a promissory note.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m all right, thank you,” replied Spargo, unconsciously +falling back on a favourite formula. “I always like to hear +lawyers—they manage to say such a lot about—about—” +</p> + +<p> +“About nothing,” said Jessie Aylmore. “But there—so do +gentlemen who write for the papers, don’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo was about to admit that there was a good deal to be said on that point +when Miss Aylmore suddenly drew her sister’s attention to a man who had +just entered the well of the court. +</p> + +<p> +“Look, Jessie!” she observed. “There’s Mr. +Elphick!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked down at the person indicated: an elderly, large-faced, +smooth-shaven man, a little inclined to stoutness, who, wigged and gowned, was +slowly making his way to a corner seat just outside that charmed inner sanctum +wherein only King’s Counsel are permitted to sit. He dropped into this in +a fashion which showed that he was one of those men who loved personal comfort; +he bestowed his plump person at the most convenient angle and fitting a monocle +in his right eye, glanced around him. There were a few of his professional +brethren in his vicinity; there were half a dozen solicitors and their clerks +in conversation with one or other of them; there were court officials. But the +gentleman of the monocle swept all these with an indifferent look and cast his +eyes upward until he caught sight of the two girls. Thereupon he made a most +gracious bow in their direction; his broad face beamed in a genial smile, and +he waved a white hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Mr. Elphick, Mr. Spargo?” enquired the younger Miss +Aylmore. +</p> + +<p> +“I rather think I’ve seen him, somewhere about the Temple,” +answered Spargo. “In fact, I’m sure I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“His chambers are in Paper Buildings,” said Jessie. +“Sometimes he gives tea-parties in them. He is Ronald’s guardian, +and preceptor, and mentor, and all that, and I suppose he’s dropped into +this court to hear how his pupil goes on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here is Ronald,” whispered Miss Aylmore. +</p> + +<p> +“And here,” said her sister, “is his lordship, looking very +cross. Now, Mr. Spargo, you’re in for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, to tell the truth, paid little attention to what went on beneath him. +The case which young Breton presently opened was a commercial one, involving +certain rights and properties in a promissory note; it seemed to the journalist +that Breton dealt with it very well, showing himself master of the financial +details, and speaking with readiness and assurance. He was much more interested +in his companions, and especially in the younger one, and he was meditating on +how he could improve his further acquaintance when he awoke to the fact that +the defence, realizing that it stood no chance, had agreed to withdraw, and +that Mr. Justice Borrow was already giving judgment in Ronald Breton’s +favour. +</p> + +<p> +In another minute he was walking out of the gallery in rear of the two sisters. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good—very good, indeed,” he said, absent-mindedly. +“I thought he put his facts very clearly and concisely.” +</p> + +<p> +Downstairs, in the corridor, Ronald Breton was talking to Mr. Elphick. He +pointed a finger at Spargo as the latter came up with the girls: Spargo +gathered that Breton was speaking of the murder and of his, Spargo’s, +connection with it. And directly they approached, he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Mr. Spargo, sub-editor of the <i>Watchman</i>.” Breton +said. “Mr. Elphick—Mr. Spargo. I was just telling Mr. Elphick, +Spargo, that you saw this poor man soon after he was found.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, glancing at Mr. Elphick, saw that he was deeply interested. The elderly +barrister took him—literally—by the button-hole. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir!” he said. “You—saw this poor fellow? +Lying dead—in the third entry down Middle Temple Lane? The third entry, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Spargo, simply. “I saw him. It was the third +entry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Singular!” said Mr. Elphick, musingly. “I know a man who +lives in that house. In fact, I visited him last night, and did not leave until +nearly midnight. And this unfortunate man had Mr. Ronald Breton’s name +and address in his pocket?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded. He looked at Breton, and pulled out his watch. Just then he had +no idea of playing the part of informant to Mr. Elphick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s so,” he answered shortly. Then, looking at +Breton significantly, he added, “If you can give me those few minutes, +now—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes!” responded Ronald Breton, nodding. “I +understand. Evelyn—I’ll leave you and Jessie to Mr. Elphick; I must +go.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Elphick seized Spargo once more. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir!” he said, eagerly. “Do you—do you think I +could possibly see—the body?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s at the mortuary,” answered Spargo. “I don’t +know what their regulations are.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he escaped with Breton. They had crossed Fleet Street and were in the +quieter shades of the Temple before Spargo spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“About what I wanted to say to you,” he said at last. “It +was—this. I—well, I’ve always wanted, as a journalist, to +have a real big murder case. I think this is one. I want to go right into +it—thoroughly, first and last. And—I think you can help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know that it is a murder case?” asked Breton quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a murder case,” answered Spargo, stolidly. “I +feel it. Instinct, perhaps. I’m going to ferret out the truth. And it +seems to me—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and gave his companion a sharp glance. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me,” he presently continued, “that the clue lies +in that scrap of paper. That paper and that man are connecting links between +you and—somebody else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” agreed Breton. “You want to find the somebody +else?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to help me to find the somebody else,” answered Spargo. +“I believe this is a big, very big affair: I want to do it. I don’t +believe in police methods—much. By the by, I’m just going to meet +Rathbury. He may have heard of something. Would you like to come?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton ran into his chambers in King’s Bench Walk, left his gown and wig, +and walked round with Spargo to the police office. Rathbury came out as they +were stepping in. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said. “Ah!—I’ve got what may be helpful, +Mr. Spargo. I told you I’d sent a man to Fiskie’s, the hatter! +Well, he’s just returned. The cap which the dead man was wearing was +bought at Fiskie’s yesterday afternoon, and it was sent to Mr. Marbury, +Room 20, at the Anglo-Orient Hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is that?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Waterloo district,” answered Rathbury. “A small house, I +believe. Well, I’m going there. Are you coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Spargo. “Of course. And Mr. Breton wants to +come, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I’m not in the way,” said Breton. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we may find out something about this scrap of paper,” he +observed. And he waved a signal to the nearest taxi-cab driver. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER FOUR<br/> +THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL</h2> + +<p> +The house at which Spargo and his companions presently drew up was an +old-fashioned place in the immediate vicinity of Waterloo Railway +Station—a plain-fronted, four-square erection, essentially mid-Victorian +in appearance, and suggestive, somehow, of the very early days of railway +travelling. Anything more in contrast with the modern ideas of a hotel it would +have been difficult to find in London, and Ronald Breton said so as he and the +others crossed the pavement. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet a good many people used to favour this place on their way to and +from Southampton in the old days,” remarked Rathbury. “And I +daresay that old travellers, coming back from the East after a good many +years’ absence, still rush in here. You see, it’s close to the +station, and travellers have a knack of walking into the nearest place when +they’ve a few thousand miles of steamboat and railway train behind them. +Look there, now!” They had crossed the threshold as the detective spoke, +and as they entered a square, heavily-furnished hall, he made a sidelong motion +of his head towards a bar on the left, wherein stood or lounged a number of men +who from their general appearance, their slouched hats, and their bronzed faces +appeared to be Colonials, or at any rate to have spent a good part of their +time beneath Oriental skies. There was a murmur of tongues that had a Colonial +accent in it; an aroma of tobacco that suggested Sumatra and Trichinopoly, and +Rathbury wagged his head sagely. “Lay you anything the dead man was a +Colonial, Mr. Spargo,” he remarked. “Well, now, I suppose +that’s the landlord and landlady.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an office facing them, at the rear of the hall, and a man and woman +were regarding them from a box window which opened above a ledge on which lay a +register book. They were middle-aged folk: the man, a fleshy, round-faced, +somewhat pompous-looking individual, who might at some time have been a butler; +the woman a tall, spare-figured, thin-featured, sharp-eyed person, who examined +the newcomers with an enquiring gaze. Rathbury went up to them with easy +confidence. +</p> + +<p> +“You the landlord of this house, sir?” he asked. “Mr. +Walters? Just so—and Mrs. Walters, I presume?” +</p> + +<p> +The landlord made a stiff bow and looked sharply at his questioner. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do for you, sir?” he enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“A little matter of business, Mr. Walters,” replied Rathbury, +pulling out a card. “You’ll see there who I +am—Detective-Sergeant Rathbury, of the Yard. This is Mr. Frank Spargo, a +newspaper man; this is Mr. Ronald Breton, a barrister.” +</p> + +<p> +The landlady, hearing their names and description, pointed to a side door, and +signed Rathbury and his companions to pass through. Obeying her pointed finger, +they found themselves in a small private parlour. Walters closed the two doors +which led into it and looked at his principal visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Mr. Rathbury?” he enquired. “Anything +wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“We want a bit of information,” answered Rathbury, almost with +indifference. +</p> + +<p> +“Did anybody of the name of Marbury put up here yesterday—elderly +man, grey hair, fresh complexion?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Walters started, glancing at her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” she exclaimed. “I knew some enquiry would be made. +Yes—a Mr. Marbury took a room here yesterday morning, just after the noon +train got in from Southampton. Number 20 he took. But—he didn’t use +it last night. He went out—very late—and he never came back.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury nodded. Answering a sign from the landlord, he took a chair and, +sitting down, looked at Mrs. Walters. +</p> + +<p> +“What made you think some enquiry would be made, ma’am?” he +asked. “Had you noticed anything?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Walters seemed a little confused by this direct question. Her husband gave +vent to a species of growl. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing to notice,” he muttered. “Her way of +speaking—that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—why I said that was this,” said the landlady. “He +happened to tell us, did Mr. Marbury, that he hadn’t been in London for +over twenty years, and couldn’t remember anything about it, him, he said, +never having known much about London at any time. And, of course, when he went +out so late and never came back, why, naturally, I thought something had +happened to him, and that there’d be enquiries made.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so—just so!” said Rathbury. “So you would, +ma’am—so you would. Well, something has happened to him. He’s +dead. What’s more, there’s strong reason to think he was +murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. and Mrs. Walters received this announcement with proper surprise and +horror, and the landlord suggested a little refreshment to his visitors. Spargo +and Breton declined, on the ground that they had work to do during the +afternoon; Rathbury accepted it, evidently as a matter of course. +</p> + +<p> +“My respects,” he said, lifting his glass. “Well, now, +perhaps you’ll just tell me what you know of this man? I may as well tell +you, Mr. and Mrs. Walters, that he was found dead in Middle Temple Lane this +morning, at a quarter to three; that there wasn’t anything on him but his +clothes and a scrap of paper which bore this gentleman’s name and +address; that this gentleman knows nothing whatever of him, and that I traced +him here because he bought a cap at a West End hatter’s yesterday, and +had it sent to your hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mrs. Walters quickly, “that’s so. And he +went out in that cap last night. Well—we don’t know much about him. +As I said, he came in here about a quarter past twelve yesterday morning, and +booked Number 20. He had a porter with him that brought a trunk and a +bag—they’re in 20 now, of course. He told me that he had stayed at +this house over twenty years ago, on his way to Australia—that, of +course, was long before we took it. And he signed his name in the book as John +Marbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll look at that, if you please,” said Rathbury. +</p> + +<p> +Walters fetched in the register and turned the leaf to the previous day’s +entries. They all bent over the dead man’s writing. +</p> + +<p> +“‘John Marbury, Coolumbidgee, New South Wales,’” said +Rathbury. “Ah—now I was wondering if that writing would be the same +as that on the scrap of paper, Mr. Breton. But, you see, it +isn’t—it’s quite different.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite different,” said Breton. He, too, was regarding the +handwriting with great interest. And Rathbury noticed his keen inspection of +it, and asked another question. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever seen that writing before?” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” answered Breton. “And yet—there’s +something very familiar about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the probability is that you have seen it before,” remarked +Rathbury. “Well—now we’ll hear a little more about +Marbury’s doings here. Just tell me all you know, Mr. and Mrs. +Walters.” +</p> + +<p> +“My wife knows most,” said Walters. “I scarcely saw the +man—I don’t remember speaking with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Mrs. Walters. “You didn’t—you +weren’t much in his way. Well,” she continued, “I showed him +up to his room. He talked a bit—said he’d just landed at +Southampton from Melbourne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he mention his ship?” asked Rathbury. “But if he +didn’t, it doesn’t matter, for we can find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe the name’s on his things,” answered the landlady. +“There are some labels of that sort. Well, he asked for a chop to be +cooked for him at once, as he was going out. He had his chop, and he went out +at exactly one o’clock, saying to me that he expected he’d get +lost, as he didn’t know London well at any time, and shouldn’t know +it at all now. He went outside there—I saw him—looked about him and +walked off towards Blackfriars way. During the afternoon the cap you spoke of +came for him—from Fiskie’s. So, of course, I judged he’d been +Piccadilly way. But he himself never came in until ten o’clock. And then +he brought a gentleman with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye?” said Rathbury. “A gentleman, now? Did you see +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just,” replied the landlady. “They went straight up to 20, +and I just caught a mere glimpse of the gentleman as they turned up the stairs. +A tall, well-built gentleman, with a grey beard, very well dressed as far as I +could see, with a top hat and a white silk muffler round his throat, and +carrying an umbrella.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they went to Marbury’s room?” said Rathbury. “What +then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, Mr. Marbury rang for some whiskey and soda,” continued +Mrs. Walters. “He was particular to have a decanter of whiskey: that, and +a syphon of soda were taken up there. I heard nothing more until nearly +midnight; then the hall-porter told me that the gentleman in 20 had gone out, +and had asked him if there was a night-porter—as, of course, there is. He +went out at half-past eleven.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the other gentleman?” asked Rathbury. +</p> + +<p> +“The other gentleman,” answered the landlady, “went out with +him. The hall-porter said they turned towards the station. And that was the +last anybody in this house saw of Mr. Marbury. He certainly never came +back.” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” observed Rathbury with a quiet smile, “that is quite +certain, ma’am? Well—I suppose we’d better see this Number 20 +room, and have a look at what he left there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything,” said Mrs. Walters, “is just as he left it. +Nothing’s been touched.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to two of the visitors that there was little to touch. On the +dressing-table lay a few ordinary articles of toilet—none of them of any +quality or value: the dead man had evidently been satisfied with the plain +necessities of life. An overcoat hung from a peg: Rathbury, without ceremony, +went through its pockets; just as unceremoniously he proceeded to examine trunk +and bag, and finding both unlocked, he laid out on the bed every article they +contained and examined each separately and carefully. And he found nothing +whereby he could gather any clue to the dead owner’s identity. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are!” he said, making an end of his task. “You +see, it’s just the same with these things as with the clothes he had on +him. There are no papers—there’s nothing to tell who he was, what +he was after, where he’d come from—though that we may find out in +other ways. But it’s not often that a man travels without some clue to +his identity. Beyond the fact that some of this linen was, you see, bought in +Melbourne, we know nothing of him. Yet he must have had papers and money on +him. Did you see anything of his money, now, ma’am?” he asked, +suddenly turning to Mrs. Walters. “Did he pull out his purse in your +presence, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered the landlady, with promptitude. “He came into +the bar for a drink after he’d been up to his room. He pulled out a +handful of gold when he paid for it—a whole handful. There must have been +some thirty to forty sovereigns and half-sovereigns.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he hadn’t a penny piece on him—when found,” +muttered Rathbury. +</p> + +<p> +“I noticed another thing, too,” remarked the landlady. “He +was wearing a very fine gold watch and chain, and had a splendid ring on his +left hand—little finger—gold, with a big diamond in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the detective, thoughtfully, “I noticed that +he’d worn a ring, and that it had been a bit tight for him. +Well—now there’s only one thing to ask about. Did your chambermaid +notice if he left any torn paper around—tore any letters up, or anything +like that?” +</p> + +<p> +But the chambermaid, produced, had not noticed anything of the sort; on the +contrary, the gentleman of Number 20 had left his room very tidy indeed. So +Rathbury intimated that he had no more to ask, and nothing further to say, just +then, and he bade the landlord and landlady of the Anglo-Orient Hotel good +morning, and went away, followed by the two young men. +</p> + +<p> +“What next?” asked Spargo, as they gained the street. +</p> + +<p> +“The next thing,” answered Rathbury, “is to find the man with +whom Marbury left this hotel last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how’s that to be done?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“At present,” replied Rathbury, “I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +And with a careless nod, he walked off, apparently desirous of being alone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER FIVE<br/> +SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE</h2> + +<p> +The barrister and the journalist, left thus unceremoniously on a crowded +pavement, looked at each other. Breton laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t seem to have gained much information,” he remarked. +“I’m about as wise as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“No—wiser,” said Spargo. “At any rate, I am. I know now +that this dead man called himself John Marbury; that he came from Australia; +that he only landed at Southampton yesterday morning, and that he was in the +company last night of a man whom we have had described to us—a tall, +grey-bearded, well-dressed man, presumably a gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I should say that description would fit a hundred thousand men in +London,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly—so it would,” answered Spargo. “But we know +that it was one of the hundred thousand, or half-million, if you like. The +thing is to find that one—the one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think you can do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’m going to have a big try at it.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton shrugged his shoulders again. +</p> + +<p> +“What?—by going up to every man who answers the description, and +saying ‘Sir, are you the man who accompanied John Marbury to the +Anglo——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” he said. “Didn’t you say that you knew a +man who lives in that block in the entry of which Marbury was found?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t,” answered Breton. “It was Mr. Elphick +who said that. All the same, I do know that man—he’s Mr. +Cardlestone, another barrister. He and Mr. Elphick are +friends—they’re both enthusiastic philatelists—stamp +collectors, you know—and I dare say Mr. Elphick was round there last +night examining something new Cardlestone’s got hold of. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to go round there and make some enquiries,” replied +Spargo. “If you’d be kind enough to——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll go with you!” responded Breton, with alacrity. +“I’m just as keen about this business as you are, Spargo! I want to +know who this man Marbury is, and how he came to have my name and address on +him. Now, if I had been a well-known man in my profession, you know, +why—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Spargo, as they got into a cab, “yes, that would +have explained a lot. It seems to me that we’ll get at the murderer +through that scrap of paper a lot quicker than through Rathbury’s line. +Yes, that’s what I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton looked at his companion with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“But—you don’t know what Rathbury’s line is,” he +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” said Spargo. “Rathbury’s gone off to +discover who the man is with whom Marbury left the Anglo-Orient Hotel last +night. That’s his line.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you want——?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to find out the full significance of that bit of paper, and who +wrote it,” answered Spargo. “I want to know why that old man was +coming to you when he was murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton started. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “I—I never thought of that. +You—you really think he was coming to me when he was struck down?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain. Hadn’t he got an address in the Temple? Wasn’t he +in the Temple? Of course, he was trying to find you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—the late hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter. How else can you explain his presence in the Temple? I think +he was asking his way. That’s why I want to make some enquiries in this +block.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared to Spargo that a considerable number of people, chiefly of the +office-boy variety, were desirous of making enquiries about the dead man. Being +luncheon-hour, that bit of Middle Temple Lane where the body was found, was +thick with the inquisitive and the sensation-seeker, for the news of the murder +had spread, and though there was nothing to see but the bare stones on which +the body had lain, there were more open mouths and staring eyes around the +entry than Spargo had seen for many a day. And the nuisance had become so great +that the occupants of the adjacent chambers had sent for a policeman to move +the curious away, and when Spargo and his companion presented themselves at the +entry this policeman was being lectured as to his duties by a little +weazen-faced gentleman, in very snuffy and old-fashioned garments, and an +ancient silk hat, who was obviously greatly exercised by the unwonted +commotion. +</p> + +<p> +“Drive them all out into the street!” exclaimed this personage. +“Drive them all away, constable—into Fleet Street or upon the +Embankment—anywhere, so long as you rid this place of them. This is a +disgrace, and an inconvenience, a nuisance, a——” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s old Cardlestone,” whispered Breton. “He’s +always irascible, and I don’t suppose we’ll get anything out of +him. Mr. Cardlestone,” he continued, making his way up to the old +gentleman who was now retreating up the stone steps, brandishing an umbrella as +ancient as himself. “I was just coming to see you, sir. This is Mr. +Spargo, a journalist, who is much interested in this murder. +He——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing about the murder, my dear sir!” exclaimed Mr. +Cardlestone. “And I never talk to journalists—a pack of busybodies, +sir, saving your presence. I am not aware that any murder has been committed, +and I object to my doorway being filled by a pack of office boys and street +loungers. Murder indeed! I suppose the man fell down these steps and broke his +neck—drunk, most likely.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened his outer door as he spoke, and Breton, with a reassuring smile and a +nod at Spargo, followed him into his chambers on the first landing, motioning +the journalist to keep at their heels. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Elphick tells me that he was with you until a late hour last +evening, Mr. Cardlestone,” he said. “Of course, neither of you +heard anything suspicious?” +</p> + +<p> +“What should we hear that was suspicious in the Temple, sir?” +demanded Mr. Cardlestone, angrily. “I hope the Temple is free from that +sort of thing, young Mr. Breton. Your respected guardian and myself had a quiet +evening on our usual peaceful pursuits, and when he went away all was as quiet +as the grave, sir. What may have gone on in the chambers above and around me I +know not! Fortunately, our walls are thick, sir—substantial. I say, sir, +the man probably fell down and broke his neck. What he was doing here, I do not +presume to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s guess, you know, Mr. Cardlestone,” remarked +Breton, again winking at Spargo. “But all that was found on this man was +a scrap of paper on which my name and address were written. That’s +practically all that was known of him, except that he’d just arrived from +Australia.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cardlestone suddenly turned on the young barrister with a sharp, acute +glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” he exclaimed. “What’s this? You say this man had +your name and address on him, young Breton!—yours? And that he came +from—Australia?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” answered Breton. “That’s all +that’s known.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cardlestone put aside his umbrella, produced a bandanna handkerchief of +strong colours, and blew his nose in a reflective fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a mysterious thing,” he observed. +“Um—does Elphick know all that?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton looked at Spargo as if he was asking him for an explanation of Mr. +Cardlestone’s altered manner. And Spargo took up the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “All that Mr. Elphick knows is that Mr. Ronald +Breton’s name and address were on the scrap of paper found on the body. +Mr. Elphick”—here Spargo paused and looked at +Breton—“Mr. Elphick,” he presently continued, slowly +transferring his glance to the old barrister, “spoke of going to view the +body.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Cardlestone, eagerly. “It can be seen? +Then I’ll go and see it. Where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton started. +</p> + +<p> +“But—my dear sir!” he said. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cardlestone picked up his umbrella again. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel a proper curiosity about a mystery which occurs at my very +door,” he said. “Also, I have known more than one man who went to +Australia. This might—I say might, young gentlemen—might be a man I +had once known. Show me where this body is.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton looked helplessly at Spargo: it was plain that he did not understand the +turn that things were taking. But Spargo was quick to seize an opportunity. In +another minute he was conducting Mr. Cardlestone through the ins and outs of +the Temple towards Blackfriars. And as they turned into Tudor Street they +encountered Mr. Elphick. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to the mortuary,” he remarked. “So, I suppose, +are you, Cardlestone? Has anything more been discovered, young man?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo tried a chance shot—at what he did not know. “The +man’s name was Marbury,” he said. “He was from +Australia.” +</p> + +<p> +He was keeping a keen eye on Mr. Elphick, but he failed to see that Mr. Elphick +showed any of the surprise which Mr. Cardlestone had exhibited. Rather, he +seemed indifferent. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh?” he said—“Marbury? And from Australia. +Well—I should like to see the body.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo and Breton had to wait outside the mortuary while the two elder +gentlemen went in. There was nothing to be learnt from either when they +reappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t know the man,” said Mr. Elphick, calmly. “As +Mr. Cardlestone, I understand, has said to you already—we have known men +who went to Australia, and as this man was evidently wandering about the +Temple, we thought it might have been one of them, come back. But—we +don’t recognize him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t recognize him,” said Mr. Cardlestone. +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +They went away together arm in arm, and Breton looked at Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“As if anybody on earth ever fancied they’d recognize him!” +he said. “Well—what are you going to do now, Spargo? I must +go.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, who had been digging his walking-stick into a crack in the pavement, +came out of a fit of abstraction. +</p> + +<p> +“I?” he said. “Oh—I’m going to the office.” +And he turned abruptly away, and walking straight off to the editorial rooms at +the <i>Watchman</i>, made for one in which sat the official guardian of the +editor. “Try to get me a few minutes with the chief,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The private secretary looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“Really important?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Big!” answered Spargo. “Fix it.” +</p> + +<p> +Once closeted with the great man, whose idiosyncrasies he knew pretty well by +that time, Spargo lost no time. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve heard about this murder in Middle Temple Lane?” he +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“The mere facts,” replied the editor, tersely. +</p> + +<p> +“I was there when the body was found,” continued Spargo, and gave a +brief résumé of his doings. “I’m certain this is a most unusual +affair,” he went on. “It’s as full of mystery as—as it +could be. I want to give my attention to it. I want to specialize on it. I can +make such a story of it as we haven’t had for some time—ages. Let +me have it. And to start with, let me have two columns for tomorrow morning. +I’ll make it—big!” +</p> + +<p> +The editor looked across his desk at Spargo’s eager face. +</p> + +<p> +“Your other work?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well in hand,” replied Spargo. “I’m ahead a whole +week—both articles and reviews. I can tackle both.” +</p> + +<p> +The editor put his finger tips together. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got some idea about this, young man?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a great idea,” answered Spargo. He faced the great +man squarely, and stared at him until he had brought a smile to the editorial +face. “That’s why I want to do it,” he added. +“And—it’s not mere boasting nor over-confidence—I know +I shall do it better than anybody else.” +</p> + +<p> +The editor considered matters for a brief moment. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean to find out who killed this man?” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded his head—twice. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll find that out,” he said doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +The editor picked up a pencil, and bent to his desk. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he said. “Go ahead. You shall have your two +columns.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo went quietly away to his own nook and corner. He got hold of a block of +paper and began to write. He was going to show how to do things. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER SIX<br/> +WITNESS TO A MEETING</h2> + +<p> +Ronald Breton walked into the <i>Watchman</i> office and into Spargo’s +room next morning holding a copy of the current issue in his hand. He waved it +at Spargo with an enthusiasm which was almost boyish. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” he exclaimed. “That’s the way to do it, +Spargo! I congratulate you. Yes, that’s the way—certain!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, idly turning over a pile of exchanges, yawned. +</p> + +<p> +“What way?” he asked indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +“The way you’ve written this thing up,” said Breton. +“It’s a hundred thousand times better than the usual cut-and-dried +account of a murder. It’s—it’s like a—a romance!” +</p> + +<p> +“Merely a new method of giving news,” said Spargo. He picked up a +copy of the <i>Watchman</i>, and glanced at his two columns, which had somehow +managed to make themselves into three, viewing the displayed lettering, the +photograph of the dead man, the line drawing of the entry in Middle Temple +Lane, and the facsimile of the scrap of grey paper, with a critical eye. +“Yes—merely a new method,” he continued. “The question +is—will it achieve its object?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the object?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo fished out a box of cigarettes from an untidy drawer, pushed it over to +his visitor, helped himself, and tilting back his chair, put his feet on his +desk. +</p> + +<p> +“The object?” he said, drily. “Oh, well, the object is the +ultimate detection of the murderer.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re after that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m after that—just that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And not—not simply out to make effective news?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m out to find the murderer of John Marbury,” said Spargo +deliberately slow in his speech. “And I’ll find him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of clues, so +far,” remarked Breton. “I see—nothing. Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo sent a spiral of scented smoke into the air. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to know an awful lot,” he said. “I’m hungering +for news. I want to know who John Marbury is. I want to know what he did with +himself between the time when he walked out of the Anglo-Orient Hotel, alive +and well, and the time when he was found in Middle Temple Lane, with his skull +beaten in and dead. I want to know where he got that scrap of paper. Above +everything, Breton, I want to know what he’d got to do with you!” +</p> + +<p> +He gave the young barrister a keen look, and Breton nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “I confess that’s a corker. But I +think——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I think he may have been a man who had some legal business in hand, or +in prospect, and had been recommended to—me,” said Breton. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo smiled—a little sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good!” he said. “You had your very first +brief—yesterday. Come—your fame isn’t blown abroad through +all the heights yet, my friend! Besides—don’t intending clients +approach—isn’t it strict etiquette for them to +approach?—barristers through solicitors?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right—in both your remarks,” replied Breton, +good-humouredly. “Of course, I’m not known a bit, but all the same +I’ve known several cases where a barrister has been approached in the +first instance and asked to recommend a solicitor. Somebody who wanted to do me +a good turn may have given this man my address.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possible,” said Spargo. “But he wouldn’t have come to +consult you at midnight. Breton!—the more I think of it, the more +I’m certain there’s a tremendous mystery in this affair! +That’s why I got the chief to let me write it up as I have +done—here. I’m hoping that this photograph—though to be sure, +it’s of a dead face—and this facsimile of the scrap of paper will +lead to somebody coming forward who can——” +</p> + +<p> +Just then one of the uniformed youths who hang about the marble pillared +vestibule of the <i>Watchman</i> office came into the room with the +unmistakable look and air of one who carries news of moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare lay a sovereign to a cent that I know what this is,” +muttered Spargo in an aside. “Well?” he said to the boy. +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +The messenger came up to the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Spargo,” he said, “there’s a man downstairs who +says that he wants to see somebody about that murder case that’s in the +paper this morning, sir. Mr. Barrett said I was to come to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the man?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t say, sir,” replied the boy. “I gave him a form +to fill up, but he said he wouldn’t write anything—said all he +wanted was to see the man who wrote the piece in the paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring him here,” commanded Spargo. He turned to Breton when the +boy had gone, and he smiled. “I knew we should have somebody here sooner +or later,” he said. “That’s why I hurried over my breakfast +and came down at ten o’clock. Now then, what will you bet on the chances +of this chap’s information proving valuable?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied Breton. “He’s probably some crank or +faddist who’s got some theory that he wants to ventilate.” +</p> + +<p> +The man who was presently ushered in by the messenger seemed from preliminary +and outward appearance to justify Breton’s prognostication. He was +obviously a countryman, a tall, loosely-built, middle-aged man, yellow of hair, +blue of eye, who was wearing his Sunday-best array of pearl-grey trousers and +black coat, and sported a necktie in which were several distinct colours. +Oppressed with the splendour and grandeur of the <i>Watchman</i> building, he +had removed his hard billycock hat as he followed the boy, and he ducked his +bared head at the two young men as he stepped on to the thick pile of the +carpet which made luxurious footing in Spargo’s room. His blue eyes, +opened to their widest, looked round him in astonishment at the sumptuousness +of modern newspaper-office accommodation. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, sir?” said Spargo, pointing a finger to one of the +easy-chairs for which the <i>Watchman</i> office is famous. “I understand +that you wish to see me?” +</p> + +<p> +The caller ducked his yellow head again, sat down on the edge of the chair, put +his hat on the floor, picked it up again, and endeavoured to hang it on his +knee, and looked at Spargo innocently and shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“What I want to see, sir,” he observed in a rustic accent, +“is the gentleman as wrote that piece in your newspaper about this here +murder in Middle Temple Lane.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see him,” said Spargo. “I am that man.” +</p> + +<p> +The caller smiled—generously. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, sir?” he said. “A very nice bit of reading, +I’m sure. And what might your name be, now, sir? I can always talk +free-er to a man when I know what his name is.” +</p> + +<p> +“So can I,” answered Spargo. “My name is Spargo—Frank +Spargo. What’s yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Name of Webster, sir—William Webster. I farm at One Ash Farm, at +Gosberton, in Oakshire. Me and my wife,” continued Mr. Webster, again +smiling and distributing his smile between both his hearers, “is at +present in London on a holiday. And very pleasant we find it—weather and +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” said Spargo. “And—you wanted to +see me about this murder, Mr. Webster?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, sir. Me, I believe, knowing, as I think, something that’ll +do for you to put in your paper. You see, Mr. Spargo, it come about in this +fashion—happen you’ll be for me to tell it in my own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” answered Spargo, “is precisely what I desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to be sure, I couldn’t tell it in no other,” declared +Mr. Webster. “You see, sir, I read your paper this morning while I was +waiting for my breakfast—they take their breakfasts so late in them +hotels—and when I’d read it, and looked at the pictures, I says to +my wife ‘As soon as I’ve had my breakfast,’ I says, +‘I’m going to where they print this newspaper to tell ’em +something.’ ‘Aye?’ she says, ‘Why, what have you to +tell, I should like to know?’ just like that, Mr. Spargo.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Webster,” said Spargo, “is a lady of businesslike +principles. And what have you to tell?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Webster looked into the crown of his hat, looked out of it, and smiled +knowingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” he continued, “Last night, my wife, she went out +to a part they call Clapham, to take her tea and supper with an old friend of +hers as lives there, and as they wanted to have a bit of woman-talk, like, I +didn’t go. So thinks I to myself, I’ll go and see this here House +of Commons. There was a neighbour of mine as had told me that all you’d +got to do was to tell the policeman at the door that you wanted to see your own +Member of Parliament. So when I got there I told ’em that I wanted to see +our M.P., Mr. Stonewood—you’ll have heard tell of him, no doubt; he +knows me very well—and they passed me, and I wrote out a ticket for him, +and they told me to sit down while they found him. So I sat down in a grand +sort of hall where there were a rare lot of people going and coming, and some +fine pictures and images to look at, and for a time I looked at them, and then +I began to take a bit of notice of the folk near at hand, waiting, you know, +like myself. And as sure as I’m a christened man, sir, the gentleman +whose picture you’ve got in your paper—him as was +murdered—was sitting next to me! I knew that picture as soon as I saw it +this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, who had been making unmeaning scribbles on a block of paper, suddenly +looked at his visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“What time was that?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It was between a quarter and half-past nine, sir,” answered Mr. +Webster. “It might ha’ been twenty past—it might ha’ +been twenty-five past.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, if you please,” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, me and this here dead gentleman talked a bit. About what a +long time it took to get a member to attend to you, and such-like. I made +mention of the fact that I hadn’t been in there before. ‘Neither +have I!’ he says, ‘I came in out of curiosity,’ he says, and +then he laughed, sir—queer-like. And it was just after that that what +I’m going to tell you about happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell,” commanded Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, there was a gentleman came along, down this grand hall that +we were sitting in—a tall, handsome gentleman, with a grey beard. +He’d no hat on, and he was carrying a lot of paper and documents in his +hand, so I thought he was happen one of the members. And all of a sudden this +here man at my side, he jumps up with a sort of start and an exclamation, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo lifted his hand. He looked keenly at his visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you’re absolutely sure about what you heard him +exclaim?” he asked. “Quite sure about it? Because I see you are +going to tell us what he did exclaim.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you naught but what I’m certain of, sir,” +replied Webster. “What he said as he jumped up was ‘Good +God!’ he says, sharp-like—and then he said a name, and I +didn’t right catch it, but it sounded like Danesworth, or Painesworth, or +something of that sort—one of them there, or very like ’em, at any +rate. And then he rushed up to this here gentleman, and laid his hand on his +arm—sudden-like.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—the gentleman?” asked Spargo, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he seemed taken aback, sir. He jumped. Then he stared at the man. +Then they shook hands. And then, after they’d spoken a few words +together-like, they walked off, talking. And, of course, I never saw no more of +’em. But when I saw your paper this morning, sir, and that picture in it, +I said to myself ‘That’s the man I sat next to in that there hall +at the House of Commons!’ Oh, there’s no doubt of it, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“And supposing you saw a photograph of the tall gentleman with the grey +beard?” suggested Spargo. “Could you recognize him from +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Make no doubt of it, sir,” answered Mr. Webster. “I observed +him particular.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo rose, and going over to a cabinet, took from it a thick volume, the +leaves of which he turned over for several minutes. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here, if you please, Mr. Webster,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The farmer went across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a full set of photographs of members of the present House of +Commons here,” said Spargo. “Now, pick out the one you saw. Take +your time—and be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +He left his caller turning over the album and went back to Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” he whispered. “Getting nearer—a bit +nearer—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“To what?” asked Breton. “I don’t see—” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden exclamation from the farmer interrupted Breton’s remark. +</p> + +<p> +“This is him, sir!” answered Mr. Webster. “That’s the +gentleman—know him anywhere!” +</p> + +<p> +The two young men crossed the room. The farmer was pointing a stubby finger to +a photograph, beneath which was written <i>Stephen Aylmore, Esq., M.P. for +Brookminster</i>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER SEVEN<br/> +MR. AYLMORE</h2> + +<p> +Spargo, keenly observant and watchful, felt, rather than saw, Breton start; he +himself preserved an imperturbable equanimity. He gave a mere glance at the +photograph to which Mr. Webster was pointing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said. “That he?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the gentleman, sir,” replied Webster. “Done to +the life, that is. No difficulty in recognizing of that, Mr. Spargo.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re absolutely sure?” demanded Spargo. “There are a +lot of men in the House of Commons, you know, who wear beards, and many of the +beards are grey.” +</p> + +<p> +But Webster wagged his head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s him, sir!” he repeated. “I’m as sure of +that as I am that my name’s William Webster. That’s the man I saw +talking to him whose picture you’ve got in your paper. Can’t say no +more, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said Spargo. “I’m much obliged to you. +I’ll see Mr. Aylmore. Leave me your address in London, Mr. Webster. How +long do you remain in town?” +</p> + +<p> +“My address is the Beachcroft Hotel, Bloomsbury, sir, and I shall be +there for another week,” answered the farmer. “Hope I’ve been +of some use, Mr. Spargo. As I says to my wife——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo cut his visitor short in polite fashion and bowed him out. He turned to +Breton, who still stood staring at the album of portraits. +</p> + +<p> +“There!—what did I tell you?” he said. “Didn’t I +say I should get some news? There it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton nodded his head. He seemed thoughtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I say, Spargo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Aylmore is my prospective father-in-law, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite aware of it. Didn’t you introduce me to his +daughters—only yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +“But—how did you know they were his daughters?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo laughed as he sat down to his desk. +</p> + +<p> +“Instinct—intuition,” he answered. “However, never mind +that, just now. Well—I’ve found something out. Marbury—if +that is the dead man’s real name, and anyway, it’s all we know him +by—was in the company of Mr. Aylmore that night. Good!” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do about it?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Do? See Mr. Aylmore, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +He was turning over the leaves of a telephone address-book; one hand had +already picked up the mouthpiece of the instrument on his desk. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Breton. “I know where Mr. Aylmore is always +to be found at twelve o’clock. At the A. and P.—the Atlantic and +Pacific Club, you know, in St. James’s. If you like, I’ll go with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo glanced at the clock and laid down the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he said. “Eleven o’clock, now. I’ve +something to do. I’ll meet you outside the A. and P. at exactly +noon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be there,” agreed Breton. He made for the door, and +with his hand on it, turned. “What do you expect from—from what +we’ve just heard?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait—until we hear what Mr. Aylmore has to say,” he +answered. “I suppose this man Marbury was some old acquaintance.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton closed the door and went away: left alone, Spargo began to mutter to +himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he says. +“Dainsworth—Painsworth—something of that sort—one of +the two. Excellent—that our farmer friend should have so much +observation. Ah!—and why should Mr. Stephen Aylmore be recognized as +Dainsworth or Painsworth or something of that sort. Now, who is Mr. Stephen +Aylmore—beyond being what I know him to be?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo’s fingers went instinctively to one of a number of books of +reference which stood on his desk: they turned with practised swiftness to a +page over which his eye ran just as swiftly. He read aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“AYLMORE, STEPHEN, M.P. for Brookminster since 1910. Residences: 23, St. +Osythe Court, Kensington: Buena Vista, Great Marlow. Member Atlantic and +Pacific and City Venturers’ Clubs. Interested in South American +enterprise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” muttered Spargo, putting the book away. “That’s +not very illuminating. However, we’ve got one move finished. Now +we’ll make another.” +</p> + +<p> +Going over to the album of photographs, Spargo deftly removed that of Mr. +Aylmore, put it in an envelope and the envelope in his pocket and, leaving the +office, hailed a taxi-cab, and ordered its driver to take him to the +Anglo-Orient Hotel. This was the something-to-do of which he had spoken to +Breton: Spargo wanted to do it alone. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Walters was in her low-windowed office when Spargo entered the hall; she +recognized him at once and motioned him into her parlour. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember you,” said Mrs. Walters; “you came with the +detective—Mr. Rathbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen him, since?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Not since,” replied Mrs. Walters. “No—and I was +wondering if he’d be coming round, because——” She +paused there and looked at Spargo with particular +enquiry—“You’re a friend of his, aren’t you?” she +asked. “I suppose you know as much as he does—about this?” +</p> + +<p> +“He and I,” replied Spargo, with easy confidence, “are +working this case together. You can tell me anything you’d tell +him.” +</p> + +<p> +The landlady rummaged in her pocket and produced an old purse, from an inner +compartment of which she brought out a small object wrapped in tissue paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she said, unwrapping the paper, “we found this in +Number 20 this morning—it was lying under the dressing-table. The girl +that found it brought it to me, and I thought it was a bit of glass, but +Walters, he says as how he shouldn’t be surprised if it’s a +diamond. And since we found it, the waiter who took the whisky up to 20, after +Mr. Marbury came in with the other gentleman, has told me that when he went +into the room the two gentlemen were looking at a paper full of things like +this. So there?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo fingered the shining bit of stone. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a diamond—right enough,” he said. “Put it +away, Mrs. Walters—I shall see Rathbury presently, and I’ll tell +him about it. Now, that other gentleman! You told us you saw him. Could you +recognize him—I mean, a photograph of him? Is this the man?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo knew from the expression of Mrs. Walters’ face that she had no +more doubt than Webster had. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” she said. “That’s the gentleman who came in +with Mr. Marbury—I should have known him in a thousand. Anybody would +recognize him from that—perhaps you’d let our hall-porter and the +waiter I mentioned just now look at it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see them separately and see if they’ve ever seen a man +who resembles this,” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +The two men recognized the photograph at once, without any prompting, and +Spargo, after a word or two with the landlady, rode off to the Atlantic and +Pacific Club, and found Ronald Breton awaiting him on the steps. He made no +reference to his recent doings, and together they went into the house and asked +for Mr. Aylmore. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked with more than uncommon interest at the man who presently came to +them in the visitors’ room. He was already familiar with Mr. +Aylmore’s photograph, but he never remembered seeing him in real life; +the Member for Brookminster was one of that rapidly diminishing body of +legislators whose members are disposed to work quietly and unobtrusively, doing +yeoman service on committees, obeying every behest of the party whips, without +forcing themselves into the limelight or seizing every opportunity to air their +opinions. Now that Spargo met him in the flesh he proved to be pretty much what +the journalist had expected—a rather cold-mannered, self-contained man, +who looked as if he had been brought up in a school of rigid repression, and +taught not to waste words. He showed no more than the merest of languid +interests in Spargo when Breton introduced him, and his face was quite +expressionless when Spargo brought to an end his brief explanation +—purposely shortened—of his object in calling upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said indifferently. “Yes, it is quite true that I +met Marbury and spent a little time with him on the evening your informant +spoke of. I met him, as he told you, in the lobby of the House. I was much +surprised to meet him. I had not seen him for—I really don’t know +how many years.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and looked at Spargo as if he was wondering what he ought or not to +say to a newspaper man. Spargo remained silent, waiting. And presently Mr. +Aylmore went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I read your account in the <i>Watchman</i> this morning,” he said. +“I was wondering, when you called just now, if I would communicate with +you or with the police. The fact is—I suppose you want this for your +paper, eh?” he continued after a sudden breaking off. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not print anything that you wish me not to print,” +answered Spargo. “If you care to give me any +information——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well!” said Mr. Aylmore. “I don’t mind. The fact +is, I knew next to nothing. Marbury was a man with whom I had some—well, +business relations, of a sort, a great many years ago. It must be twenty +years—perhaps more—since I lost sight of him. When he came up to me +in the lobby the other night, I had to make an effort of memory to recall him. +He wished me, having once met me, to give him some advice, and as there was +little doing in the House that night, and as he had once been—almost a +friend—I walked to his hotel with him, chatting. He told me that he had +only landed from Australia that morning, and what he wanted my advice about, +principally, was—diamonds. Australian diamonds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was unaware,” remarked Spargo, “that diamonds were ever +found in Australia.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Aylmore smiled—a little cynically. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so,” he said. “But diamonds have been found in +Australia from time to time, ever since Australia was known to Europeans, and +in the opinion of experts, they will eventually be found there in quantity. +Anyhow, Marbury had got hold of some Australian diamonds, and he showed them to +me at his hotel—a number of them. We examined them in his room.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he do with them—afterwards?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“He put them in his waistcoat pocket—in a very small wash-leather +bag, from which he had taken them. There were, in all, sixteen or twenty +stones—not more, and they were all small. I advised him to see some +expert—I mentioned Streeter’s to him. Now, I can tell you how he +got hold of Mr. Breton’s address.” +</p> + +<p> +The two young men pricked up their ears. Spargo unconsciously tightened his +hold on the pencil with which he was making notes. +</p> + +<p> +“He got it from me,” continued Mr. Aylmore. “The handwriting +on the scrap of paper is mine, hurriedly scrawled. He wanted legal advice. As I +knew very little about lawyers, I told him that if he called on Mr. Breton, Mr. +Breton would be able to tell him of a first-class, sharp solicitor. I wrote +down Mr. Breton’s address for him, on a scrap of paper which he tore off +a letter that he took from his pocket. By the by, I observe that when his body +was found there was nothing on it in the shape of papers or money. I am quite +sure that when I left him he had a lot of gold on him, those diamonds, and a +breast-pocket full of letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you leave him, sir?” asked Spargo. “You left the +hotel together, I believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We strolled along when we left it. Having once met, we had much to +talk of, and it was a fine night. We walked across Waterloo Bridge and very +shortly afterwards he left me. And that is really all I know. My own +impression——” He paused for a moment and Spargo waited +silently. +</p> + +<p> +“My own impression—though I confess it may seem to have no very +solid grounds—is that Marbury was decoyed to where he was found, and was +robbed and murdered by some person who knew he had valuables on him. There is +the fact that he was robbed, at any rate.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had a notion,” said Breton, diffidently. +“Mayn’t be worth much, but I’ve had it, all the same. Some +fellow-passenger of Marbury’s may have tracked him all day—Middle +Temple Lane’s pretty lonely at night, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +No one made any comment upon this suggestion, and on Spargo looking at Mr. +Aylmore, the Member of Parliament rose and glanced at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s all I can tell you, Mr. Spargo,” he said. +“You see, it’s not much, after all. Of course, there’ll be an +inquest on Marbury, and I shall have to re-tell it. But you’re welcome to +print what I’ve told you.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo left Breton with his future father-in-law and went away towards New +Scotland Yard. He and Rathbury had promised to share news—now he had some +to communicate. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER EIGHT<br/> +THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT</h2> + +<p> +Spargo found Rathbury sitting alone in a small, somewhat dismal apartment which +was chiefly remarkable for the business-like paucity of its furnishings and its +indefinable air of secrecy. There was a plain writing-table and a hard chair or +two; a map of London, much discoloured, on the wall; a few faded photographs of +eminent bands in the world of crime, and a similar number of well-thumbed books +of reference. The detective himself, when Spargo was shown in to him, was +seated at the table, chewing an unlighted cigar, and engaged in the apparently +aimless task of drawing hieroglyphics on scraps of paper. He looked up as the +journalist entered, and held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I congratulate you on what you stuck in the <i>Watchman</i> this +morning,” he said. “Made extra good reading, I thought. They did +right to let you tackle that job. Going straight through with it now, I +suppose, Mr. Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo dropped into the chair nearest to Rathbury’s right hand. He +lighted a cigarette, and having blown out a whiff of smoke, nodded his head in +a fashion which indicated that the detective might consider his question +answered in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said. “We settled yesterday, didn’t we, +that you and I are to consider ourselves partners, as it were, in this job? +That’s all right,” he continued, as Rathbury nodded very quietly. +“Very well—have you made any further progress?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and, leaning back in +his chair, shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Frankly, I haven’t,” he replied. “Of course, +there’s a lot being done in the usual official-routine way. We’ve +men out making various enquiries. We’re enquiring about Marbury’s +voyage to England. All that we know up to now is that he was certainly a +passenger on a liner which landed at Southampton in accordance with what he +told those people at the Anglo-Orient, that he left the ship in the usual way +and was understood to take the train to town—as he did. That’s all. +There’s nothing in that. We’ve cabled to Melbourne for any news of +him from there. But I expect little from that.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Spargo. “And—what are you +doing—you, yourself? Because, if we’re to share facts, I must know +what my partner’s after. Just now, you seemed to be—drawing.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to tell you the truth,” he said, “when I want to work +things out, I come into this room—it’s quiet, as you see—and +I scribble anything on paper while I think. I was figuring on my next step, +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see it?” asked Spargo, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—I want to find the man who went with Marbury to that +hotel,” replied Rathbury. “It seems to me—” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo wagged his finger at his fellow-contriver. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve found him,” he said. “That’s what I wrote +that article for—to find him. I knew it would find him. I’ve never +had any training in your sort of work, but I knew that article would get him. +And it has got him.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury accorded the journalist a look of admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” he said. “And—who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you the story,” answered Spargo, “and in a +summary. This morning a man named Webster, a farmer, a visitor to London, came +to me at the office, and said that being at the House of Commons last night he +witnessed a meeting between Marbury and a man who was evidently a Member of +Parliament, and saw them go away together. I showed him an album of photographs +of the present members, and he immediately recognized the portrait of one of +them as the man in question. I thereupon took the portrait to the Anglo-Orient +Hotel—Mrs. Walters also at once recognized it as that of the man who came +to the hotel with Marbury, stopped with him a while in his room, and left with +him. The man is Mr. Stephen Aylmore, the member for Brookminster.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury expressed his feelings in a sharp whistle. +</p> + +<p> +“I know him!” he said. “Of course—I remember Mrs. +Walters’s description now. But his is a familiar type—tall, +grey-bearded, well-dressed. Um!—well, we’ll have to see Mr. Aylmore +at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen him,” said Spargo. “Naturally! For you see, +Mrs. Walters gave me a bit more evidence. This morning they found a loose +diamond on the floor of Number 20, and after it was found the waiter who took +the drinks up to Marbury and his guest that night remembered that when he +entered the room the two gentlemen were looking at a paper full of similar +objects. So then I went on to see Mr. Aylmore. You know young Breton, the +barrister?—you met him with me, you remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“The young fellow whose name and address were found on Marbury,” +replied Rathbury. “I remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Breton is engaged to Aylmore’s daughter,” continued Spargo. +“Breton took me to Aylmore’s club. And Aylmore gives a plain, +straightforward account of the matter which he’s granted me leave to +print. It clears up a lot of things. Aylmore knew Marbury over twenty years +ago. He lost sight of him. They met accidentally in the lobby of the House on +the evening preceding the murder. Marbury told him that he wanted his advice +about those rare things, Australian diamonds. He went back with him to his +hotel and spent a while with him; then they walked out together as far as +Waterloo Bridge, where Aylmore left him and went home. Further, the scrap of +grey paper is accounted for. Marbury wanted the address of a smart solicitor; +Aylmore didn’t know of one but told Marbury that if he called on young +Breton, he’d know, and would put him in the way to find one. Marbury +wrote Breton’s address down. That’s Aylmore’s story. But +it’s got an important addition. Aylmore says that when he left Marbury, +Marbury had on him a quantity of those diamonds in a wash-leather bag, a lot of +gold, and a breast-pocket full of letters and papers. Now—there was +nothing on him when he was found dead in Middle Temple Lane.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo stopped and lighted a fresh cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all I know,” he said. “What do you make of +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury leaned back in his chair in his apparently favourite attitude and +stared hard at the dusty ceiling above him. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know,” he said. “It brings things up to a point, +certainly. Aylmore and Marbury parted at Waterloo Bridge—very late. +Waterloo Bridge is pretty well next door to the Temple. But—how did +Marbury get into the Temple, unobserved? We’ve made every enquiry, and we +can’t trace him in any way as regards that movement. There’s a clue +for his going there in the scrap of paper bearing Breton’s address, but +even a Colonial would know that no business was done in the Temple at midnight, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Spargo, “I’ve thought of one or two +things. He may have been one of those men who like to wander around at night. +He may have seen—he would see—plenty of lights in the Temple at +that hour; he may have slipped in unobserved—it’s possible, +it’s quite possible. I once had a moonlight saunter in the Temple myself +after midnight, and had no difficulty about walking in and out, either. +But—if Marbury was murdered for the sake of what he had on him—how +did he meet with his murderer or murderers in there? Criminals don’t hang +about Middle Temple Lane.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective shook his head. He picked up his pencil and began making more +hieroglyphics. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your theory, Mr. Spargo?” he asked suddenly. “I +suppose you’ve got one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you?” asked Spargo, bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned Rathbury, hesitatingly, “I hadn’t, up +to now. But now—now, after what you’ve told me, I think I can make +one. It seems to me that after Marbury left Aylmore he probably mooned about by +himself, that he was decoyed into the Temple, and was there murdered and +robbed. There are a lot of queer ins and outs, nooks and corners in that old +spot, Mr. Spargo, and the murderer, if he knew his ground well, could easily +hide himself until he could get away in the morning. He might be a man who had +access to chambers or offices—think how easy it would be for such a man, +having once killed and robbed his victim, to lie hid for hours afterwards? For +aught we know, the man who murdered Marbury may have been within twenty feet of +you when you first saw his dead body that morning. Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Before Spargo could reply to this suggestion an official entered the room and +whispered a few words in the detective’s ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Show him in at once,” said Rathbury. He turned to Spargo as the +man quitted the room and smiled significantly. “Here’s somebody +wants to tell something about the Marbury case,” he remarked. +“Let’s hope it’ll be news worth hearing.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo smiled in his queer fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“It strikes me that you’ve only got to interest an inquisitive +public in order to get news,” he said. “The principal thing is to +investigate it when you’ve got it. Who’s this, now?” +</p> + +<p> +The official had returned with a dapper-looking gentleman in a frock-coat and +silk hat, bearing upon him the unmistakable stamp of the city man, who +inspected Rathbury with deliberation and Spargo with a glance, and being seated +turned to the detective as undoubtedly the person he desired to converse with. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that you are the officer in charge of the Marbury murder +case,” he observed. “I believe I can give you some valuable +information in respect to that. I read the account of the affair in the +<i>Watchman</i> newspaper this morning, and saw the portrait of the murdered +man there, and I was at first inclined to go to the <i>Watchman</i> office with +my information, but I finally decided to approach the police instead of the +Press, regarding the police as being more—more responsible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much obliged to you, sir,” said Rathbury, with a glance at Spargo. +“Whom have I the pleasure of——” +</p> + +<p> +“My name,” replied the visitor, drawing out and laying down a card, +“is Myerst—Mr. E.P. Myerst, Secretary of the London and Universal +Safe Deposit Company. I may, I suppose, speak with confidence,” continued +Mr. Myerst, with a side-glance at Spargo. “My information +is—confidential.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury inclined his head and put his fingers together. +</p> + +<p> +“You may speak with every confidence, Mr. Myerst,” he answered. +“If what you have to tell has any real bearing on the Marbury case, it +will probably have to be repeated in public, you know, sir. But at present it +will be treated as private.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has a very real bearing on the case, I should say,” replied Mr. +Myerst. “Yes, I should decidedly say so. The fact is that on June 21st at +about—to be precise—three o’clock in the afternoon, a +stranger, who gave the name of John Marbury, and his present address as the +Anglo-Orient Hotel, Waterloo, called at our establishment, and asked if he +could rent a small safe. He explained to me that he desired to deposit in such +a safe a small leather box—which, by the by, was of remarkably ancient +appearance—that he had brought with him. I showed him a safe such as he +wanted, informed him of the rent, and of the rules of the place, and he engaged +the safe, paid the rent for one year in advance, and deposited his leather +box—an affair of about a foot square—there and then. After that, +having exchanged a remark or two about the altered conditions of London, which, +I understood him to say, he had not seen for a great many years, he took his +key and his departure. I think there can be no doubt about this being the Mr. +Marbury who was found murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +“None at all, I should say, Mr. Myerst,” said Rathbury. “And +I’m much obliged to you for coming here. Now you might tell me a little +more, sir. Did Marbury tell you anything about the contents of the box?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He merely remarked that he wished the greatest care to be taken of +it,” replied the secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t give you any hint as to what was in it?” asked +Rathbury. +</p> + +<p> +“None. But he was very particular to assure himself that it could not be +burnt, nor burgled, nor otherwise molested,” replied Mr. Myerst. +“He appeared to be greatly relieved when he found that it was impossible +for anyone but himself to take his property from his safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Rathbury, winking at Spargo. “So he would, no +doubt. And Marbury himself, sir, now? How did he strike you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Myerst gravely considered this question. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Marbury struck me,” he answered at last, “as a man who +had probably seen strange places. And before leaving he made, what I will term, +a remarkable remark. About—in fact, about his leather box.” +</p> + +<p> +“His leather box?” said Rathbury. “And what was it, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“This,” replied the secretary. “‘That box,’ he +said, ‘is safe now. But it’s been safer. It’s been +buried—and deep-down, too—for many and many a year!’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER NINE<br/> +THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS</h2> + +<p> +“Buried—and deep-down, too—for many and many a year,” +repeated Mr. Myerst, eyeing his companions with keen glances. “I consider +that, gentlemen, a very remarkable remark—very remarkable!” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat again and began +swaying backwards and forwards in his chair. He looked at Spargo. And with his +knowledge of men, he knew that all Spargo’s journalistic instincts had +been aroused, and that he was keen as mustard to be off on a new scent. +</p> + +<p> +“Remarkable—remarkable, Mr. Myerst!” he assented. “What +do you say, Mr. Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo turned slowly, and for the first time since Myerst had entered made a +careful inspection of him. The inspection lasted several seconds; then Spargo +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you say to that?” he asked quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Myerst looked from his questioner to Rathbury. And Rathbury thought it time to +enlighten the caller. +</p> + +<p> +“I may as well tell you, Mr. Myerst,” he said smilingly, +“that this is Mr. Spargo, of the <i>Watchman</i>. Mr. Spargo wrote the +article about the Marbury case of which you spoke when you came in. Mr. Spargo, +you’ll gather, is deeply interested in this matter—and he and I, in +our different capacities, are working together. So—you understand?” +Myerst regarded Spargo in a new light. And while he was so looking at him. +Spargo repeated the question he had just put. +</p> + +<p> +“I said—What did you say to that?” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—er—I don’t think I said anything,” he +replied. “Nothing that one might call material, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t ask him what he meant?” suggested Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no—not at all,” replied Myerst. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo got up abruptly from his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you missed one of the finest opportunities I ever heard of!” +he said, half-sneeringly. “You might have heard such a +story—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, as if it were not worth while to continue, and turned to Rathbury, +who was regarding him with amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Rathbury,” he said. “Is it possible to get that +box opened?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll have to be opened,” answered Rathbury, rising. +“It’s got to be opened. It probably contains the clue we want. +I’m going to ask Mr. Myerst here to go with me just now to take the first +steps about having it opened. I shall have to get an order. We may get the +matter through today, but at any rate we’ll have it done tomorrow +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you arrange for me to be present when that comes off?” asked +Spargo. “You can—certain? That’s all right, Rathbury. Now +I’m off, and you’ll ring me up or come round if you hear anything, +and I’ll do the same by you.” +</p> + +<p> +And without further word, Spargo went quickly away, and just as quickly +returned to the <i>Watchman</i> office. There the assistant who had been told +off to wait upon his orders during this new crusade met him with a business +card. +</p> + +<p> +“This gentleman came in to see you about an hour ago, Mr. Spargo,” +he said. “He thinks he can tell you something about the Marbury affair, +and he said that as he couldn’t wait, perhaps you’d step round to +his place when you came in.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo took the card and read: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +MR. JAMES CRIEDIR,<br/> +DEALER IN PHILATELIC RARITIES,<br/> +2,021, STRAND. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Spargo put the card in his waistcoat pocket and went out again, wondering why +Mr. James Criedir could not, would not, or did not call himself a dealer in +rare postage stamps, and so use plain English. He went up Fleet Street and soon +found the shop indicated on the card, and his first glance at its exterior +showed that whatever business might have been done by Mr. Criedir in the past +at that establishment there was to be none done there in the future by him, for +there were newly-printed bills in the window announcing that the place was to +let. And inside he found a short, portly, elderly man who was superintending +the packing-up and removal of the last of his stock. He turned a bright, +enquiring eye on the journalist. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Criedir?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“The same, sir,” answered the philatelist. “You +are—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Spargo, of the <i>Watchman</i>. You called on me.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Criedir opened the door of a tiny apartment at the rear of the very little +shop and motioned his caller to enter. He followed him in and carefully closed +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you, Mr. Spargo,” he said genially. “Take a +seat, sir—I’m all in confusion here—giving up business, you +see. Yes, I called on you. I think, having read the <i>Watchman</i> account of +that Marbury affair, and having seen the murdered man’s photograph in +your columns, that I can give you a bit of information.” +</p> + +<p> +“Material?” asked Spargo, tersely. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Criedir cocked one of his bright eyes at his visitor. He coughed drily. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for you to decide—when you’ve heard it,” +he said. “I should say, considering everything, that it was material. +Well, it’s this—I kept open until yesterday—everything as +usual, you know—stock in the window and so on—so that anybody who +was passing would naturally have thought that the business was going on, though +as a matter of fact, I’m retiring—retired,” added Mr. Criedir +with a laugh, “last night. Now—but won’t you take down what +I’ve got to tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am taking it down,” answered Spargo. “Every word. In my +head.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Criedir laughed and rubbed his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said. “Ah, well, in my young days journalists used +to pull out pencil and notebook at the first opportunity. But you modern young +men—” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” agreed Spargo. “This information, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Criedir, “we’ll go on then. Yesterday +afternoon the man described as Marbury came into my shop. He—” +</p> + +<p> +“What time—exact time?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Two—to the very minute by St. Clement Danes clock,” answered +Mr. Criedir. “I’d swear twenty affidavits on that point. He was +precisely as you’ve described him—dress, everything—I tell +you I knew his photo as soon as I saw it. He was carrying a little +box—” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of box?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“A queer, old-fashioned, much-worn leather box—a very miniature +trunk, in fact,” replied Mr. Criedir. “About a foot square; the +sort of thing you never see nowadays. It was very much worn; it attracted me +for that very reason. He set it on the counter and looked at me. +‘You’re a dealer in stamps—rare stamps?’ he said. +‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I’ve something here I’d like +to show you,’ he said, unlocking the box. +‘It’s—’” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop a bit,” said Spargo. “Where did he take the key from +with which he unlocked the box?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was one of several which he carried on a split ring, and he took the +bunch out of his left-hand trousers pocket,” replied Mr. Criedir. +“Oh, I keep my eyes open, young gentleman! Well—he opened his box. +It seemed to me to be full of papers—at any rate there were a lot of +legal-looking documents on the top, tied up with red tape. To show you how I +notice things I saw that the papers were stained with age, and that the red +tape was faded to a mere washed-out pink.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good—good!” murmured Spargo. “Excellent! Proceed, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“He put his hand under the topmost papers and drew out an +envelope,” continued Mr. Criedir. “From the envelope he produced an +exceedingly rare, exceedingly valuable set of Colonial stamps—the +very-first ever issued. ‘I’ve just come from Australia,’ he +said. ‘I promised a young friend of mine out there to sell these stamps +for him in London, and as I was passing this way I caught sight of your shop. +Will you buy ’em, and how much will you give for ’em?’” +</p> + +<p> +“Prompt,” muttered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“He seemed to me the sort of man who doesn’t waste words,” +agreed Mr. Criedir. “Well, there was no doubt about the stamps, nor about +their great value. But I had to explain to him that I was retiring from +business that very day, and did not wish to enter into even a single deal, and +that, therefore, I couldn’t do anything. ‘No matter,’ he +says, ‘I daresay there are lots of men in your line of +trade—perhaps you can recommend me to a good firm?’ ‘I could +recommend you to a dozen extra-good firms,’ I answered. ‘But I can +do better for you. I’ll give you the name and address of a private buyer +who, I haven’t the least doubt, will be very glad to buy that set from +you and will give you a big price.’ ‘Write it down,’ he says, +‘and thank you for your trouble.’ So I gave him a bit of advice as +to the price he ought to get, and I wrote the name and address of the man I +referred to on the back of one of my cards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose name and address?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Nicholas Cardlestone, 2, Pilcox Buildings, Middle Temple +Lane,” replied Mr. Criedir. “Mr. Cardlestone is one of the most +enthusiastic and accomplished philatelists in Europe. And I knew he +didn’t possess that set of stamps.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know Mr. Cardlestone,” remarked Spargo. “It was at the +foot of his stairs that Marbury was found murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” said Mr. Criedir. “Which makes me think that he +was going to see Mr. Cardlestone when he was set upon, murdered, and +robbed.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked fixedly at the retired stamp-dealer. +</p> + +<p> +“What, going to see an elderly gentleman in his rooms in the Temple, to +offer to sell him philatelic rarities at—past midnight?” he said. +“I think—not much!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” replied Mr. Criedir. “You think and argue on +modern lines—which are, of course, highly superior. But—how do you +account for my having given Marbury Mr. Cardlestone’s address and for his +having been found dead—murdered—at the foot of Cardlestone’s +stairs a few hours later?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t account for it,” said Spargo. “I’m +trying to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Criedir made no comment on this. He looked his visitor up and down for a +moment; gathered some idea of his capabilities, and suddenly offered him a +cigarette. Spargo accepted it with a laconic word of thanks, and smoked +half-way through it before he spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “I’m trying to account. And I shall +account. And I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Criedir, for what you’ve +told me. Now, then, may I ask you a question or two?” +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand!” responded Mr. Criedir with great geniality. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Did Marbury say he’d call on Cardlestone?” +</p> + +<p> +“He did. Said he’d call as soon as he could—that day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you told Cardlestone what you’ve just told me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have. But not until an hour ago—on my way back from your office, +in fact. I met him in Fleet Street and told him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had he received a call from Marbury?” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Never heard of or seen the man. At least, never heard of him until +he heard of the murder. He told me he and his friend, Mr. Elphick, another +philatelist, went to see the body, wondering if they could recognize it as any +man they’d ever known, but they couldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know they did,” said Spargo. “I saw ’em at the +mortuary. Um! Well—one more question. When Marbury left you, did he put +those stamps in his box again, as before?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Mr. Criedir. “He put them in his right-hand +breast pocket, and he locked up his old box, and went off swinging it in his +left hand.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo went away down Fleet Street, seeing nobody. He muttered to himself, and +he was still muttering when he got into his room at the office. And what he +muttered was the same thing, repeated over and over again: +</p> + +<p> +“Six hours—six hours—six hours! Those six hours!” +</p> + +<p> +Next morning the <i>Watchman</i> came out with four leaded columns of +up-to-date news about the Marbury Case, and right across the top of the four +ran a heavy double line of great capitals, black and staring:—WHO SAW +JOHN MARBURY BETWEEN 3.15 P.M. AND 9.15 P.M. ON THE DAY PRECEDING HIS MURDER? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER TEN<br/> +THE LEATHER BOX</h2> + +<p> +Whether Spargo was sanguine enough to expect that his staring headline would +bring him information of the sort he wanted was a secret which he kept to +himself. That a good many thousands of human beings must have set eyes on John +Marbury between the hours which Spargo set forth in that headline was certain; +the problem was—What particular owner or owners of a pair or of many +pairs of those eyes would remember him? Why should they remember him? Walters +and his wife had reason to remember him; Criedir had reason to remember him; so +had Myerst; so had William Webster. But between a quarter past three, when he +left the London and Universal Safe Deposit, and a quarter past nine, when he +sat down by Webster’s side in the lobby of the House of Commons, nobody +seemed to have any recollection of him except Mr. Fiskie, the hatter, and he +only remembered him faintly, and because Marbury had bought a fashionable cloth +cap at his shop. At any rate, by noon of that day, nobody had come forward with +any recollection of him. He must have gone West from seeing Myerst, because he +bought his cap at Fiskie’s; he must eventually have gone South-West, +because he turned up at Westminster. But where else did he go? What did he do? +To whom did he speak? No answer came to these questions. +</p> + +<p> +“That shows,” observed young Mr. Ronald Breton, lazing an hour away +in Spargo’s room at the <i>Watchman</i> at that particular hour which is +neither noon nor afternoon, wherein even busy men do nothing, “that shows +how a chap can go about London as if he were merely an ant that had strayed +into another ant-heap than his own. Nobody notices.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better go and read up a little elementary entomology, +Breton,” said Spargo. “I don’t know much about it myself, but +I’ve a pretty good idea that when an ant walks into the highways and +byways of a colony to which he doesn’t belong he doesn’t survive +his intrusion by many seconds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you know what I mean,” said Breton. “London’s an +ant-heap, isn’t it? One human ant more or less doesn’t count. This +man Marbury must have gone about a pretty tidy lot during those six hours. +He’d ride on a ’bus—almost certain. He’d get into a +taxi-cab—I think that’s much more certain, because it would be a +novelty to him. He’d want some tea—anyway, he’d be sure to +want a drink, and he’d turn in somewhere to get one or the other. +He’d buy things in shops—these Colonials always do. He’d go +somewhere to get his dinner. He’d—but what’s the use of +enumeration in this case?” +</p> + +<p> +“A mere piling up of platitudes,” answered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“What I mean is,” continued Breton, “that piles of people +must have seen him, and yet it’s now hours and hours since your paper +came out this morning, and nobody’s come forward to tell anything. And +when you come to think of it, why should they? Who’d remember an ordinary +man in a grey tweed suit?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘An ordinary man in a grey tweed suit,’” repeated +Spargo. “Good line. You haven’t any copyright in it, remember. It +would make a good cross-heading.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton laughed. “You’re a queer chap, Spargo,” he said. +“Seriously, do you think you’re getting any nearer anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m getting nearer something with everything that’s +done,” Spargo answered. “You can’t start on a business like +this without evolving something out of it, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Breton, “to me there’s not so much mystery +in it. Mr. Aylmore’s explained the reason why my address was found on the +body; Criedir, the stamp-man, has explained—” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” he said sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the reason of Marbury’s being found where he was +found,” replied Breton. “Of course, I see it all! Marbury was +mooning around Fleet Street; he slipped into Middle Temple Lane, late as it +was, just to see where old Cardlestone hangs out, and he was set upon and done +for. The thing’s plain to me. The only thing now is to find who did +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s it,” agreed Spargo. “That’s +it.” He turned over the leaves of the diary which lay on his desk. +“By the by,” he said, looking up with some interest, “the +adjourned inquest is at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Are you +going?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall certainly go,” answered Breton. “What’s more, +I’m going to take Miss Aylmore and her sister. As the gruesome details +were over at the first sitting, and as there’ll be nothing but this new +evidence tomorrow, and as they’ve never been in a coroner’s +court——” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Aylmore’ll be the principal witness tomorrow,” +interrupted Spargo. “I suppose he’ll be able to tell a lot more +than he told—me.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see that there’s much more to tell,” he said. +“But,” he added, with a sly laugh, “I suppose you want some +more good copy, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo glanced at his watch, rose, and picked up his hat. “I’ll +tell you what I want,” he said. “I want to know who John Marbury +was. That would make good copy. Who he +was—twenty—twenty-five—forty years ago. Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think Mr. Aylmore can tell?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Aylmore,” answered Spargo as they walked towards the door, +“is the only person I have met so far who has admitted that he knew John +Marbury in the—past. But he didn’t tell me—much. Perhaps +he’ll tell the coroner and his jury—more. Now, I’m off +Breton—I’ve an appointment.” +</p> + +<p> +And leaving Breton to find his own way out, Spargo hurried away, jumped into a +taxi-cab and speeded to the London and Universal Safe Deposit. At the corner of +its building he found Rathbury awaiting him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Spargo, as he sprang out: “How is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” answered Rathbury. “You can be +present: I got the necessary permission. As there are no relations known, +there’ll only be one or two officials and you, and the Safe Deposit +people, and myself. Come on—it’s about time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds,” observed Spargo, “like an exhumation.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed. “Well, we’re certainly going to dig up a dead +man’s secrets,” he said. “At least, we may be going to do so. +In my opinion, Mr. Spargo, we’ll find some clue in this leather +box.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo made no answer. They entered the office, to be shown into a room where +were already assembled Mr. Myerst, a gentleman who turned out to be the +chairman of the company, and the officials of whom Rathbury had spoken. And in +another moment Spargo heard the chairman explaining that the company possessed +duplicate keys to all safes, and that the proper authorization having been +received from the proper authorities, those present would now proceed to the +safe recently tenanted by the late Mr. John Marbury, and take from it the +property which he himself had deposited there, a small leather box, which they +would afterwards bring to that room and cause to be opened in each +other’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Spargo that there was an unending unlocking of bolts and bars +before he and his fellow-processionists came to the safe so recently rented by +the late Mr. John Marbury, now undoubtedly deceased. And at first sight of it, +he saw that it was so small an affair that it seemed ludicrous to imagine that +it could contain anything of any importance. In fact, it looked to be no more +than a plain wooden locker, one amongst many in a small strong room: it +reminded Spargo irresistibly of the locker in which, in his school days, he had +kept his personal belongings and the jam tarts, sausage rolls, and hardbake +smuggled in from the tuck-shop. Marbury’s name had been newly painted +upon it; the paint was scarcely dry. But when the wooden door—the front +door, as it were, of this temple of mystery, had been solemnly opened by the +chairman, a formidable door of steel was revealed, and expectation still leapt +in the bosoms of the beholders. +</p> + +<p> +“The duplicate key, Mr. Myerst, if you please,” commanded the +chairman, “the duplicate key!” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst, who was fully as solemn as his principal, produced a curious-looking +key: the chairman lifted his hand as if he were about to christen a battleship: +the steel door swung slowly back. And there, in a two-foot square cavity, lay +the leather box. +</p> + +<p> +It struck Spargo as they filed back to the secretary’s room that the +procession became more funereal-like than ever. First walked the chairman, +abreast with the high official, who had brought the necessary authorization +from the all-powerful quarter; then came Myerst carrying the box: followed two +other gentlemen, both legal lights, charged with watching official and police +interests; Rathbury and Spargo brought up the rear. He whispered something of +his notions to the detective; Rathbury nodded a comprehensive understanding. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s hope we’re going to see—something!” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +In the secretary’s room a man waited who touched his forelock +respectfully as the heads of the procession entered. Myerst set the box on the +table: the man made a musical jingle of keys: the other members of the +procession gathered round. +</p> + +<p> +“As we naturally possess no key to this box,” announced the +chairman in grave tones, “it becomes our duty to employ professional +assistance in opening it. Jobson!” +</p> + +<p> +He waved a hand, and the man of the keys stepped forward with alacrity. He +examined the lock of the box with a knowing eye; it was easy to see that he was +anxious to fall upon it. While he considered matters, Spargo looked at the box. +It was pretty much what it had been described to him as being; a small, square +box of old cow-hide, very strongly made, much worn and tarnished, fitted with a +handle projecting from the lid, and having the appearance of having been hidden +away somewhere for many a long day. +</p> + +<p> +There was a click, a spring: Jobson stepped back. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, if you please, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman motioned to the high official. +</p> + +<p> +“If you would be good enough to open the box, sir,” he said. +“Our duty is now concluded.” +</p> + +<p> +As the high official laid his hand on the lid the other men gathered round with +craning necks and expectant eyes. The lid was lifted: somebody sighed deeply. +And Spargo pushed his own head and eyes nearer. +</p> + +<p> +The box was empty! +</p> + +<p> +Empty, as anything that can be empty is empty! thought Spargo: there was +literally nothing in it. They were all staring into the interior of a plain, +time-worn little receptacle, lined out with old-fashioned chintz stuff, such as +our Mid-Victorian fore-fathers were familiar with, and +containing—nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless my soul!” exclaimed the chairman. “This +is—dear me!—why, there is nothing in the box!” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” remarked the high official, drily, “appears to be +obvious.” +</p> + +<p> +The chairman looked at the secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“I understood the box was valuable, Mr. Myerst,” he said, with the +half-injured air of a man who considers himself to have been robbed of an +exceptionally fine treat. “Valuable!” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I can only repeat what I have already said, Sir Benjamin,” he +answered. “The—er late Mr. Marbury spoke of the deposit as being of +great value to him; he never permitted it out of his hand until he placed it in +the safe. He appeared to regard it as of the greatest value.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we understand from the evidence of Mr. Criedir, given to the +<i>Watchman</i> newspaper, that it was full of papers and—and other +articles,” said the chairman. “Criedir saw papers in it about an +hour before it was brought here.” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst spread out his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I can only repeat what I have said, Sir Benjamin,” he answered. +“I know nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why should a man deposit an empty box?” began the chairman. +“I—” +</p> + +<p> +The high official interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“That the box is empty is certain,” he observed. “Did you +ever handle it yourself, Mr. Myerst?” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst smiled in a superior fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“I have already observed, sir, that from the time the deceased entered +this room until the moment he placed the box in the safe which he rented, the +box was never out of his hands,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was silence. At last the high official turned to the chairman. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said. “We’ve made the enquiry. +Rathbury, take the box away with you and lock it up at the Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +So Spargo went out with Rathbury and the box; and saw excellent, if mystifying, +material for the article which had already become the daily feature of his +paper. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER ELEVEN<br/> +MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED</h2> + +<p> +It seemed to Spargo as he sat listening to the proceedings at the adjourned +inquest next day that the whole story of what was now world-famous as the +Middle Temple Murder Case was being reiterated before him for the thousandth +time. There was not a detail of the story with which he had not become familiar +to fulness. The first proceeding before the coroner had been of a merely formal +nature; these were thorough and exhaustive; the representative of the Crown and +twelve good men and true of the City of London were there to hear and to find +out and to arrive at a conclusion as to how the man known as John Marbury came +by his death. And although he knew all about it, Spargo found himself +tabulating the evidence in a professional manner, and noting how each +successive witness contributed, as it were, a chapter to the story. The story +itself ran quite easily, naturally, consecutively—you could make it in +sections. And Spargo, sitting merely to listen, made them: +</p> + +<p> +1. The Temple porter and Constable Driscoll proved the finding of the body. +</p> + +<p> +2. The police surgeon testified as to the cause of death—the man had been +struck down from behind by a blow, a terrible blow—from some heavy +instrument, and had died immediately. +</p> + +<p> +3. The police and the mortuary officials proved that when the body was examined +nothing was found in the clothing but the now famous scrap of grey paper. +</p> + +<p> +4. Rathbury proved that by means of the dead man’s new fashionable cloth +cap, bought at Fiskie’s well-known shop in the West-End, he traced +Marbury to the Anglo-Orient Hotel in the Waterloo District. +</p> + +<p> +5. Mr. and Mrs. Walters gave evidence of the arrival of Marbury at the +Anglo-Orient Hotel, and of his doings while he was in and about there. +</p> + +<p> +6. The purser of the ss. <i>Wambarino</i> proved that Marbury sailed from +Melbourne to Southampton on that ship, excited no remark, behaved himself like +any other well-regulated passenger, and left the <i>Wambarino</i> at +Southampton early in the morning of what was to be the last day of his life in +just the ordinary manner. +</p> + +<p> +7. Mr. Criedir gave evidence of his rencontre with Marbury in the matter of the +stamps. +</p> + +<p> +8. Mr. Myerst told of Marbury’s visit to the Safe Deposit, and further +proved that the box which he placed there proved, on official examination, to +be empty. +</p> + +<p> +9. William Webster re-told the story of his encounter with Marbury in one of +the vestibules of the House of Commons, and of his witnessing the meeting +between him and the gentleman whom he (Webster) now knew to be Mr. Aylmore, a +Member of Parliament. +</p> + +<p> +All this led up to the appearance of Mr. Aylmore, M.P., in the witness-box. And +Spargo knew and felt that it was that appearance for which the crowded court +was waiting. Thanks to his own vivid and realistic specials in the +<i>Watchman</i>, everybody there had already become well and thoroughly +acquainted with the mass of evidence represented by the nine witnesses who had +been in the box before Mr. Aylmore entered it. They were familiar, too, with +the facts which Mr. Aylmore had permitted Spargo to print after the interview +at the club, which Ronald Breton arranged. Why, then, the extraordinary +interest which the Member of Parliament’s appearance aroused? For +everybody was extraordinarily interested; from the Coroner downwards to the +last man who had managed to squeeze himself into the last available inch of the +public gallery, all who were there wanted to hear and see the man who met +Marbury under such dramatic circumstances, and who went to his hotel with him, +hobnobbed with him, gave him advice, walked out of the hotel with him for a +stroll from which Marbury never returned. Spargo knew well why the interest was +so keen—everybody knew that Aylmore was the only man who could tell the +court anything really pertinent about Marbury; who he was, what he was after; +what his life had been. +</p> + +<p> +He looked round the court as the Member of Parliament entered the +witness-box—a tall, handsome, perfectly-groomed man, whose beard was only +slightly tinged with grey, whose figure was as erect as a well-drilled +soldier’s, who carried about him an air of conscious power. +Aylmore’s two daughters sat at a little distance away, opposite Spargo, +with Ronald Breton in attendance upon them; Spargo had encountered their glance +as they entered the court, and they had given him a friendly nod and smile. He +had watched them from time to time; it was plain to him that they regarded the +whole affair as a novel sort of entertainment; they might have been idlers in +some Eastern bazaar, listening to the unfolding of many tales from the +professional tale-tellers. Now, as their father entered the box, Spargo looked +at them again; he saw nothing more than a little heightening of colour in their +cheeks, a little brightening of their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“All that they feel,” he thought, “is a bit of extra +excitement at the idea that their father is mixed up in this delightful +mystery. Um! Well—now how much is he mixed up?” +</p> + +<p> +And he turned to the witness-box and from that moment never took his eyes off +the man who now stood in it. For Spargo had ideas about the witness which he +was anxious to develop. +</p> + +<p> +The folk who expected something immediately sensational in Mr. Aylmore’s +evidence were disappointed. Aylmore, having been sworn, and asked a question or +two by the Coroner, requested permission to tell, in his own way, what he knew +of the dead man and of this sad affair; and having received that permission, he +went on in a calm, unimpassioned manner to repeat precisely what he had told +Spargo. It sounded a very plain, ordinary story. He had known Marbury many +years ago. He had lost sight of him for—oh, quite twenty years. He had +met him accidentally in one of the vestibules of the House of Commons on the +evening preceding the murder. Marbury had asked his advice. Having no +particular duty, and willing to do an old acquaintance a good turn, he had gone +back to the Anglo-Orient Hotel with Marbury, had remained awhile with him in +his room, examining his Australian diamonds, and had afterwards gone out with +him. He had given him the advice he wanted; they had strolled across Waterloo +Bridge; shortly afterwards they had parted. That was all he knew. +</p> + +<p> +The court, the public, Spargo, everybody there, knew all this already. It had +been in print, under a big headline, in the <i>Watchman</i>. Aylmore had now +told it again; having told it, he seemed to consider that his next step was to +leave the box and the court, and after a perfunctory question or two from the +Coroner and the foreman of the jury he made a motion as if to step down. But +Spargo, who had been aware since the beginning of the enquiry of the presence +of a certain eminent counsel who represented the Treasury, cocked his eye in +that gentleman’s direction, and was not surprised to see him rise in his +well-known, apparently indifferent fashion, fix his monocle in his right eye, +and glance at the tall figure in the witness-box. +</p> + +<p> +“The fun is going to begin,” muttered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +The Treasury representative looked from Aylmore to the Coroner and made a jerky +bow; from the Coroner to Aylmore and straightened himself. He looked like a man +who is going to ask indifferent questions about the state of the weather, or +how Smith’s wife was last time you heard of her, or if stocks are likely +to rise or fall. But Spargo had heard this man before, and he knew many signs +of his in voice and manner and glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Aylmore, about your +acquaintanceship with the dead man. It was an acquaintanceship of some time +ago?” began the suave, seemingly careless voice. +</p> + +<p> +“A considerable time ago,” answered Aylmore. +</p> + +<p> +“How long—roughly speaking?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say from twenty to twenty-two or three years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never saw him during that time until you met accidentally in the way you +have described to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ever heard from him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ever heard of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“But when you met, you knew each other at once?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—almost at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Almost at once. Then, I take it, you were very well known to each other +twenty or twenty-two years ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“We were—yes, well known to each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Close friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“I said we were acquaintances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Acquaintances. What was his name when you knew him at that time?” +</p> + +<p> +“His name? It was—Marbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“Marbury—the same name. Where did you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—oh, here in London.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean—what was his occupation?” +</p> + +<p> +“What was his occupation?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he was concerned in financial matters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Concerned in financial matters. Had you dealings with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes—on occasions.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was his business address in London?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t remember that.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was his private address?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I never knew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you transact your business with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we met, now and then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where? What place, office, resort?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t remember particular places. Sometimes—in the +City.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the City. Where in the City? Mansion House, or Lombard Street, or St. +Paul’s Churchyard, or the Old Bailey, or where?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have recollections of meeting him outside the Stock Exchange.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Was he a member of that institution?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I know of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +“What were the dealings that you had with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Financial dealings—small ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long did your acquaintanceship with him last—what period did +it extend over?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say about six months to nine months.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was quite a slight acquaintanceship, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, quite!” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet, after losing sight of this merely slight acquaintance for over +twenty years, you, on meeting him, take great interest in him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was willing to do him a good turn, I was interested in what he +told me the other evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. Now you will not object to my asking you a personal question or +two. You are a public man, and the facts about the lives of public men are more +or less public property. You are represented in this work of popular reference +as coming to this country in 1902, from Argentina, where you made a +considerable fortune. You have told us, however, that you were in London, +acquainted with Marbury, about the years, say 1890 to 1892. Did you then leave +England soon after knowing Marbury?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did. I left England in 1891 or 1892—I am not sure which.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are wanting to be very sure about this matter, Mr. Aylmore. We want +to solve the important question—who is, who was John Marbury, and how did +he come by his death? You seem to be the only available person who knows +anything about him. What was your business before you left England?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was interested in financial affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like Marbury. Where did you carry on your business?” +</p> + +<p> +“In London, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“At what address?” +</p> + +<p> +For some moments Aylmore had been growing more and more restive. His brow had +flushed; his moustache had begun to twitch. And now he squared his shoulders +and faced his questioner defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“I resent these questions about my private affairs!” he snapped +out. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly. But I must put them. I repeat my last question.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I refuse to answer it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I ask you another. Where did you live in London at the time you are +telling us of, when you knew John Marbury?” +</p> + +<p> +“I refuse to answer that question also!” +</p> + +<p> +The Treasury Counsel sat down and looked at the Coroner. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER TWELVE<br/> +THE NEW WITNESS</h2> + +<p> +The voice of the Coroner, bland, suave, deprecating, broke the silence. He was +addressing the witness. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure, Mr. Aylmore,” he said, “there is no wish to +trouble you with unnecessary questions. But we are here to get at the truth of +this matter of John Marbury’s death, and as you are the only witness we +have had who knew him personally—” +</p> + +<p> +Aylmore turned impatiently to the Coroner. +</p> + +<p> +“I have every wish to respect your authority, sir!” he exclaimed. +“And I have told you all that I know of Marbury and of what happened when +I met him the other evening. But I resent being questioned on my private +affairs of twenty years ago—I very much resent it! Any question that is +really pertinent I will answer, but I will not answer questions that seem to me +wholly foreign to the scope of this enquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +The Treasury Counsel rose again. His manner had become of the quietest, and +Spargo again became keenly attentive. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I can put a question or two to Mr. Aylmore which will not yield +him offence,” he remarked drily. He turned once more to the witness, +regarding him as if with interest. “Can you tell us of any person now +living who knew Marbury in London at the time under discussion—twenty to +twenty-two or three years ago?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Aylmore shook his head angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I can’t,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you and he must have had several business acquaintances at that +time who knew you both!” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly—at that time. But when I returned to England my business +and my life lay in different directions to those of that time. I don’t +know of anybody who knew Marbury then—anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +The Counsel turned to a clerk who sat behind him, whispered to him; Spargo saw +the clerk make a sidelong motion of his head towards the door of the court. The +Counsel looked again at the witness. +</p> + +<p> +“One more question. You told the court a little time since that you +parted with Marbury on the evening preceding his death at the end of Waterloo +Bridge—at, I think you said, a quarter to twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“About that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“And at that place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is all I want to ask you, Mr. Aylmore—just now,” said +the Counsel. He turned to the Coroner. “I am going to ask you, sir, at +this point to call a witness who has volunteered certain evidence to the police +authorities this morning. That evidence is of a very important nature, and I +think that this is the stage at which it ought to be given to you and the jury. +If you would be pleased to direct that David Lyell be called—” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo turned instinctively to the door, having seen the clerk who had sat +behind the Treasury Counsel make his way there. There came into view, ushered +by the clerk, a smart-looking, alert, self-confident young man, evidently a +Scotsman, who, on the name of David Lyell being called, stepped jauntily and +readily into the place which the member of Parliament just vacated. He took the +oath—Scotch fashion—with the same readiness and turned easily to +the Treasury Counsel. And Spargo, glancing quickly round, saw that the court +was breathless with anticipation, and that its anticipation was that the new +witness was going to tell something which related to the evidence just given by +Aylmore. +</p> + +<p> +“Your name is David Lyell?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my name, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you reside at 23, Cumbrae Side, Kilmarnock, Scotland?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you, Mr. Lyell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Traveller, sir, for the firm of Messrs. Stevenson, Robertson & +Soutar, distillers, of Kilmarnock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your duties take you, I think, over to Paris occasionally?” +</p> + +<p> +“They do—once every six weeks I go to Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the evening of June 21st last were you in London on your way to +Paris?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you stayed at De Keyser’s Hotel, at the Blackfriars end +of the Embankment?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did—it’s handy for the continental trains.” +</p> + +<p> +“About half-past eleven, or a little later, that evening, did you go +along the Embankment, on the Temple Gardens side, for a walk?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, sir. I’m a bad sleeper, and it’s a habit of mine to +take a walk of half an hour or so last thing before I go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far did you walk?” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as Waterloo Bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Always on the Temple side?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, sir—straight along on that side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. When you got close to Waterloo Bridge, did you meet anybody +you knew?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo could not avoid a glance at the two sisters. The elder’s head was +averted; the younger was staring at the witness steadily. And Breton was +nervously tapping his fingers on the crown of his shining silk hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament,” repeated the +Counsel’s suave, clear tones. “Oh! And how did you come to +recognize Mr. Aylmore, Member of Parliament?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, in this way. At home, I’m the secretary of our Liberal +Ward Club, and last year we had a demonstration, and it fell to me to arrange +with the principal speakers. I got Mr. Aylmore to come and speak, and naturally +I met him several times, in London and in Scotland.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that you knew him quite well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see him now, Mr. Lyell?” +</p> + +<p> +Lyell smiled and half turned in the box. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course!” he answered. “There is Mr. Aylmore.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is Mr. Aylmore. Very good. Now we go on. You met Mr. Aylmore close +to Waterloo Bridge? How close?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, to be exact, Mr. Aylmore came down the steps from the bridge +on to the Embankment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“A man, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know the man?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But seeing who he was with. I took a good look at him. I +haven’t forgotten his face.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t forgotten his face. Mr. Lyell—has anything +recalled that face to you within this last day or two?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“The picture of the man they say was murdered—John Marbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re sure of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m as certain, sir, as that my name’s what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is your belief that Mr. Aylmore, when you met him, was accompanied by +the man who, according to the photographs, was John Marbury?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Now, having seen Mr. Aylmore and his companion, what did you +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I just turned and walked after them.” +</p> + +<p> +“You walked after them? They were going eastward, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“They were walking by the way I’d come.” +</p> + +<p> +“You followed them eastward?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did—I was going back to the hotel, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were they doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Talking uncommonly earnestly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far did you follow them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I followed them until they came to the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple +Lane, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sir, they turned in there, and I went straight on to De +Keyser’s, and to my bed.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a deeper silence in court at that moment than at any other period of +the long day, and it grew still deeper when the quiet, keen voice put the next +question. +</p> + +<p> +“You swear on your oath that you saw Mr. Aylmore take his companion into +the Temple by the Embankment entrance of Middle Temple Lane on the occasion in +question?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do! I could swear no other, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you tell us, as near as possible, what time that would be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It was, to a minute or so, about five minutes past twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +The Treasury Counsel nodded to the Coroner, and the Coroner, after a whispered +conference with the foreman of the jury, looked at the witness. +</p> + +<p> +“You have only just given this information to the police, I +understand?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I have been in Paris, and in Amiens, and I only returned by +this morning’s boat. As soon as I had read all the news in the +papers—the English papers—and seen the dead man’s photographs +I determined to tell the police what I knew, and I went to New Scotland Yard as +soon as I got to London this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Nobody else wanted to ask Mr. David Lyell any questions, and he stepped down. +And Mr. Aylmore suddenly came forward again, seeking the Coroner’s +attention. +</p> + +<p> +“May I be allowed to make an explanation, sir?” he began. +“I—” +</p> + +<p> +But the Treasury Counsel was on his feet, this time stern and implacable. +“I would point out, sir, that you have had Mr. Aylmore in the box, and +that he was not then at all ready to give explanations, or even to answer +questions,” he said. “And before you allow him to make any +explanation now, I ask you to hear another witness whom I wish to interpose at +this stage. That witness is——” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Aylmore turned almost angrily to the Coroner. +</p> + +<p> +“After the evidence of the last witness, I think I have a right to be +heard at once!” he said with emphasis. “As matters stand at +present, it looks as if I had trifled, sir, with you and the jury, whereas if I +am allowed to make an explanation—” +</p> + +<p> +“I must respectfully ask that before Mr. Aylmore is allowed to make any +explanation, the witness I have referred to is heard,” said the Treasury +Counsel sternly. “There are weighty reasons.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid you must wait a little, Mr. Aylmore, if you wish to give an +explanation,” said the Coroner. He turned to the Counsel. “Who is +this other witness?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Aylmore stepped back. And Spargo noticed that the younger of his two daughters +was staring at him with an anxious expression. There was no distrust of her +father in her face; she was anxious. She, too, slowly turned to the next +witness. This man was the porter of the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple Lane. +The Treasury Counsel put a straight question to him at once. +</p> + +<p> +“You see that gentleman,” he said, pointing to Aylmore. “Do +you know him as an inmate of the Temple?” +</p> + +<p> +The man stared at Aylmore, evidently confused. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, certainly, sir!” he answered. “Quite well, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. And now—what name do you know him by?” +</p> + +<p> +The man grew evidently more bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“Name, sir. Why, Mr. Anderson, sir!” he replied. “Mr. +Anderson!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER THIRTEEN<br/> +UNDER SUSPICION</h2> + +<p> +A distinct, uncontrollable murmur of surprise ran round the packed court as +this man in the witness-box gave this answer. It signified many +things—that there were people present who had expected some such dramatic +development; that there were others present who had not; that the answer itself +was only a prelude to further developments. And Spargo, looking narrowly about +him, saw that the answer had aroused different feelings in Aylmore’s two +daughters. The elder one had dropped her face until it was quite hidden; the +younger was sitting bolt upright, staring at her father in utter and genuine +bewilderment. And for the first time, Aylmore made no response to her. +</p> + +<p> +But the course of things was going steadily forward. There was no stopping the +Treasury Counsel now; he was going to get at some truth in his own merciless +fashion. He had exchanged one glance with the Coroner, had whispered a word to +the solicitor who sat close by him, and now he turned again to the witness. +</p> + +<p> +“So you know that gentleman—make sure now—as Mr. Anderson, an +inmate of the Temple?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know him by any other name?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you known him by that name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say two or three years, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“See him go in and out regularly?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir—not regularly.” +</p> + +<p> +“How often, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now and then, sir—perhaps once a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us what you know of Mr. Anderson’s goings-in-and-out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I might see him two nights running; then I mightn’t see +him again for perhaps a week or two. Irregular, as you might say, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say ‘nights.’ Do I understand that you never see Mr. +Anderson except at night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I’ve never seen him except at night. Always about the +same time, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just about midnight, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Do you remember the midnight of June 21st-22nd?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see Mr. Anderson enter then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, just after twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir; there was another gentleman with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember anything about that other gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, sir, except that I noticed as they walked through, that the +other gentleman had grey clothes on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had grey clothes on. You didn’t see his face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to remember it, sir. I don’t remember anything but what +I’ve told you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is that the other gentleman wore a grey suit. Where did Mr. +Anderson and this gentleman in the grey suit go when they’d passed +through?” +</p> + +<p> +“Straight up the Lane, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know where Mr. Anderson’s rooms in the Temple are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly, sir, but I understood in Fountain Court.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, on that night in question, did Mr. Anderson leave again by your +lodge?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You heard of the discovery of the body of a dead man in Middle Temple +Lane next morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you connect that man with the gentleman in the grey suit?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, I didn’t. It never occurred to me. A lot of the gentlemen +who live in the Temple bring friends in late of nights; I never gave the matter +any particular thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mentioned it to anybody until now, when you were sent for to come +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, never, to anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have never known the gentleman standing there as anybody but Mr. +Anderson?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, never heard any other name but Anderson.” +</p> + +<p> +The Coroner glanced at the Counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“I think this may be a convenient opportunity for Mr. Aylmore to give the +explanation he offered a few minutes ago,” he said. “Do you suggest +anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suggest, sir, that if Mr. Aylmore desires to give any explanation he +should return to the witness-box and submit himself to examination again on his +oath,” replied the Counsel. “The matter is in your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +The Coroner turned to Aylmore. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you object to that?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Aylmore stepped boldly forward and into the box. +</p> + +<p> +“I object to nothing,” he said in clear tones, “except to +being asked to reply to questions about matters of the past which have not and +cannot have anything to do with this case. Ask me what questions you like, +arising out of the evidence of the last two witnesses, and I will answer them +so far as I see myself justified in doing so. Ask me questions about matters of +twenty years ago, and I shall answer them or not as I see fit. And I may as +well say that I will take all the consequences of my silence or my +speech.” +</p> + +<p> +The Treasury Counsel rose again. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Aylmore,” he said. “I will put certain +questions to you. You heard the evidence of David Lyell?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was that quite true as regards yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true—absolutely true.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you heard that of the last witness. Was that also true!” +</p> + +<p> +“Equally true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you admit that the evidence you gave this morning, before these +witnesses came on the scene, was not true?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I do not! Most emphatically I do not. It was true.” +</p> + +<p> +“True? You told me, on oath, that you parted from John Marbury on +Waterloo Bridge!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, I said nothing of the sort. I said that from the Anglo-Orient +Hotel we strolled across Waterloo Bridge, and that shortly afterwards we +parted—I did not say where we parted. I see there is a shorthand writer +here who is taking everything down—ask him if that is not exactly what I +said?” +</p> + +<p> +A reference to the stenographer proved Aylmore to be right, and the Treasury +Counsel showed plain annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at any rate, you so phrased your answer that nine persons out of +ten would have understood that you parted from Marbury in the open streets +after crossing Waterloo Bridge,” he said. “Now—?” +</p> + +<p> +Aylmore smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not responsible for the understanding of nine people out of ten any +more than I am for your understanding,” he said, with a sneer. “I +said what I now repeat—Marbury and I walked across Waterloo Bridge, and +shortly afterwards we parted. I told you the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! Perhaps you will continue to tell us the truth. Since you have +admitted that the evidence of the last two witnesses is absolutely correct, +perhaps you will tell us exactly where you and Marbury did part?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will—willingly. We parted at the door of my chambers in Fountain +Court.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—to reiterate—it was you who took Marbury into the +Temple that night?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was certainly I who took Marbury into the Temple that night.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another murmur amongst the crowded benches. Here at any rate was +fact—solid, substantial fact. And Spargo began to see a possible course +of events which he had not anticipated. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a candid admission, Mr. Aylmore. I suppose you see a certain +danger to yourself in making it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I need not say whether I do or I do not. I have made it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Why did you not make it before?” +</p> + +<p> +“For my own reasons. I told you as much as I considered necessary for the +purpose of this enquiry. I have virtually altered nothing now. I asked to be +allowed to make a statement, to give an explanation, as soon as Mr. Lyell had +left this box: I was not allowed to do so. I am willing to make it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make it then.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is simply this,” said Aylmore, turning to the Coroner. “I +have found it convenient, during the past three years, to rent a simple set of +chambers in the Temple, where I could occasionally—very occasionally, as +a rule—go late at night. I also found it convenient, for my own +reasons—with which, I think, no one has anything to do—to rent +those chambers under the name of Mr. Anderson. It was to my chambers that +Marbury accompanied me for a few moments on the midnight with which we are +dealing. He was not in them more than five minutes at the very outside: I +parted from him at my outer door, and I understood that he would leave the +Temple by the way we had entered and would drive or walk straight back to his +hotel. That is the whole truth. I wish to add that I ought perhaps to have told +all this at first. I had reasons for not doing so. I told what I considered +necessary, that I parted from Marbury, leaving him well and alive, soon after +midnight.” +</p> + +<p> +“What reasons were or are they which prevented you from telling all this +at first?” asked the Treasury Counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“Reasons which are private to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell them to the court?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then will you tell us why Marbury went with you to the chambers in +Fountain Court which you tenant under the name of Anderson?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. To fetch a document which I had in my keeping, and had kept for him +for twenty years or more.” +</p> + +<p> +“A document of importance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of very great importance.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would have it on him when he was—as we believe he +was—murdered and robbed?” +</p> + +<p> +“He had it on him when he left me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell us what it was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +“In fact, you won’t tell us any more than you choose to +tell?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have told you all I can tell of the events of that night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am going to ask you a very pertinent question. Is it not a fact +that you know a great deal more about John Marbury than you have told this +court?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I shall not answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not a fact that you could, if you would, tell this court more +about John Marbury and your acquaintanceship with him twenty years ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“I also decline to answer that.” +</p> + +<p> +The Treasury Counsel made a little movement of his shoulders and turned to the +Coroner. +</p> + +<p> +“I should suggest, sir, that you adjourn this enquiry,” he said +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“For a week,” assented the Coroner, turning to the jury. +</p> + +<p> +The crowd surged out of the court, chattering, murmuring, exclaiming— +spectators, witnesses, jurymen, reporters, legal folk, police folk, all mixed +up together. And Spargo, elbowing his own way out, and busily reckoning up the +value of the new complexions put on everything by the day’s work, +suddenly felt a hand laid on his arm. Turning he found himself gazing at Jessie +Aylmore. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER FOURTEEN<br/> +THE SILVER TICKET</h2> + +<p> +With a sudden instinct of protection, Spargo quickly drew the girl aside from +the struggling crowd, and within a moment had led her into a quiet by-street. +He looked down at her as she stood recovering her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Jessie Aylmore looked up at him, smiling faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to speak to you,” she said. “I must speak to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Spargo. “But—the others? Your +sister?—Breton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I left them on purpose to speak to you,” she answered. “They +knew I did. I am well accustomed to looking after myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo moved down the by-street, motioning his companion to move with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea,” he said, “is what you want. I know a queer, +old-fashioned place close by here where you can get the best China tea in +London. Come and have some.” +</p> + +<p> +Jessie Aylmore smiled and followed her guide obediently. And Spargo said +nothing, marching stolidly along with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, his +fingers playing soundless tunes outside, until he had installed himself and his +companion in a quiet nook in the old tea-house he had told her of, and had +given an order for tea and hot tea-cakes to a waitress who evidently knew him. +Then he turned to her. +</p> + +<p> +“You want,” he said, “to talk to me about your father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered. “I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +The girl gave him a searching look. +</p> + +<p> +“Ronald Breton says you’re the man who’s written all those +special articles in the <i>Watchman</i> about the Marbury case,” she +answered. “Are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re a man of great influence,” she went on. +“You can stir the public mind. Mr. Spargo—what are you going to +write about my father and today’s proceedings?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo signed to her to pour out the tea which had just arrived. He seized, +without ceremony, upon a piece of the hot buttered tea-cake, and bit a great +lump out of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Frankly,” he mumbled, speaking with his mouth full, +“frankly, I don’t know. I don’t know—yet. But +I’ll tell you this—it’s best to be candid—I +shouldn’t allow myself to be prejudiced or biassed in making up my +conclusions by anything that you may say to me. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +Jessie Aylmore took a sudden liking to Spargo because of the unconventionality +and brusqueness of his manners. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not wanting to prejudice or bias you,” she said. +“All I want is that you should be very sure before you +say—anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be sure,” said Spargo. “Don’t bother. Is +the tea all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful!” she answered, with a smile that made Spargo look at +her again. “Delightful! Mr. Spargo, tell me!—what did you think +about—about what has just happened?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, regardless of the fact that his fingers were liberally ornamented with +butter, lifted a hand and rubbed his always untidy hair. Then he ate more +tea-cake and gulped more tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” he said suddenly. “I’m no great hand at +talking. I can write pretty decently when I’ve a good story to tell, but +I don’t talk an awful lot, because I never can express what I mean unless +I’ve got a pen in my hand. Frankly, I find it hard to tell you what I +think. When I write my article this evening, I’ll get all these things +marshalled in proper form, and I shall write clearly about ’em. But +I’ll tell you one thing I do think—I wish your father had made a +clean breast of things to me at first, when he gave me that interview, or had +told everything when he first went into that box.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because he’s now set up an atmosphere of doubt and suspicion +around himself. People’ll think—Heaven knows what they’ll +think! They already know that he knows more about Marbury than he’ll +tell, that—” +</p> + +<p> +“But does he?” she interrupted quickly. “Do you think he +does?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” replied Spargo, with emphasis. “I do. A lot more! If +he had only been explicit at first—however, he wasn’t. Now +it’s done. As things stand—look here, does it strike you that your +father is in a very serious position?” +</p> + +<p> +“Serious?” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Dangerous! Here’s the fact—he’s admitted that he took +Marbury to his rooms in the Temple that midnight. Well, next morning +Marbury’s found robbed and murdered in an entry, not fifty yards +off!” +</p> + +<p> +“Does anybody suppose that my father would murder him for the sake of +robbing him of whatever he had on him?” she laughed scornfully. “My +father is a very wealthy man, Mr. Spargo.” +</p> + +<p> +“May be,” answered Spargo. “But millionaires have been known +to murder men who held secrets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Secrets!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Have some more tea,” said Spargo, nodding at the teapot. +“Look here—this way it is. The theory that people—some +people—will build up (I won’t say that it hasn’t suggested +itself to me) is this:—There’s some mystery about the relationship, +acquaintanceship, connection, call it what you like, of your father and Marbury +twenty odd years ago. Must be. There’s some mystery about your +father’s life, twenty odd years ago. Must be—or else he’d +have answered those questions. Very well. ‘Ha, ha!’ says the +general public. ‘Now we have it!’ ‘Marbury,’ says the +general public, ‘was a man who had a hold on Aylmore. He turned up. +Aylmore trapped him into the Temple, killed him to preserve his own secret, and +robbed him of all he had on him as a blind.’ Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You think—people will say that?” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Cock-sure! They’re saying it. Heard half a dozen of ’em say +it, in more or less elegant fashion as I came out of that court. Of course, +they’ll say it. Why, what else could they say?” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Jessie Aylmore sat looking silently into her tea-cup. Then she +turned her eyes on Spargo, who immediately manifested a new interest in what +remained of the tea-cakes. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you’re going to say in your article tonight?” +she asked, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” replied Spargo, promptly. “It isn’t. I’m +going to sit on the fence tonight. Besides, the case is <i>sub judice</i>. All +I’m going to do is to tell, in my way, what took place at the +inquest.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl impulsively put her hand across the table and laid it on +Spargo’s big fist. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it what you think?” she asked in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Honour bright, no!” exclaimed Spargo. “It +isn’t—it isn’t! I don’t think it. I think there’s +a most extraordinary mystery at the bottom of Marbury’s death, and I +think your father knows an enormous lot about Marbury that he won’t tell, +but I’m certain sure that he neither killed Marbury nor knows anything +whatever about his death. And as I’m out to clear this mystery up, and +mean to do it, nothing’ll make me more glad than to clear your father. I +say, do have some more tea-cake? We’ll have fresh ones—and fresh +tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you,” she said smiling. “And thank you for what +you’ve just said. I’m going now, Mr. Spargo. You’ve done me +good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rot!” exclaimed Spargo. “Nothing—nothing! +I’ve just told you what I’m thinking. You must go?…” +</p> + +<p> +He saw her into a taxi-cab presently, and when she had gone stood vacantly +staring after the cab until a hand clapped him smartly on the shoulder. +Turning, he found Rathbury grinning at him. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Mr. Spargo, I saw you!” he said. “Well, +it’s a pleasant change to squire young ladies after being all day in that +court. Look here, are you going to start your writing just now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to start my writing as you call it, until after +I’ve dined at seven o’clock and given myself time to digest my +modest dinner,” answered Spargo. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come back with me and have another look at that blessed leather +box,” said Rathbury. “I’ve got it in my room, and I’d +like to examine it for myself. Come on!” +</p> + +<p> +“The thing’s empty,” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“There might be a false bottom in it,” remarked Rathbury. +“One never knows. Here, jump into this!” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed Spargo into a passing taxi-cab, and following, bade the driver go +straight to the Yard. Arrived there, he locked Spargo and himself into the +drab-visaged room in which the journalist had seen him before. +</p> + +<p> +“What d’ye think of today’s doings, Spargo?” he asked, +as he proceeded to unlock a cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Spargo, “that some of you fellows must have +had your ears set to tingling.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” assented Rathbury. “Of course, the next +thing’ll be to find out all about the Mr. Aylmore of twenty years since. +When a man won’t tell you where he lived twenty years ago, what he was +exactly doing, what his precise relationship with another man was—why, +then, you’ve just got to find out, eh? Oh, some of our fellows are at +work on the life history of Stephen Aylmore, Esq., M.P., already—you bet! +Well, now, Spargo, here’s the famous box.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective brought the old leather case out of the cupboard in which he had +been searching, and placed it on his desk. Spargo threw back the lid and looked +inside, measuring the inner capacity against the exterior lines. +</p> + +<p> +“No false bottom in that, Rathbury,” he said. “There’s +just the outer leather case, and the inner lining, of this old bed-hanging +stuff, and that’s all. There’s no room for any false bottom or +anything of that sort, d’you see?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury also sized up the box’s capacity. +</p> + +<p> +“Looks like it,” he said disappointedly. “Well, what about +the lid, then? I remember there was an old box like this in my +grandmother’s farmhouse, where I was reared—there was a pocket in +the lid. Let’s see if there’s anything of the sort here?” +</p> + +<p> +He threw the lid back and began to poke about the lining of it with the tips of +his fingers, and presently he turned to his companion with a sharp exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“By George, Spargo!” he said. “I don’t know about any +pocket, but there’s something under this lining. Feels like—here, +you feel. There—and there.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo put a finger on the places indicated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s so,” he agreed. “Feels like two +cards—a large and a small one. And the small one’s harder than the +other. Better cut that lining out, Rathbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” remarked Rathbury, producing a pen-knife, “is just +what I’m going to do. We’ll cut along this seam.” +</p> + +<p> +He ripped the lining carefully open along the upper part of the lining of the +lid, and looking into the pocket thus made, drew out two objects which he +dropped on his blotting pad. +</p> + +<p> +“A child’s photograph,” he said, glancing at one of them. +“But what on earth is that?” +</p> + +<p> +The object to which he pointed was a small, oblong piece of thin, much-worn +silver, about the size of a railway ticket. On one side of it was what seemed +to be a heraldic device or coat-of-arms, almost obliterated by rubbing; on the +other, similarly worn down by friction, was the figure of a horse. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a curious object,” remarked Spargo, picking it up. +“I never saw anything like that before. What can it be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know—I never saw anything of the sort either,” +said Rathbury. “Some old token, I should say. Now this photo. +Ah—you see, the photographer’s name and address have been torn away +or broken off—there’s nothing left but just two letters of +what’s apparently been the name of the town—see. +Er—that’s all there is. Portrait of a baby, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo gave, what might have been called in anybody else but him, a casual +glance at the baby’s portrait. He picked up the silver ticket again and +turned it over and over. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Rathbury,” he said. “Let me take this silver +thing. I know where I can find out what it is. At least, I think I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” agreed the detective, “but take the greatest +care of it, and don’t tell a soul that we found it in this box, you know. +No connection with the Marbury case, Spargo, remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right,” said Spargo. “Trust me.” +</p> + +<p> +He put the silver ticket in his pocket, and went back to the office, wondering +about this singular find. And when he had written his article that evening, and +seen a proof of it, Spargo went into Fleet Street intent on seeking peculiar +information. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER FIFTEEN<br/> +MARKET MILCASTER</h2> + +<p> +The haunt of well-informed men which Spargo had in view when he turned out of +the <i>Watchman</i> office lay well hidden from ordinary sight and knowledge in +one of those Fleet Street courts the like of which is not elsewhere in the +world. Only certain folk knew of it. It was, of course, a club; otherwise it +would not have been what it was. It is the simplest thing in life, in England, +at any rate, to form a club of congenial spirits. You get so many of your +choice friends and acquaintances to gather round you; you register yourselves +under a name of your own choosing; you take a house and furnish it according to +your means and your taste: you comply with the very easy letter of the law, and +there you are. Keep within that easy letter, and you can do what you please on +your own premises. It is much more agreeable to have a small paradise of your +own of this description than to lounge about Fleet Street bars. +</p> + +<p> +The particular club to which Spargo bent his steps was called the Octoneumenoi. +Who evolved this extraordinary combination of Latin and Greek was a dark +mystery: there it was, however, on a tiny brass plate you once reached the +portals. The portals were gained by devious ways. You turned out of Fleet +Street by an alley so narrow that it seemed as if you might suddenly find +yourself squeezed between the ancient walls. Then you suddenly dived down +another alley and found yourself in a small court, with high walls around you +and a smell of printer’s ink in your nose and a whirring of printing +presses in your ears. You made another dive into a dark entry, much encumbered +by bales of paper, crates of printing material, jars of printing ink; after +falling over a few of these you struck an ancient flight of stairs and went up +past various landings, always travelling in a state of gloom and fear. After a +lot of twisting and turning you came to the very top of the house and found it +heavily curtained off. You lifted a curtain and found yourself in a small +entresol, somewhat artistically painted—the whole and sole work of an +artistic member who came one day with a formidable array of lumber and +paint-pots and worked his will on the ancient wood. Then you saw the brass +plate and its fearful name, and beneath it the formal legal notice that this +club was duly registered and so on, and if you were a member you went in, and +if you weren’t a member you tinkled an electric bell and asked to see a +member—if you knew one. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo was not a member, but he knew many members, and he tinkled the bell, and +asked the boy who answered it for Mr. Starkey. Mr. Starkey, a young gentleman +with the biceps of a prize-fighter and a head of curly hair that would have +done credit to Antinous, came forth in due course and shook Spargo by the hand +until his teeth rattled. +</p> + +<p> +“Had we known you were coming,” said Mr. Starkey, “we’d +have had a brass band on the stairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to come in,” remarked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure!” said Mr. Starkey. “That’s what you’ve +come for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, stand out of the way, then, and let’s get in,” said +Spargo. “Look here,” he continued when they had penetrated into a +small vestibule, “doesn’t old Crowfoot turn in here about this time +every night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every night as true as the clock, my son Spargo, Crowfoot puts his nose +in at precisely eleven, having by that time finished that daily column wherein +he informs a section of the populace as to the prospects of their spotting a +winner tomorrow,” answered Mr. Starkey. “It’s five minutes to +his hour now. Come in and drink till he comes. Want him?” +</p> + +<p> +“A word with him,” answered Spargo. “A mere word—or +two.” +</p> + +<p> +He followed Starkey into a room which was so filled with smoke and sound that +for a moment it was impossible to either see or hear. But the smoke was +gradually making itself into a canopy, and beneath the canopy Spargo made out +various groups of men of all ages, sitting around small tables, smoking and +drinking, and all talking as if the great object of their lives was to get as +many words as possible out of their mouths in the shortest possible time. In +the further corner was a small bar; Starkey pulled Spargo up to it. +</p> + +<p> +“Name it, my son,” commanded Starkey. “Try the Octoneumenoi +very extra special. Two of ’em, Dick. Come to beg to be a member, +Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll think about being a member of this ante-room of the infernal +regions when you start a ventilating fan and provide members with a route-map +of the way from Fleet Street,” answered Spargo, taking his glass. +“Phew!—what an atmosphere!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re considering a ventilating fan,” said Starkey. +“I’m on the house committee now, and I brought that very matter up +at our last meeting. But Templeson, of the <i>Bulletin</i>—you know +Templeson—he says what we want is a wine-cooler to stand under that +sideboard—says no club is proper without a wine-cooler, and that he knows +a chap—second-hand dealer, don’t you know—what has a beauty +to dispose of in old Sheffield plate. Now, if you were on our house committee, +Spargo, old man, would you go in for the wine-cooler or the ventilating fan? +You see—” +</p> + +<p> +“There is Crowfoot,” said Spargo. “Shout him over here, +Starkey, before anybody else collars him.” +</p> + +<p> +Through the door by which Spargo had entered a few minutes previously came a +man who stood for a moment blinking at the smoke and the lights. He was a tall, +elderly man with a figure and bearing of a soldier; a big, sweeping moustache +stood well out against a square-cut jaw and beneath a prominent nose; a pair of +keen blue eyes looked out from beneath a tousled mass of crinkled hair. He wore +neither hat nor cap; his attire was a carelessly put on Norfolk suit of brown +tweed; he looked half-unkempt, half-groomed. But knotted at the collar of his +flannel shirt were the colours of one of the most famous and exclusive cricket +clubs in the world, and everybody knew that in his day their wearer had been a +mighty figure in the public eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi, Crowfoot!” shouted Starkey above the din and babel. +“Crowfoot, Crowfoot! Come over here, there’s a chap dying to see +you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s the way to get him, isn’t it?” said +Spargo. “Here, I’ll get him myself.” +</p> + +<p> +He went across the room and accosted the old sporting journalist. +</p> + +<p> +“I want a quiet word with you,” he said. “This place is like +a pandemonium.” +</p> + +<p> +Crowfoot led the way into a side alcove and ordered a drink. +</p> + +<p> +“Always is, this time,” he said, yawning. “But it’s +companionable. What is it, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo took a pull at the glass which he had carried with him. “I should +say,” he said, “that you know as much about sporting matters as any +man writing about ’em?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I think you might say it with truth,” answered Crowfoot. +</p> + +<p> +“And old sporting matters?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and old sporting matters,” replied the other with a sudden +flash of the eye. “Not that they greatly interest the modern generation, +you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s something that’s interesting me greatly just +now, anyway,” said Spargo. “And I believe it’s got to do with +old sporting affairs. And I came to you for information about it, believing you +to be the only man I know of that could tell anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—what is it?” asked Crowfoot. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo drew out an envelope, and took from it the carefully-wrapped-up silver +ticket. He took off the wrappings and laid the ticket on Crowfoot’s +outstretched palm. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you tell me what that is?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Another sudden flash came into the old sportsman’s eyes—he eagerly +turned the silver ticket over. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get +this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, just now,” replied Spargo. “You know what it +is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I know what it is! But—Gad! I’ve not seen one of +these things for Lord knows how many years. It makes me feel something like a +young ’un again!” said Crowfoot. “Quite a young +’un!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Crowfoot turned the ticket over, showing the side on which the heraldic device +was almost worn away. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s one of the original silver stand tickets of the old +racecourse at Market Milcaster,” answered Crowfoot. “That’s +what it is. One of the old original silver stand tickets. There are the arms of +Market Milcaster, you see, nearly worn away by much rubbing. There, on the +obverse, is the figure of a running horse. Oh, yes, that’s what it is! +Bless me!—most interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Market Milcaster?” enquired Spargo. +“Don’t know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Market Milcaster,” replied Crowfoot, still turning the silver +ticket over and over, “is what the topographers call a decayed town in +Elmshire. It has steadily decayed since the river that led to it got gradually +silted up. There used to be a famous race-meeting there in June every year. +It’s nearly forty years since that meeting fell through. I went to it +often when I was a lad—often!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you say that’s a ticket for the stand?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“This is one of fifty silver tickets, or passes, or whatever you like to +call ’em, which were given by the race committee to fifty burgesses of +the town,” answered Crowfoot. “It was, I remember, considered a +great privilege to possess a silver ticket. It admitted its possessor—for +life, mind you!—to the stand, the paddocks, the ring, anywhere. It also +gave him a place at the annual race-dinner. Where on earth did you get this, +Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo took the ticket and carefully re-wrapped it, this time putting it in his +purse. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully obliged to you, Crowfoot,” he said, “The +fact is, I can’t tell you where I got it just now, but I’ll promise +you that I will tell you, and all about it, too, as soon as my tongue’s +free to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some mystery, eh?” suggested Crowfoot. +</p> + +<p> +“Considerable,” answered Spargo. “Don’t mention to +anyone that I showed it to you. You shall know everything eventually.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right, my boy, all right!” said Crowfoot. “Odd how +things turn up, isn’t it? Now, I’ll wager anything that there +aren’t half a dozen of these old things outside Market Milcaster itself. +As I said, there were only fifty, and they were all in possession of burgesses. +They were so much thought of that they were taken great care of. I’ve +been in Market Milcaster myself since the races were given up, and I’ve +seen these tickets carefully framed and hung over mantelpieces—oh, +yes!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo caught at a notion. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you get to Market Milcaster?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Paddington,” replied Crowfoot. “It’s a goodish +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” said Spargo, “if there’s any old sporting +man there who could remember—things. Anything about this ticket, for +instance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old sporting man!” exclaimed Crowfoot. “Egad!—but no, +he must be dead—anyhow, if he isn’t dead, he must be a veritable +patriarch. Old Ben Quarterpage, he was an auctioneer in the town, and a rare +sportsman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may go down there,” said Spargo. “I’ll see if +he’s alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if you do go down,” suggested Crowfoot, “go to the old +‘Yellow Dragon’ in the High Street, a fine old place. +Quarterpage’s place of business and his private house were exactly +opposite the ‘Dragon.’ But I’m afraid you’ll find him +dead—it’s five and twenty years since I was in Market Milcaster, +and he was an old bird then. Let’s see, now. If Old Ben Quarterpage is +alive, Spargo, he’ll be ninety years of age!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve known men of ninety who were spry enough, even in my +bit of experience,” said Spargo. “I know one—now—my own +grandfather. Well, the best of thanks, Crowfoot, and I’ll tell you all +about it some day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have another drink?” suggested Crowfoot. +</p> + +<p> +But Spargo excused himself. He was going back to the office, he said; he still +had something to do. And he got himself away from the Octoneumenoi, in spite of +Starkey, who wished to start a general debate on the wisest way of expending +the club’s ready money balance, and went back to the <i>Watchman</i>, and +there he sought the presence of the editor, and in spite of the fact that it +was the busiest hour of the night, saw him and remained closeted with him for +the extraordinary space of ten minutes. And after that Spargo went home and +fell into bed. +</p> + +<p> +But next morning, bright and early, he was on the departure platform at +Paddington, suit-case in hand, and ticket in pocket for Market Milcaster, and +in the course of that afternoon he found himself in an old-fashioned bedroom +looking out on Market Milcaster High Street. And there, right opposite him, he +saw an ancient house, old brick, ivy-covered, with an office at its side, over +the door of which was the name, <i>Benjamin Quarterpage</i>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER SIXTEEN<br/> +THE “YELLOW DRAGON”</h2> + +<p> +Spargo, changing his clothes, washing away the dust of his journey, in that +old-fashioned lavender-scented bedroom, busied his mind in further speculations +on his plan of campaign in Market Milcaster. He had no particularly clear plan. +The one thing he was certain of was that in the old leather box which the man +whom he knew as John Marbury had deposited with the London and Universal Safe +Deposit Company, he and Rathbury had discovered one of the old silver tickets +of Market Milcaster racecourse, and that he, Spargo, had come to Market +Milcaster, with the full approval of his editor, in an endeavour to trace it. +How was he going to set about this difficult task? +</p> + +<p> +“The first thing,” said Spargo to himself as he tied a new tie, +“is to have a look round. That’ll be no long job.” +</p> + +<p> +For he had already seen as he approached the town, and as he drove from the +station to the “Yellow Dragon” Hotel, that Market Milcaster was a +very small place. It chiefly consisted of one long, wide thoroughfare—the +High Street—with smaller streets leading from it on either side. In the +High Street seemed to be everything that the town could show—the ancient +parish church, the town hall, the market cross, the principal houses and shops, +the bridge, beneath which ran the river whereon ships had once come up to the +town before its mouth, four miles away, became impassably silted up. It was a +bright, clean, little town, but there were few signs of trade in it, and Spargo +had been quick to notice that in the “Yellow Dragon,” a big, +rambling old hostelry, reminiscent of the old coaching days, there seemed to be +little doing. He had eaten a bit of lunch in the coffee-room immediately on his +arrival; the coffee-room was big enough to accommodate a hundred and fifty +people, but beyond himself, an old gentleman and his daughter, evidently +tourists, two young men talking golf, a man who looked like an artist, and an +unmistakable honeymooning couple, there was no one in it. There was little +traffic in the wide street beneath Spargo’s windows; little passage of +people to and fro on the sidewalks; here a countryman drove a lazy cow as +lazily along; there a farmer in his light cart sat idly chatting with an +aproned tradesman, who had come out of his shop to talk to him. Over everything +lay the quiet of the sunlight of the summer afternoon, and through the open +windows stole a faint, sweet scent of the new-mown hay lying in the meadows +outside the old houses. +</p> + +<p> +“A veritable Sleepy Hollow,” mused Spargo. “Let’s go +down and see if there’s anybody to talk to. Great Scott!—to think +that I was in the poisonous atmosphere of the Octoneumenoi only sixteen hours +ago!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, after losing himself in various corridors and passages, finally landed +in the wide, stone-paved hall of the old hotel, and with a sure instinct turned +into the bar-parlour which he had noticed when he entered the place. This was a +roomy, comfortable, bow-windowed apartment, looking out upon the High Street, +and was furnished and ornamented with the usual appurtenances of country-town +hotels. There were old chairs and tables and sideboards and cupboards, which +had certainly been made a century before, and seemed likely to endure for a +century or two longer; there were old prints of the road and the chase, and an +old oil-painting or two of red-faced gentlemen in pink coats; there were +foxes’ masks on the wall, and a monster pike in a glass case on a +side-table; there were ancient candlesticks on the mantelpiece and an antique +snuff-box set between them. Also there was a small, old-fashioned bar in a +corner of the room, and a new-fashioned young woman seated behind it, who was +yawning over a piece of fancy needlework, and looked at Spargo when he entered +as Andromeda may have looked at Perseus when he made arrival at her rock. And +Spargo, treating himself to a suitable drink and choosing a cigar to accompany +it, noted the look, and dropped into the nearest chair. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” he remarked, eyeing the damsel with enquiry, “appears +to me to be a very quiet place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quiet!” exclaimed the lady. “Quiet?” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” continued Spargo, “is precisely what I observed. +Quiet. I see that you agree with me. You expressed your agreement with two +shades of emphasis, the surprised and the scornful. We may conclude, thus far, +that the place is undoubtedly quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +The damsel looked at Spargo as if she considered him in the light of a new +specimen, and picking up her needlework she quitted the bar and coming out into +the room took a chair near his own. +</p> + +<p> +“It makes you thankful to see a funeral go by here,” she remarked. +“It’s about all that one ever does see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are there many?” asked Spargo. “Do the inhabitants die much +of inanition?” +</p> + +<p> +The damsel gave Spargo another critical inspection. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’re joking!” she said. “It’s well you +can. Nothing ever happens here. This place is a back number.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even the back numbers make pleasant reading at times,” murmured +Spargo. “And the backwaters of life are refreshing. Nothing doing in this +town, then?” he added in a louder voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing!” replied his companion. “It’s fast asleep. I +came here from Birmingham, and I didn’t know what I was coming to. In +Birmingham you see as many people in ten minutes as you see here in ten +months.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Spargo. “What you are suffering from is dulness. +You must have an antidote.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dulness!” exclaimed the damsel. “That’s the right word +for Market Milcaster. There’s just a few regular old customers drop in +here of a morning, between eleven and one. A stray caller looks +in—perhaps during the afternoon. Then, at night, a lot of old fogies sit +round that end of the room and talk about old times. Old times, +indeed!—what they want in Market Milcaster is new times.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo pricked up his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but it’s rather interesting to hear old fogies talk about +old times,” he said. “I love it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you can get as much of it as ever you want here,” remarked +the barmaid. “Look in tonight any time after eight o’clock, and if +you don’t know more about the history of Market Milcaster by ten than you +did when you sat down, you must be deaf. There are some old gentlemen drop in +here every night, regular as clockwork, who seem to feel that they +couldn’t go to bed unless they’ve told each other stories about old +days which I should think they’ve heard a thousand times already!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very old men?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Methuselahs,” replied the lady. “There’s old Mr. +Quarterpage, across the way there, the auctioneer, though he doesn’t do +any business now—they say he’s ninety, though I’m sure you +wouldn’t take him for more than seventy. And there’s Mr. Lummis, +further down the street—he’s eighty-one. And Mr. Skene, and Mr. +Kaye—they’re regular patriarchs. I’ve sat here and listened +to them till I believe I could write a history of Market Milcaster since the +year One.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can conceive of that as a pleasant and profitable occupation,” +said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +He chatted a while longer in a fashion calculated to cheer the barmaid’s +spirits, after which he went out and strolled around the town until seven +o’clock, the “Dragon’s” hour for dinner. There were no +more people in the big coffee-room than there had been at lunch and Spargo was +glad, when his solitary meal was over, to escape to the bar-parlour, where he +took his coffee in a corner near to that sacred part in which the old townsmen +had been reported to him to sit. +</p> + +<p> +“And mind you don’t sit in one of their chairs,” said the +barmaid, warningly. “They all have their own special chairs and their +special pipes there on that rack, and I suppose the ceiling would fall in if +anybody touched pipe or chair. But you’re all right there, and +you’ll hear all they’ve got to say.” +</p> + +<p> +To Spargo, who had never seen anything of the sort before, and who, twenty-four +hours previously, would have believed the thing impossible, the proceedings of +that evening in the bar-parlour of the “Yellow Dragon” at Market +Milcaster were like a sudden transference to the eighteenth century. Precisely +as the clock struck eight and a bell began to toll somewhere in the recesses of +the High Street, an old gentleman walked in, and the barmaid, catching +Spargo’s eye, gave him a glance which showed that the play was about to +begin. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Mr. Kaye,” said the barmaid. “You’re +first tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Evening,” said Mr. Kaye and took a seat, scowled around him, and +became silent. He was a tall, lank old gentleman, clad in rusty black clothes, +with a pointed collar sticking up on both sides of his fringe of grey whisker +and a voluminous black neckcloth folded several times round his neck, and by +the expression of his countenance was inclined to look on life severely. +“Nobody been in yet?” asked Mr. Kaye. “No, but here’s +Mr. Lummis and Mr. Skene,” replied the barmaid. +</p> + +<p> +Two more old gentlemen entered the bar-parlour. Of these, one was a little, +dapper-figured man, clad in clothes of an eminently sporting cut, and of very +loud pattern; he sported a bright blue necktie, a flower in his lapel, and a +tall white hat, which he wore at a rakish angle. The other was a big, portly, +bearded man with a Falstaffian swagger and a rakish eye, who chaffed the +barmaid as he entered, and gave her a good-humoured chuck under the chin as he +passed her. These two also sank into chairs which seemed to have been specially +designed to meet them, and the stout man slapped the arms of his as familiarly +as he had greeted the barmaid. He looked at his two cronies. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he said, “Here’s three of us. And there’s +a symposium.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” said the dapper little man. +“Grandpa’ll be here in a minute. We’ll start fair.” +</p> + +<p> +The barmaid glanced out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s Mr. Quarterpage coming across the street now,” she +announced. “Shall I put the things on the table?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, put them on, my dear, put them on!” commanded the fat man. +“Have all in readiness.” +</p> + +<p> +The barmaid thereupon placed a round table before the sacred chairs, set out +upon it a fine old punch-bowl and the various ingredients for making punch, a +box of cigars, and an old leaden tobacco-box, and she had just completed this +interesting prelude to the evening’s discourse when the door opened again +and in walked one of the most remarkable old men Spargo had ever seen. And by +this time, knowing that this was the venerable Mr. Benjamin Quarterpage, of +whom Crowfoot had told him, he took good stock of the newcomer as he took his +place amongst his friends, who on their part received him with ebullitions of +delight which were positively boyish. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage was a youthful buck of ninety—a middle-sized, +sturdily-built man, straight as a dart, still active of limb, clear-eyed, and +strong of voice. His clean-shaven old countenance was ruddy as a sun-warmed +pippin; his hair was still only silvered; his hand was steady as a rock. His +clothes of buff-coloured whipcord were smart and jaunty, his neckerchief as gay +as if he had been going to a fair. It seemed to Spargo that Mr. Quarterpage had +a pretty long lease of life before him even at his age. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, in his corner, sat fascinated while the old gentlemen began their +symposium. Another, making five, came in and joined them—the five had the +end of the bar-parlour to themselves. Mr. Quarterpage made the punch with all +due solemnity and ceremony; when it was ladled out each man lighted his pipe or +took a cigar, and the tongues began to wag. Other folk came and went; the old +gentlemen were oblivious of anything but their own talk. Now and then a young +gentleman of the town dropped in to take his modest half-pint of bitter beer +and to dally in the presence of the barmaid; such looked with awe at the +patriarchs: as for the patriarchs themselves they were lost in the past. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo began to understand what the damsel behind the bar meant when she said +that she believed she could write a history of Market Milcaster since the year +One. After discussing the weather, the local events of the day, and various +personal matters, the old fellows got to reminiscences of the past, telling +tale after tale, recalling incident upon incident of long years before. At last +they turned to memories of racing days at Market Milcaster. And at that Spargo +determined on a bold stroke. Now was the time to get some information. Taking +the silver ticket from his purse, he laid it, the heraldic device uppermost, on +the palm of his hand, and approaching the group with a polite bow, said +quietly: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, can any of you tell me anything about that?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN<br/> +MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK</h2> + +<p> +If Spargo had upset the old gentlemen’s bowl of punch—the second of +the evening—or had dropped an infernal machine in their midst, he could +scarcely have produced a more startling effect than that wrought upon them by +his sudden production of the silver ticket. Their babble of conversation died +out; one of them dropped his pipe; another took his cigar out of his mouth as +if he had suddenly discovered that he was sucking a stick of poison; all lifted +astonished faces to the interrupter, staring from him to the shining object +exhibited in his outstretched palm, from it back to him. And at last Mr. +Quarterpage, to whom Spargo had more particularly addressed himself, spoke, +pointing with great <i>empressement</i> to the ticket. +</p> + +<p> +“Young gentleman!” he said, in accents that seemed to Spargo to +tremble a little, “young gentleman, where did you get that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what it is, then?” asked Spargo, willing to dally a +little with the matter. “You recognize it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Know it! Recognize it!” exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. “Yes, and +so does every gentleman present. And it is just because I see you are a +stranger to this town that I ask you where you got it. Not, I think, young +gentleman, in this town.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Spargo. “Certainly not in this town. How should +I get it in this town if I’m a stranger?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true, quite true!” murmured Mr. Quarterpage. “I cannot +conceive how any person in the town who is in possession of one of +those—what shall we call them—heirlooms?—yes, heirlooms of +antiquity, could possibly be base enough to part with it. Therefore, I ask +again—Where did you get that, young gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Before I tell you that,” answered Spargo, who, in answer to a +silent sign from the fat man had drawn a chair amongst them, “perhaps you +will tell me exactly what this is? I see it to be a bit of old, polished, much +worn silver, having on the obverse the arms or heraldic bearings of somebody or +something; on the reverse the figure of a running horse. But—what is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +The five old men all glanced at each other and made simultaneous grunts. Then +Mr. Quarterpage spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“It is one of the original fifty burgess tickets of Market Milcaster, +young sir, which gave its holder special and greatly valued privileges in +respect to attendance at our once famous race-meeting, now unfortunately a +thing of the past,” he added. “Fifty—aye, forty!—years +ago, to be in possession of one of those tickets was—was—” +</p> + +<p> +“A grand thing!” said one of the old gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Lummis is right,” said Mr. Quarterpage. “It was a grand +thing—a very grand thing. Those tickets, sir, were treasured—are +treasured. And yet you, a stranger, show us one! You got it, sir—” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo saw that it was now necessary to cut matters short. +</p> + +<p> +“I found this ticket—under mysterious circumstances—in +London,” he answered. “I want to trace it. I want to know who its +original owner was. That is why I have come to Market Milcaster.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage slowly looked round the circle of faces. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful!” he said. “Wonderful! He found this +ticket—one of our famous fifty—in London, and under mysterious +circumstances. He wants to trace it—he wants to know to whom it belonged! +That is why he has come to Market Milcaster. Most extraordinary! Gentlemen, I +appeal to you if this is not the most extraordinary event that has happened in +Market Milcaster for—I don’t know how many years?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a general murmur of assent, and Spargo found everybody looking at him +as if he had just announced that he had come to buy the whole town. +</p> + +<p> +“But—why?” he asked, showing great surprise. +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. “Why? He asks—why? +Because, young gentleman, it is the greatest surprise to me, and to these +friends of mine, too, every man jack of ’em, to hear that any one of our +fifty tickets ever passed out of the possession of any of the fifty families to +whom they belonged! And unless I am vastly, greatly, most unexplainably +mistaken, young sir, you are not a member of any Market Milcaster +family.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m not,” admitted Spargo. And he was going to add that +until the previous evening he had never even heard of Market Milcaster, but he +wisely refrained. “No, I’m certainly not,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage waved his long pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” he said, “I believe that if the evening were not +drawing to a close—it is already within a few minutes of our departure, +young gentleman—I believe, I say, that if I had time, I could, from +memory, give the names of the fifty families who held those tickets when the +race-meeting came to an end. I believe I could!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you could!” asserted the little man in the loud +suit. “Never was such a memory as yours, never!” +</p> + +<p> +“Especially for anything relating to the old racing matters,” said +the fat man. “Mr. Quarterpage is a walking encyclopaedia.” +</p> + +<p> +“My memory is good,” said Mr. Quarterpage. “It’s the +greatest blessing I have in my declining years. Yes, I am sure I could do that, +with a little thought. And what’s more, nearly every one of those fifty +families is still in the town, or if not in the town, close by it, or if not +close by it, I know where they are. Therefore, I cannot make out how this young +gentleman—from London, did you say, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“From London,” answered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“This young gentleman from London comes to be in possession of one of our +tickets,” continued Mr. Quarterpage. “It is—wonderful! But I +tell you what, young gentleman from London, if you will do me the honour to +breakfast with me in the morning, sir, I will show you my racing books and +papers and we will speedily discover who the original holder of that ticket +was. My name, sir, is Quarterpage—Benjamin Quarterpage—and I reside +at the ivy-covered house exactly opposite this inn, and my breakfast hour is +nine o’clock sharp, and I shall bid you heartily welcome!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo made his best bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said, “I am greatly obliged by your kind +invitation, and I shall consider it an honour to wait upon you to the +moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, at five minutes to nine next morning, Spargo found himself in an +old-fashioned parlour, looking out upon a delightful garden, gay with summer +flowers, and being introduced by Mr. Quarterpage, Senior, to Mr. Quarterpage, +Junior—a pleasant gentleman of sixty, always referred to by his father as +something quite juvenile—and to Miss Quarterpage, a young-old lady of +something a little less elderly than her brother, and to a breakfast table +bounteously spread with all the choice fare of the season. Mr. Quarterpage, +Senior, was as fresh and rosy as a cherub; it was a revelation to Spargo to +encounter so old a man who was still in possession of such life and spirits, +and of such a vigorous and healthy appetite. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally, the talk over the breakfast table ran on Spargo’s possession +of the old silver ticket, upon which subject it was evident Mr. Quarterpage was +still exercising his intellect. And Spargo, who had judged it well to enlighten +his host as to who he was, and had exhibited a letter with which the editor of +the <i>Watchman</i> had furnished him, told how in the exercise of his +journalistic duties he had discovered the ticket in the lining of an old box. +But he made no mention of the Marbury matter, being anxious to see first +whither Mr. Quarterpage’s revelations would lead him. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no idea, Mr. Spargo,” said the old gentleman, when, +breakfast over, he and Spargo were closeted together in a little library in +which were abundant evidences of the host’s taste in sporting matters; +“you have no idea of the value which was attached to the possession of +one of those silver tickets. There is mine, as you see, securely framed and +just as securely fastened to the wall. Those fifty silver tickets, my dear sir, +were made when our old race-meeting was initiated, in the year 1781. They were +made in the town by a local silversmith, whose great-great-grandson still +carries on the business. The fifty were distributed amongst the fifty leading +burgesses of the town to be kept in their families for ever—nobody ever +anticipated in those days that our race-meeting would ever be discontinued. The +ticket carried great privileges. It made its holder, and all members of his +family, male and female, free of the stands, rings, and paddocks. It gave the +holder himself and his eldest son, if of age, the right to a seat at our grand +race banquet—at which, I may tell you, Mr. Spargo, Royalty itself has +been present in the good old days. Consequently, as you see, to be the holder +of a silver ticket was to be somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when the race-meeting fell through?” asked Spargo. “What +then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, of course, the families who held the tickets looked upon them as +heirlooms, to be taken great care of,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. +“They were dealt with as I dealt with mine—framed on velvet, and +hung up—or locked away: I am sure that anybody who had one took the +greatest care of it. Now, I said last night, over there at the +‘Dragon,’ that I could repeat the names of all the families who +held these tickets. So I can. But here”—the old gentleman drew out +a drawer and produced from it a parchment-bound book which he handled with +great reverence—“here is a little volume of my own +handwriting—memoranda relating to Market Milcaster Races—in which +is a list of the original holders, together with another list showing who held +the tickets when the races were given up. I make bold to say, Mr. Spargo, that +by going through the second list, I could trace every ticket—except the +one you have in your purse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every one?” said Spargo, in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Every one! For as I told you,” continued Mr. Quarterpage, +“the families are either in the town (we’re a conservative people +here in Market Milcaster and we don’t move far afield) or they’re +just outside the town, or they’re not far away. I can’t conceive +how the ticket you have—and it’s genuine enough—could ever +get out of possession of one of these families, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” suggested Spargo, “it never has been out of +possession. I told you it was found in the lining of a box—that box +belonged to a dead man.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dead man!” exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. “A dead man! Who +could—ah! Perhaps—perhaps I have an idea. Yes!—an idea. I +remember something now that I had never thought of.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman unfastened the clasp of his parchment-bound book, and turned +over its pages until he came to one whereon was a list of names. He pointed +this out to Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“There is the list of holders of the silver tickets at the time the +race-meetings came to an end,” he said. “If you were acquainted +with this town you would know that those are the names of our best-known +inhabitants—all, of course, burgesses. There’s mine, you +see—Quarterpage. There’s Lummis, there’s Kaye, there’s +Skene, there’s Templeby—the gentlemen you saw last night. All good +old town names. They all are—on this list. I know every family mentioned. +The holders of that time are many of them dead; but their successors have the +tickets. Yes—and now that I think of it, there’s only one man who +held a ticket when this list was made about whom I don’t know +anything—at least, anything recent. The ticket, Mr. Spargo, which +you’ve found must have been his. But I thought—I thought somebody +else had it!” +</p> + +<p> +“And this man, sir? Who was he?” asked Spargo, intuitively +conscious that he was coming to news. “Is his name there?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man ran the tip of his finger down the list of names. +</p> + +<p> +“There it is!” he said. “John Maitland.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo bent over the fine writing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, John Maitland,” he observed. “And who was John +Maitland?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. He turned to another of the many drawers in an +ancient bureau, and began to search amongst a mass of old newspapers, carefully +sorted into small bundles and tied up. +</p> + +<p> +“If you had lived in Market Milcaster one-and-twenty years ago, Mr. +Spargo,” he said, “you would have known who John Maitland was. For +some time, sir, he was the best-known man in the place—aye, and in this +corner of the world. But—aye, here it is—the newspaper of October +5th, 1891. Now, Mr. Spargo, you’ll find in this old newspaper who John +Maitland was, and all about him. Now, I’ll tell you what to do. +I’ve just got to go into my office for an hour to talk the day’s +business over with my son—you take this newspaper out into the garden +there with one of these cigars, and read what’ll you find in it, and when +you’ve read that we’ll have some more talk.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo carried the old newspaper into the sunlit garden. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER EIGHTEEN<br/> +AN OLD NEWSPAPER</h2> + +<p> +As soon as Spargo unfolded the paper he saw what he wanted on the middle page, +headed in two lines of big capitals. He lighted a cigar and settled down to +read. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“MARKET MILCASTER QUARTER SESSIONS<br/> +“TRIAL OF JOHN MAITLAND +</p> + +<p> +“The Quarter Sessions for the Borough of Market Milcaster were held on +Wednesday last, October 3rd, 1891, in the Town Hall, before the Recorder, Henry +John Campernowne, Esq., K.C., who was accompanied on the bench by the +Worshipful the Mayor of Market Milcaster (Alderman Pettiford), the Vicar of +Market Milcaster (the Rev. P.B. Clabberton, M.A., R.D.), Alderman Banks, J.P., +Alderman Peters, J.P., Sir Gervais Racton, J.P., Colonel Fludgate, J.P., +Captain Murrill, J.P., and other magistrates and gentlemen. There was a crowded +attendance of the public in anticipation of the trial of John Maitland, +ex-manager of the Market Milcaster Bank, and the reserved portions of the Court +were filled with the <i>élite</i> of the town and neighbourhood, including a +considerable number of ladies who manifested the greatest interest in the +proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +“The Recorder, in charging the Grand Jury, said he regretted that the +very pleasant and gratifying experience which had been his upon the occasion of +his last two official visits to Market Milcaster—he referred to the fact +that on both those occasions his friend the Worshipful Mayor had been able to +present him with a pair of white gloves—was not to be repeated on the +present occasion. It would be their sad and regrettable lot to have before them +a fellow-townsman whose family had for generations occupied a foremost position +in the life of the borough. That fellow-townsman was charged with one of the +most serious offences known to a commercial nation like ours: the offence of +embezzling the moneys of the bank of which he had for many years been the +trusted manager, and with which he had been connected all his life since his +school days. He understood that the prisoner who would shortly be put before +the court on his trial was about to plead guilty, and there would accordingly +be no need for him to direct the gentlemen of the Grand Jury on this +matter—what he had to say respecting the gravity and even enormity of the +offence he would reserve. The Recorder then addressed himself to the Grand Jury +on the merits of two minor cases, which came before the court at a later period +of the morning, after which they retired, and having formally returned a true +bill against the prisoner, and a petty jury, chosen from well-known burgesses +of the town having been duly sworn. +</p> + +<p> +“JOHN MAITLAND, aged 42, bank manager, of the Bank House, High Street, +Market Milcaster, was formally charged with embezzling, on April 23rd, 1891, +the sum of £4,875 10_s_. 6_d_., the moneys of his employers, the Market +Milcaster Banking Company Ltd., and converting the same to his own use. The +prisoner, who appeared to feel his position most acutely, and who looked very +pale and much worn, was represented by Mr. Charles Doolittle, the well-known +barrister of Kingshaven; Mr. Stephens, K.C., appeared on behalf of the +prosecution. +</p> + +<p> +“Maitland, upon being charged, pleaded guilty. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stephens, K.C., addressing the Recorder, said that without any +desire to unduly press upon the prisoner, who, he ventured to think, had taken +a very wise course in pleading guilty to that particular count in the +indictment with which he stood charged, he felt bound, in the interests of +justice, to set forth to the Court some particulars of the defalcations which +had arisen through the prisoner’s much lamented dishonesty. He proposed +to offer a clear and succinct account of the matter. The prisoner, John +Maitland, was the last of an old Market Milcaster family—he was, in fact, +he believed, with the exception of his own infant son, the very last of the +race. His father had been manager of the bank before him. Maitland himself had +entered the service of the bank at the age of eighteen, when he left the local +Grammar School; he succeeded his father as manager at the age of thirty-two; he +had therefore occupied this highest position of trust for ten years. His +directors had the fullest confidence in him; they relied on his honesty and his +honour; they gave him discretionary powers such as no bank-manager, probably, +ever enjoyed or held before. In fact, he was so trusted that he was, to all +intents and purposes, the Market Milcaster Banking Company; in other words he +was allowed full control over everything, and given full licence to do what he +liked. Whether the directors were wise in extending such liberty to even the +most trusted servant, it was not for him (Mr. Stephens) to say; it was some +consolation, under the circumstances, to know that the loss would fall upon the +directors, inasmuch as they themselves held nearly the whole of the shares. But +he had to speak of the loss—of the serious defalcations which Maitland +had committed. The prisoner had wisely pleaded guilty to the first count of the +indictment. But there were no less than seventeen counts in the indictment. He +had pleaded guilty to embezzling a sum of £4,875 odd. But the total amount of +the defalcations, comprised in the seventeen counts, was no less—it +seemed a most amazing sum!—than £221,573 8_s_. 6_d_.! There was the +fact—the banking company had been robbed of over two hundred thousand +pounds by the prisoner in the dock before a mere accident, the most trifling +chance, had revealed to the astounded directors that he was robbing them at +all. And the most serious feature of the whole case was that not one penny of +this money had been, or ever could be, recovered. He believed that the +prisoner’s learned counsel was about to urge upon the Court that the +prisoner himself had been tricked and deceived by another man, unfortunately +not before the Court—a man, he understood, also well known in Market +Milcaster, who was now dead, and therefore could not be called, but whether he +was so tricked or deceived was no excuse for his clever and wholesale robbing +of his employers. He had thought it necessary to put these facts—which +would not be denied—before the Court, in order that it might be known how +heavy the defalcations really had been, and that they should be considered in +dealing with the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +“The Recorder asked if there was no possibility of recovering any part of +the vast sum concerned. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stephens replied that they were informed that there was not the +remotest chance—the money, it was said by prisoner and those acting on +his behalf, had utterly vanished with the death of the man to whom he had just +made reference. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Doolittle, on behalf of the prisoner, craved to address a few words +to the Court in mitigation of sentence. He thanked Mr. Stephens for the +considerate and eminently dispassionate manner in which he had outlined the +main facts of the case. He had no desire to minimize the prisoner’s +guilt. But, on prisoner’s behalf, he desired to tell the true story as to +how these things came to be. Until as recently as three years previously the +prisoner had never made the slightest deviation from the straight path of +integrity. Unfortunately for him, and, he believed, for some others in Market +Milcaster, there came to the town three years before the present proceedings, a +man named Chamberlayne, who commenced business in the High Street as a +stock-and-share broker. A man of good address and the most plausible manners, +Chamberlayne attracted a good many people—amongst them his unfortunate +client. It was matter of common knowledge that Chamberlayne had induced +numerous persons in Market Milcaster to enter into financial transactions with +him; it was matter of common repute that those transactions had not always +turned out well for Chamberlayne’s clients. Unhappily for himself, +Maitland had great faith in Chamberlayne. He had begun to have transactions +with him in a large way; they had gone on and on in a large way until he was +involved to vast amounts. Believing thoroughly in Chamberlayne and his methods, +he had entrusted him with very large sums of money. +</p> + +<p> +“The Recorder interrupted Mr. Doolittle at this point to ask if he was to +understand that Mr. Doolittle was referring to the prisoner’s own money. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Doolittle replied that he was afraid the large sums he referred to +were the property of the bank. But the prisoner had such belief in Chamberlayne +that he firmly anticipated that all would be well, and that these sums would be +repaid, and that a vast profit would result from their use. +</p> + +<p> +“The Recorder remarked that he supposed the prisoner intended to put the +profit into his own pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Doolittle said at any rate the prisoner assured him that of the two +hundred and twenty thousand pounds which was in question, Chamberlayne had had +the immediate handling of at least two hundred thousand, and he, the prisoner, +had not the ghost of a notion as to what Chamberlayne had done with it. +Unfortunately for everybody, for the bank, for some other people, and +especially for his unhappy client, Chamberlayne died, very suddenly, just as +these proceedings were instituted, and so far it had been absolutely impossible +to trace anything of the moneys concerned. He had died under mysterious +circumstances, and there was just as much mystery about his affairs. +</p> + +<p> +“The Recorder observed that he was still waiting to hear what Mr. +Doolittle had to urge in mitigation of any sentence he, the Recorder, might +think fit to pass. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Doolittle said that he would trouble the Court with as few remarks +as possible. All that he could urge on behalf of the unfortunate man in the +dock was that until three years ago he had borne a most exemplary character, +and had never committed a dishonest action. It had been his misfortune, his +folly, to allow a plausible man to persuade him to these acts of dishonesty. +That man had been called to another account, and the prisoner was left to bear +the consequences of his association with him. It seemed as if Chamberlayne had +made away with the money for his own purposes, and it might be that it would +yet be recovered. He would only ask the Court to remember the prisoner’s +antecedents and his previous good conduct, and to bear in mind that whatever +his near future might be he was, in a commercial sense, ruined for life. +</p> + +<p> +“The Recorder, in passing sentence, said that he had not heard a single +word of valid excuse for Maitland’s conduct. Such dishonesty must be +punished in the most severe fashion, and the prisoner must go to penal +servitude for ten years. +</p> + +<p> +“Maitland, who heard the sentence unmoved, was removed from the town +later in the day to the county jail at Saxchester.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo read all this swiftly; then went over it again, noting certain points in +it. At last he folded up the newspaper and turned to the house—to see old +Quarterpage beckoning to him from the library window. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER NINETEEN<br/> +THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY</h2> + +<p> +“I perceive, sir,” said Mr. Quarterpage, as Spargo entered the +library, “that you have read the account of the Maitland trial.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twice,” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“And you have come to the conclusion that—but what conclusion have +you come to?” asked Mr. Quarterpage. +</p> + +<p> +“That the silver ticket in my purse was Maitland’s property,” +said Spargo, who was not going to give all his conclusions at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” agreed the old gentleman. “I think so—I +can’t think anything else. But I was under the impression that I could +have accounted for that ticket, just as I am sure I can account for the other +forty-nine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—and how?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage turned to a corner cupboard and in silence produced a decanter +and two curiously-shaped old wine-glasses. He carefully polished the glasses +with a cloth which he took from a drawer, and set glasses and decanter on a +table in the window, motioning Spargo to take a chair in proximity thereto. He +himself pulled up his own elbow-chair. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll take a glass of my old brown sherry,” he said. +“Though I say it as shouldn’t, as the saying goes, I don’t +think you could find better brown sherry than that from Land’s End to +Berwick-upon-Tweed, Mr. Spargo—no, nor further north either, where they +used to have good taste in liquor in my young days! Well, here’s your +good health, sir, and I’ll tell you about Maitland.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m curious,” said Spargo. “And about more than +Maitland. I want to know about a lot of things arising out of that newspaper +report. I want to know something about the man referred to so much—the +stockbroker, Chamberlayne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” observed Mr. Quarterpage, smiling. “I thought that +would touch your sense of the inquisitive. But Maitland first. Now, when +Maitland went to prison, he left behind him a child, a boy, just then about two +years old. The child’s mother was dead. Her sister, a Miss Baylis, +appeared on the scene—Maitland had married his wife from a +distance—and took possession of the child and of Maitland’s +personal effects. He had been made bankrupt while he was awaiting his trial, +and all his household goods were sold. But this Miss Baylis took some small +personal things, and I always believed that she took the silver ticket. And she +may have done, for anything I know to the contrary. Anyway, she took the child +away, and there was an end of the Maitland family in Market Milcaster. +Maitland, of course, was in due procedure of things removed to Dartmoor, and +there he served his term. There were people who were very anxious to get hold +of him when he came out—the bank people, for they believed that he knew +more about the disposition of that money than he’d ever told, and they +wanted to induce him to tell what they hoped he knew—between ourselves, +Mr. Spargo, they were going to make it worth his while to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo tapped the newspaper, which he had retained while the old gentleman +talked. +</p> + +<p> +“Then they didn’t believe what his counsel said—that +Chamberlayne got all the money?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“No—nor anybody else!” he answered. “There was a strong +idea in the town—you’ll see why afterwards—that it was all a +put-up job, and that Maitland cheerfully underwent his punishment knowing that +there was a nice fortune waiting for him when he came out. And as I say, the +bank people meant to get hold of him. But though they sent a special agent to +meet him on his release, they never did get hold of him. Some mistake +arose—when Maitland was released, he got clear away. Nobody’s ever +heard a word of him from that day to this. Unless Miss Baylis has.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where does this Miss Baylis live?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. “She did +live in Brighton when she took the child away, and her address was known, and I +have it somewhere. But when the bank people sought her out after +Maitland’s release, she, too, had clean disappeared, and all efforts to +trace her failed. In fact, according to the folks who lived near her in +Brighton, she’d completely disappeared, with the child, five years +before. So there wasn’t a clue to Maitland. He served his time—made +a model prisoner—they did find that much out!—earned the maximum +remission, was released, and vanished. And for that very reason there’s a +theory about him in this very town to this very day!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“This. That he’s now living comfortably, luxuriously abroad on what +he got from the bank,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. “They say that the +sister-in-law was in at the game; that when she disappeared with the child, she +went abroad somewhere and made a home ready for Maitland, and that he went off +to them as soon as he came out. Do you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that was possible,” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite possible, sir. But now,” continued the old gentleman, +replenishing the glasses, “now we come on to the Chamberlayne story. +It’s a good deal more to do with the Maitland story than appears at first +sight, I’ll tell it to you and you can form your own conclusions. +Chamberlayne was a man who came to Market Milcaster—I don’t know +from where—in 1886—five years before the Maitland smash-up. He was +then about Maitland’s age—a man of thirty-seven or eight. He came +as clerk to old Mr. Vallas, the rope and twine manufacturer: Vallas’s +place is still there, at the bottom of the High Street, near the river, though +old Vallas is dead. He was a smart, cute, pushing chap, this Chamberlayne; he +made himself indispensable to old Vallas, and old Vallas paid him a rare good +salary. He settled down in the town, and he married a town girl, one of the +Corkindales, the saddlers, when he’d been here three years. Unfortunately +she died in childbirth within a year of their marriage. It was very soon after +that that Chamberlayne threw up his post at Vallas’s, and started +business as a stock-and-share broker. He’d been a saving man; he’d +got a nice bit of money with his wife; he always let it be known that he had +money of his own, and he started in a good way. He was a man of the most +plausible manners: he’d have coaxed butter out of a dog’s throat if +he’d wanted to. The moneyed men of the town believed in him—I +believed in him myself, Mr. Spargo—I’d many a transaction with him, +and I never lost aught by him—on the contrary, he did very well for me. +He did well for most of his clients—there were, of course, ups and downs, +but on the whole he satisfied his clients uncommonly well. But, naturally, +nobody ever knew what was going on between him and Maitland.” +</p> + +<p> +“I gather from this report,” said Spargo, “that everything +came out suddenly—unexpectedly?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was so, sir,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. “Sudden? +Unexpected? Aye, as a crack of thunder on a fine winter’s day. Nobody had +the ghost of a notion that anything was wrong. John Maitland was much respected +in the town; much thought of by everybody; well known to everybody. I can +assure you, Mr. Spargo, that it was no pleasant thing to have to sit on that +grand jury as I did—I was its foreman, sir,—and hear a man +sentenced that you’d regarded as a bosom friend. But there it was!” +</p> + +<p> +“How was the thing discovered?” asked Spargo, anxious to get at +facts. +</p> + +<p> +“In this way,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. “The Market Milcaster +Bank is in reality almost entirely the property of two old families in the +town, the Gutchbys and the Hostables. Owing to the death of his father, a young +Hostable, fresh from college, came into the business. He was a shrewd, keen +young fellow; he got some suspicion, somehow, about Maitland, and he insisted +on the other partners consenting to a special investigation, and on their +making it suddenly. And Maitland was caught before he had a chance. But +we’re talking about Chamberlayne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, about Chamberlayne,” agreed Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, Maitland was arrested one evening,” continued Mr. +Quarterpage. “Of course, the news of his arrest ran through the town like +wild-fire. Everybody was astonished; he was at that time—aye, and had +been for years—a churchwarden at the Parish Church, and I don’t +think there could have been more surprise if we’d heard that the Vicar +had been arrested for bigamy. In a little town like this, news is all over the +place in a few minutes. Of course, Chamberlayne would hear that news like +everybody else. But it was remembered, and often remarked upon afterwards, that +from the moment of Maitland’s arrest nobody in Market Milcaster ever had +speech with Chamberlayne again. After his wife’s death he’d taken +to spending an hour or so of an evening across there at the +‘Dragon,’ where you saw me and my friends last night, but on that +night he didn’t go to the ‘Dragon.’ And next morning he +caught the eight o’clock train to London. He happened to remark to the +stationmaster as he got into the train that he expected to be back late that +night, and that he should have a tiring day of it. But Chamberlayne +didn’t come back that night, Mr. Spargo. He didn’t come back to +Market Milcaster for four days, and when he did come back it was in a +coffin!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead?” exclaimed Spargo. “That was sudden!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very sudden,” agreed Mr. Quarterpage. “Yes, sir, he came +back in his coffin, did Chamberlayne. On the very evening on which he’d +spoken of being back, there came a telegram here to say that he’d died +very suddenly at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. That telegram came to his +brother-in-law, Corkindale, the saddler—you’ll find him down the +street, opposite the Town Hall. It was sent to Corkindale by a nephew of +Chamberlayne’s, another Chamberlayne, Stephen, who lived in London, and +was understood to be on the Stock Exchange there. I saw that telegram, Mr. +Spargo, and it was a long one. It said that Chamberlayne had had a sudden +seizure, and though a doctor had been got to him he’d died shortly +afterwards. Now, as Chamberlayne had his nephew and friends in London, his +brother-in-law, Tom Corkindale, didn’t feel that there was any necessity +for him to go up to town, so he just sent off a wire to Stephen Chamberlayne +asking if there was aught he could do. And next morning came another wire from +Stephen saying that no inquest would be necessary, as the doctor had been +present and able to certify the cause of death, and would Corkindale make all +arrangements for the funeral two days later. You see, Chamberlayne had bought a +vault in our cemetery when he buried his wife, so naturally they wished to bury +him in it, with her.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded. He was beginning to imagine all sorts of things and theories; he +was taking everything in. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” continued Mr. Quarterpage, “on the second day after +that, they brought Chamberlayne’s body down. Three of ’em came with +it—Stephen Chamberlayne, the doctor who’d been called in, and a +solicitor. Everything was done according to proper form and usage. As +Chamberlayne had been well known in the town, a good number of townsfolk met +the body at the station and followed it to the cemetery. Of course, many of us +who had been clients of Chamberlayne’s were anxious to know how he had +come to such a sudden end. According to Stephen Chamberlayne’s account, +our Chamberlayne had wired to him and to his solicitor to meet him at the +Cosmopolitan to do some business. They were awaiting him there when he arrived, +and they had lunch together. After that, they got to their business in a +private room. Towards the end of the afternoon, Chamberlayne was taken suddenly +ill, and though they got a doctor to him at once, he died before evening. The +doctor said he’d a diseased heart. Anyhow, he was able to certify the +cause of his death, so there was no inquest and they buried him, as I have told +you.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman paused and, taking a sip at his sherry, smiled at some +reminiscence which occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, presently going on, “of course, on that came +all the Maitland revelations, and Maitland vowed and declared that Chamberlayne +had not only had nearly all the money, but that he was absolutely certain that +most of it was in his hands in hard cash. But Chamberlayne, Mr. Spargo, had +left practically nothing. All that could be traced was about three or four +thousand pounds. He’d left everything to his nephew, Stephen. There +wasn’t a trace, a clue to the vast sums with which Maitland had entrusted +him. And then people began to talk, and they said what some of them say to this +very day!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage leaned forward and tapped his guest on the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“That Chamberlayne never did die, and that that coffin was weighted with +lead!” he answered. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY<br/> +MAITLAND <i>ALIAS</i> MARBURY</h2> + +<p> +This remarkable declaration awoke such a new conception of matters in +Spargo’s mind, aroused such infinitely new possibilities in his +imagination, that for a full moment he sat silently staring at his informant, +who chuckled with quiet enjoyment at his visitor’s surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” said Spargo at last, “that there +are people in this town who still believe that the coffin in your cemetery +which is said to contain Chamberlayne’s body contains—lead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of ’em, my dear sir!” replied Mr. Quarterpage. +“Lots of ’em! Go out in the street and ask the first six men you +meet, and I’ll go bail that four out of the six believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why, in the sacred name of common sense did no one ever take steps +to make certain?” asked Spargo. “Why didn’t they get an order +for exhumation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it was nobody’s particular business to do so,” +answered Mr. Quarterpage. “You don’t know country-town life, my +dear sir. In towns like Market Milcaster folks talk and gossip a great deal, +but they’re always slow to do anything. It’s a case of who’ll +start first—of initiative. And if they see it’s going to cost +anything—then they’ll have nothing to do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—the bank people?” suggested Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re amongst the lot who believe that Chamberlayne did +die,” he said. “They’re very old-fashioned, +conservative-minded people, the Gutchbys and the Hostables, and they accepted +the version of the nephew, and the doctor, and the solicitor. But now +I’ll tell you something about those three. There was a man here in the +town, a gentleman of your own profession, who came to edit that paper +you’ve got on your knee. He got interested in this Chamberlayne case, and +he began to make enquiries with the idea of getting hold of some +good—what do you call it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose he’d call it ‘copy,’” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Copy’—that was his term,” agreed Mr. +Quarterpage. “Well, he took the trouble to go to London to ask some quiet +questions of the nephew, Stephen. That was just twelve months after +Chamberlayne had been buried. But he found that Stephen Chamberlayne had left +England—months before. Gone, they said, to one of the colonies, but they +didn’t know which. And the solicitor had also gone. And the +doctor—couldn’t be traced, no, sir, not even through the Medical +Register. What do you think of all that, Mr. Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” answered Spargo, “that Market Milcaster folk are +considerably slow. I should have had that death and burial enquired into. The +whole thing looks to me like a conspiracy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, it was, as I say, nobody’s business,” said Mr. +Quarterpage. “The newspaper gentleman tried to stir up interest in it, +but it was no good, and very soon afterwards he left. And there it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Quarterpage,” said Spargo, “what’s your own honest +opinion?” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said. “I’ve often wondered, Mr. Spargo, if I +really have an opinion on that point. I think that what I probably feel about +the whole affair is that there was a good deal of mystery attaching to it. But +we seem, sir, to have gone a long way from the question of that old silver +ticket which you’ve got in your purse. Now——” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Spargo, interrupting his host with an accompanying wag +of his forefinger. “No! I think we’re coming nearer to it. Now +you’ve given me a great deal of your time, Mr. Quarterpage, and told me a +lot, and, first of all, before I tell you a lot, I’m going to show you +something.” +</p> + +<p> +And Spargo took out of his pocket-book a carefully-mounted photograph of John +Marbury—the original of the process-picture which he had had made for the +<i>Watchman</i>. He handed it over. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you recognize that photograph as that of anybody you know?” he +asked. “Look at it well and closely.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage put on a special pair of spectacles and studied the photograph +from several points of view. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” he said at last with a shake of the head. “I +don’t recognize it at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t see in it any resemblance to any man you’ve ever +known?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, none!” replied Mr. Quarterpage. “None +whatever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Spargo, laying the photograph on the table +between them. “Now, then, I want you to tell me what John Maitland was +like when you knew him. Also, I want you to describe Chamberlayne as he was +when he died, or was supposed to die. You remember them, of course, quite +well?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage got up and moved to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I can do better than that,” he said. “I can show you +photographs of both men as they were just before Maitland’s trial. I have +a photograph of a small group of Market Milcaster notabilities which was taken +at a municipal garden-party; Maitland and Chamberlayne are both in it. +It’s been put away in a cabinet in my drawing-room for many a long year, +and I’ve no doubt it’s as fresh as when it was taken.” +</p> + +<p> +He left the room and presently returned with a large mounted photograph which +he laid on the table before his visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are, sir,” he said. “Quite fresh, you see—it +must be getting on to twenty years since that was taken out of the drawer that +it’s been kept in. Now, that’s Maitland. And that’s +Chamberlayne.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo found himself looking at a group of men who stood against an ivy-covered +wall in the stiff attitudes in which photographers arrange masses of sitters. +He fixed his attention on the two figures indicated by Mr. Quarterpage, and saw +two medium-heighted, rather sturdily-built men about whom there was nothing +very specially noticeable. +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” he said, musingly. “Both bearded.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, they both wore beards—full beards,” assented Mr. +Quarterpage. “And you see, they weren’t so much alike. But Maitland +was a much darker man than Chamberlayne, and he had brown eyes, while +Chamberlayne’s were rather a bright blue.” +</p> + +<p> +“The removal of a beard makes a great difference,” remarked Spargo. +He looked at the photograph of Maitland in the group, comparing it with that of +Marbury which he had taken from his pocket. “And twenty years makes a +difference, too,” he added musingly. +</p> + +<p> +“To some people twenty years makes a vast difference, sir,” said +the old gentleman. “To others it makes none—I haven’t changed +much, they tell me, during the past twenty years. But I’ve known men +change—age, almost beyond recognition!—in five years. It depends, +sir, on what they go through.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly laid aside the photographs, put his hands in his pockets, and +looked steadfastly at Mr. Quarterpage. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” he said. “I’m going to tell you what +I’m after, Mr. Quarterpage. I’m sure you’ve heard all about +what’s known as the Middle Temple Murder—the Marbury case?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve read of it,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you read the accounts of it in my paper, the +<i>Watchman</i>?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only read one newspaper, sir, since I was a young man,” +he replied. “I take the <i>Times</i>, sir—we always took it, aye, +even in the days when newspapers were taxed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said Spargo. “But perhaps I can tell you a +little more than you’ve read, for I’ve been working up that case +ever since the body of the man known as John Marbury was found. Now, if +you’ll just give me your attention, I’ll tell you the whole story +from that moment until—now.” +</p> + +<p> +And Spargo, briefly, succinctly, re-told the story of the Marbury case from the +first instant of his own connection with it until the discovery of the silver +ticket, and Mr. Quarterpage listened in rapt attention, nodding his head from +time to time as the younger man made his points. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, Mr. Quarterpage,” concluded Spargo, “this is the +point I’ve come to. I believe that the man who came to the Anglo-Orient +Hotel as John Marbury and who was undoubtedly murdered in Middle Temple Lane +that night, was John Maitland—I haven’t a doubt about it after +learning what you tell me about the silver ticket. I’ve found out a great +deal that’s valuable here, and I think I’m getting nearer to a +solution of the mystery. That is, of course, to find out who murdered John +Maitland, or Marbury. What you have told me about the Chamberlayne affair has +led me to think this—there may have been people, or a person, in London, +who was anxious to get Marbury, as we’ll call him, out of the way, and +who somehow encountered him that night—anxious to silence him, I mean, +because of the Chamberlayne affair. And I wondered, as there is so much mystery +about him, and as he won’t give any account of himself, if this man +Aylmore was really Chamberlayne. Yes, I wondered that! But Aylmore’s a +tall, finely-built man, quite six feet in height, and his beard, though +it’s now getting grizzled, has been very dark, and Chamberlayne, you say, +was a medium-sized, fair man, with blue eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so, sir,” assented Mr. Quarterpage. “Yes, a +middling-sized man, and fair—very fair. Deary me, Mr. Spargo!—this +is a revelation. And you really think, sir, that John Maitland and John Marbury +are one and the same person?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure of it, now,” said Spargo. “I see it in this +way. Maitland, on his release, went out to Australia, and there he stopped. At +last he comes back, evidently well-to-do. He’s murdered the very day of +his arrival. Aylmore is the only man who knows anything of him—Aylmore +won’t tell all he knows; that’s flat. But Aylmore’s admitted +that he knew him at some vague date, say from twenty-one to twenty-two or three +years ago. Now, where did Aylmore know him? He says in London. That’s a +vague term. He won’t say where—he won’t say anything +definite—he won’t even say what he, Aylmore, himself was in those +days. Do you recollect anything of anybody like Aylmore coming here to see +Maitland, Mr. Quarterpage?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” answered Mr. Quarterpage. “Maitland was a +very quiet, retiring fellow, sir: he was about the quietest man in the town. I +never remember that he had visitors; certainly I’ve no recollection of +such a friend of his as this Aylmore, from your description of him, would be at +that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Maitland go up to London much in those days?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, to show you what a good memory I have,” he said, +“I’ll tell you of something that occurred across there at the +‘Dragon’ only a few months before the Maitland affair came out. +There were some of us in there one evening, and, for a rare thing, Maitland +came in with Chamberlayne. Chamberlayne happened to remark that he was going up +to town next day—he was always to and fro—and we got talking about +London. And Maitland said in course of conversation, that he believed he was +about the only man of his age in England—and, of course, he meant of his +class and means—who’d never even seen London! And I don’t +think he ever went there between that time and his trial: in fact, I’m +sure he didn’t, for if he had, I should have heard of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s queer,” remarked Spargo. “It’s very +queer. For I’m certain Maitland and Marbury are one and the same person. +My theory about that old leather box is that Maitland had that carefully +planted before his arrest; that he dug it up when he came put of Dartmoor; that +he took it off to Australia with him; that he brought it back with him; and +that, of course, the silver ticket and the photograph had been in it all these +years. Now——” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the door of the library was opened, and a parlourmaid looked in +at her master. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s the boots from the ‘Dragon’ at the front door, +sir,” she said. “He’s brought two telegrams across from there +for Mr. Spargo, thinking he might like to have them at once.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE<br/> +ARRESTED</h2> + +<p> +Spargo hurried out to the hall, took the two telegrams from the boots of the +“Dragon,” and, tearing open the envelopes, read the messages +hastily. He went back to Mr. Quarterpage. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s important news,” he said as he closed the library +door and resumed his seat. “I’ll read these telegrams to you, sir, +and then we can discuss them in the light of what we’ve been talking +about this morning. The first is from our office. I told you we sent over to +Australia for a full report about Marbury at the place he said he hailed +from—Coolumbidgee. That report’s just reached the <i>Watchman</i>, +and they’ve wired it on to me. It’s from the chief of police at +Coolumbidgee to the editor of the <i>Watchman</i>, London:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“John Marbury came to Coolumbidgee in the winter of 1898-9. He was +unaccompanied. He appeared to be in possession of fairly considerable means and +bought a share in a small sheep-farm from its proprietor, Andrew Robertson, who +is still here, and who says that Marbury never told him anything about himself +except that he had emigrated for health reasons and was a widower. He mentioned +that he had had a son who was dead, and was now without relations. He lived a +very quiet, steady life on the sheep-farm, never leaving it for many years. +About six months ago, however, he paid a visit to Melbourne, and on returning +told Robertson that he had decided to return to England in consequence of some +news he had received, and must therefore sell his share in the farm. Robertson +bought it from him for three thousand pounds, and Marbury shortly afterwards +left for Melbourne. From what we could gather, Robertson thinks Marbury was +probably in command of five or six thousand when he left Coolumbidgee. He told +Robertson that he had met a man in Melbourne who had given him news that +surprised him, but did not say what news. He had in his possession when he left +Robertson exactly the luggage he brought with him when he came—a stout +portmanteau and a small, square leather box. There are no effects of his left +behind at Coolumbidgee.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all,” said Spargo, laying the first of the telegrams +on the table. “And it seems to me to signify a good deal. But now +here’s more startling news. This is from Rathbury, the Scotland Yard +detective that I told you of, Mr. Quarterpage—he promised, you know, to +keep me posted in what went on in my absence. Here’s what he says: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Fresh evidence tending to incriminate Aylmore has come to hand. +Authorities have decided to arrest him on suspicion. You’d better hurry +back if you want material for to-morrow’s paper.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo threw that telegram down, too, waited while the old gentleman glanced at +both of them with evident curiosity, and then jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shall have to go, Mr. Quarterpage,” he said. “I +looked the trains out this morning so as to be in readiness. I can catch the +1.20 to Paddington—that’ll get me in before half-past four. +I’ve an hour yet. Now, there’s another man I want to see in Market +Milcaster. That’s the photographer—or a photographer. You remember +I told you of the photograph found with the silver ticket? Well, I’m +calculating that that photograph was taken here, and I want to see the man who +took it—if he’s alive and I can find him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage rose and put on his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one photographer in this town, sir,” he said, +“and he’s been here for a good many years—Cooper. I’ll +take you to him—it’s only a few doors away.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo wasted no time in letting the photographer know what he wanted. He put a +direct question to Mr. Cooper—an elderly man. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember taking a photograph of the child of John Maitland, the +bank manager, some twenty or twenty-one years ago?” he asked, after Mr. +Quarterpage had introduced him as a gentleman from London who wanted to ask a +few questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite well, sir,” replied Mr. Cooper. “As well as if it had +been yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you still happen to have a copy of it?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Cooper had already turned to a row of file albums. He took down one +labelled 1891, and began to search its pages. In a minute or two he laid it on +his table before his callers. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are, sir,” he said. “That’s the +child!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo gave one glance at the photograph and turned to Mr. Quarterpage. +“Just as I thought,” he said. “That’s the same +photograph we found in the leather box with the silver ticket. I’m +obliged to you, Mr. Cooper. Now, there’s just one more question I want to +ask. Did you ever supply any further copies of this photograph to anybody after +the Maitland affair?—that is; after the family had left the town?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the photographer. “I supplied half a dozen +copies to Miss Baylis, the child’s aunt, who, as a matter of fact, +brought him here to be photographed. And I can give you her address, +too,” he continued, beginning to turn over another old file. “I +have it somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage nudged Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s something I couldn’t have done!” he remarked. +“As I told you, she’d disappeared from Brighton when enquiries were +made after Maitland’s release.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here you are,” said Mr. Cooper. “I sent six copies of that +photograph to Miss Baylis in April, 1895. Her address was then 6, Chichester +Square, Bayswater, W.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo rapidly wrote this address down, thanked the photographer for his +courtesy, and went out with Mr. Quarterpage. In the street he turned to the old +gentleman with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t think there’s much doubt about that!” he +exclaimed. “Maitland and Marbury are the same man, Mr. Quarterpage. +I’m as certain of that as that I see your Town Hall there.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what will you do next, sir?” enquired Mr. Quarterpage. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you—as I do—for all your kindness and assistance, and +get off to town by this 1.20,” replied Spargo. “And I shan’t +fail to let you know how things go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment,” said the old gentleman, as Spargo was hurrying away, +“do you think this Mr. Aylmore really murdered Maitland?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” answered Spargo with emphasis. “I don’t! And I +think we’ve got a good deal to do before we find out who did.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo purposely let the Marbury case drop out of his mind during his journey +to town. He ate a hearty lunch in the train and talked with his neighbours; it +was a relief to let his mind and attention turn to something else than the +theme which had occupied it unceasingly for so many days. But at Reading the +newspaper boys were shouting the news of the arrest of a Member of Parliament, +and Spargo, glancing out of the window, caught sight of a newspaper placard: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE MARBURY MURDER CASE<br/> +ARREST OF MR. AYLMORE +</p> + +<p> +He snatched a paper from a boy as the train moved out and, unfolding it, found +a mere announcement in the space reserved for stop-press news: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., was arrested at two o’clock this +afternoon, on his way to the House of Commons, on a charge of being concerned +in the murder of John Marbury in Middle Temple Lane on the night of June 21st +last. It is understood he will be brought up at Bow Street at ten o’clock +tomorrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo hurried to New Scotland Yard as soon as he reached Paddington. He met +Rathbury coming away from his room. At sight of him, the detective turned back. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, so there you are!” he said. “I suppose you’ve +heard the news?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded as he dropped into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“What led to it?” he asked abruptly. “There must have been +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was something,” he replied. “The thing—stick, +bludgeon, whatever you like to call it, some foreign article—with which +Marbury was struck down was found last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“It was proved to be Aylmore’s property,” answered Rathbury. +“It was a South American curio that he had in his rooms in Fountain +Court.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where was it found?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“He was a clumsy fellow who did it, whether he was Aylmore or whoever he +was!” he replied. “Do you know, it had been dropped into a +sewer-trap in Middle Temple Lane—actually! Perhaps the murderer thought +it would be washed out into the Thames and float away. But, of course, it was +bound to come to light. A sewer man found it yesterday evening, and it was +quickly recognized by the woman who cleans up for Aylmore as having been in his +rooms ever since she knew them.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does Aylmore say about it?” asked Spargo. “I suppose +he’s said something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Says that the bludgeon is certainly his, and that he brought it from +South America with him,” announced Rathbury; “but that he +doesn’t remember seeing it in his rooms for some time, and thinks that it +was stolen from them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” said Spargo, musingly. “But—how do you know that +was the thing that Marbury was struck down with?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s some of his hair on it—mixed with blood,” he +answered. “No doubt about that. Well—anything come of your jaunt +westward?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Spargo. “Lots!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good?” asked Rathbury. +</p> + +<p> +“Extra good. I’ve found out who Marbury really was.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Really?” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt, to my mind. I’m certain of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury sat down at his desk, watching Spargo with rapt attention. +</p> + +<p> +“And who was he?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“John Maitland, once of Market Milcaster,” replied Spargo. +“Ex-bank manager. Also ex-convict.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ex-convict!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ex-convict. He was sentenced, at Market Milcaster Quarter Sessions, in +autumn, 1891, to ten years’ penal servitude, for embezzling the +bank’s money, to the tune of over two hundred thousand pounds. Served his +term at Dartmoor. Went to Australia as soon, or soon after, he came out. +That’s who Marbury was—Maitland. Dead—certain!” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury still stared at his caller. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on!” he said. “Tell all about it, Spargo. Let’s +hear every detail. I’ll tell you all I know after. But what I +know’s nothing to that.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo told him the whole story of his adventures at Market Milcaster, and the +detective listened with rapt attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said at the end. “Yes—I don’t think +there’s much doubt about that. Well, that clears up a lot, doesn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo yawned. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a whole slate full is wiped off there,” he said. “I +haven’t so much interest in Marbury, or Maitland now. My interest is all +in Aylmore.” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “The thing to find out is—who is +Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your people haven’t found anything out, then?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing beyond the irreproachable history of Mr. Aylmore since he +returned to this country, a very rich man, some ten years since,” +answered Rathbury, smiling. “They’ve no previous dates to go on. +What are you going to do next, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seek out that Miss Baylis,” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“You think you could get something there?” asked Rathbury. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said Spargo. “I don’t believe for a second +Aylmore killed Marbury. I believe I shall get at the truth by following up what +I call the Maitland trail. This Miss Baylis must know something—if +she’s alive. Well, now I’m going to report at the office. Keep in +touch with me, Rathbury.” +</p> + +<p> +He went on then to the <i>Watchman</i> office, and as he got out of his +taxi-cab at its door, another cab came up and set down Mr. Aylmore’s +daughters. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO<br/> +THE BLANK PAST</h2> + +<p> +Jessie Aylmore came forward to meet Spargo with ready confidence; the elder +girl hung back diffidently. +</p> + +<p> +“May we speak to you?” said Jessie. “We have come on purpose +to speak to you. Evelyn didn’t want to come, but I made her come.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo shook hands silently with Evelyn Aylmore and motioned them both to +follow him. He took them straight upstairs to his room and bestowed them in his +easiest chairs before he addressed them. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only just got back to town,” he said abruptly. “I +was sorry to hear the news about your father. That’s what’s brought +you here, of course. But—I’m afraid I can’t do much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you that we had no right to trouble Mr. Spargo, Jessie,” +said Evelyn Aylmore. “What can he do to help us?” +</p> + +<p> +Jessie shook her head impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>Watchman’s</i> about the most powerful paper in London, +isn’t it?” she said. “And isn’t Mr. Spargo writing all +these articles about the Marbury case? Mr. Spargo, you must help us!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo sat down at his desk and began turning over the letters and papers which +had accumulated during his absence. +</p> + +<p> +“To be absolutely frank with you,” he said, presently, “I +don’t see how anybody’s going to help, so long as your father keeps +up that mystery about the past.” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” said Evelyn, quietly, “is exactly what Ronald says, +Jessie. But we can’t make our father speak, Mr. Spargo. That he is as +innocent as we are of this terrible crime we are certain, and we don’t +know why he wouldn’t answer the questions put to him at the inquest. +And—we know no more than you know or anyone knows, and though I have +begged my father to speak, he won’t say a word. We saw his danger: +Ronald—Mr. Breton—told us, and we implored him to tell everything +he knew about Mr. Marbury. But so far he has simply laughed at the idea that he +had anything to do with the murder, or could be arrested for it, and +now——” +</p> + +<p> +“And now he’s locked up,” said Spargo in his usual +matter-of-fact fashion. “Well, there are people who have to be saved from +themselves, you know. Perhaps you’ll have to save your father from the +consequences of his own—shall we say obstinacy? Now, look here, between +ourselves, how much do you know about your father’s—past?” +</p> + +<p> +The two sisters looked at each other and then at Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said the elder. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely nothing!” said the younger. +</p> + +<p> +“Answer a few plain questions,” said Spargo. “I’m not +going to print your replies, nor make use of them in any way: I’m only +asking the questions with a desire to help you. Have you any relations in +England?” +</p> + +<p> +“None that we know of,” replied Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody you could go to for information about the past?” asked +Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“No—nobody!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo drummed his fingers on his blotting-pad. He was thinking hard. +</p> + +<p> +“How old is your father?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“He was fifty-nine a few weeks ago,” answered Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“And how old are you, and how old is your sister?” demanded Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I am twenty, and Jessie is nearly nineteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where were you born?” +</p> + +<p> +“Both of us at San Gregorio, which is in the San José province of +Argentina, north of Monte Video.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father was in business there?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was in business in the export trade, Mr. Spargo. There’s no +secret about that. He exported all sorts of things to England and to +France—skins, hides, wools, dried salts, fruit. That’s how he made +his money.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know how long he’d been there when you were +born?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he married when he went out there?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he wasn’t. We do know that. He’s told us the +circumstances of his marriage, because they were romantic. When he sailed from +England to Buenos Ayres, he met on the steamer a young lady who, he said, was +like himself, relationless and nearly friendless. She was going out to +Argentina as a governess. She and my father fell in love with each other, and +they were married in Buenos Ayres soon after the steamer arrived.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your mother is dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“My mother died before we came to England. I was eight years old, and +Jessie six, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you came to England—how long after that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two years.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that you’ve been in England ten years. And you know nothing +whatever of your father’s past beyond what you’ve told me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—absolutely nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never heard him talk of—you see, according to your account, your +father was a man of getting on to forty when he went out to Argentina. He must +have had a career of some sort in this country. Have you never heard him speak +of his boyhood? Did he never talk of old times, or that sort of thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never remember hearing my father speak of any period antecedent to his +marriage,” replied Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“I once asked him a question about his childhood.” said Jessie. +“He answered that his early days had not been very happy ones, and that +he had done his best to forget them. So I never asked him anything +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that it really comes to this,” remarked Spargo. “You know +nothing whatever about your father, his family, his fortunes, his life, beyond +what you yourselves have observed since you were able to observe? That’s +about it, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say that that is exactly it,” answered Evelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” said Spargo. “And therefore, as I told your sister +the other day, the public will say that your father has some dark secret behind +him, and that Marbury had possession of it, and that your father killed him in +order to silence him. That isn’t my view. I not only believe your father +to be absolutely innocent, but I believe that he knows no more than a child +unborn of Marbury’s murder, and I’m doing my best to find out who +that murderer was. By the by, since you’ll see all about it in tomorrow +morning’s <i>Watchman</i>, I may as well tell you that I’ve found +out who Marbury really was. He——” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Spargo’s door was opened and in walked Ronald Breton. He +shook his head at sight of the two sisters. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I should find you here,” he said. “Jessie said she +was coming to see you, Spargo. I don’t know what good you can do—I +don’t see what good the most powerful newspaper in the world can do. My +God!—everything’s about as black as ever it can be. Mr. +Aylmore—I’ve just come away from him; his solicitor, Stratton, and +I have been with him for an hour—is obstinate as ever—he will not +tell more than he has told. Whatever good can you do, Spargo, when he +won’t speak about that knowledge of Marbury which he must have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well!” said Spargo. “Perhaps we can give him some +information about Marbury. Mr. Aylmore has forgotten that it’s not such a +difficult thing to rake up the past as he seems to think it is. For example, as +I was just telling these young ladies, I myself have discovered who Marbury +really was.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton started. +</p> + +<p> +“You have? Without doubt?” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Without reasonable doubt. Marbury was an ex-convict.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo watched the effect of this sudden announcement. The two girls showed no +sign of astonishment or of unusual curiosity; they received the news with as +much unconcern as if Spargo had told them that Marbury was a famous musician. +But Ronald Breton started, and it seemed to Spargo that he saw a sense of +suspicion dawn in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Marbury—an ex-convict!” he exclaimed. “You mean +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read your <i>Watchman</i> in the morning,” said Spargo. +“You’ll find the whole story there—I’m going to write +it tonight when you people have gone. It’ll make good reading.” +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn and Jessie Aylmore took Spargo’s hint and went away, Spargo seeing +them to the door with another assurance of his belief in their father’s +innocence and his determination to hunt down the real criminal. Ronald Breton +went down with them to the street and saw them into a cab, but in another +minute he was back in Spargo’s room as Spargo had expected. He shut the +door carefully behind him and turned to Spargo with an eager face. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Spargo, is that really so?” he asked. “About Marbury +being an ex-convict?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so, Breton. I’ve no more doubt about it than I have +that I see you. Marbury was in reality one John Maitland, a bank manager, of +Market Milcaster, who got ten years’ penal servitude in 1891 for +embezzlement.” +</p> + +<p> +“In 1891? Why—that’s just about the time that Aylmore says he +knew him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. And—it just strikes me,” said Spargo, sitting down +at his desk and making a hurried note, “it just strikes +me—didn’t Aylmore say he knew Marbury in London?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied Breton. “In London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” mused Spargo. “That’s queer, because Maitland had +never been in London up to the time of his going to Dartmoor, whatever he may +have done when he came out of Dartmoor, and, of course, Aylmore had gone to +South America long before that. Look here, Breton,” he continued, aloud, +“have you access to Aylmore? Will you, can you, see him before he’s +brought up at Bow Street tomorrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Breton. “I can see him with his +solicitor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then listen,” said Spargo. “Tomorrow morning you’ll +find the whole story of how I proved Marbury’s identity with Maitland in +the <i>Watchman</i>. Read it as early as you can; get an interview with Aylmore +as early as you can; make him read it, every word, before he’s brought +up. Beg him if he values his own safety and his daughters’ peace of mind +to throw away all that foolish reserve, and to tell all he knows about Maitland +twenty years ago. He should have done that at first. Why, I was asking his +daughters some questions before you came in—they know absolutely nothing +of their father’s history previous to the time when they began to +understand things! Don’t you see that Aylmore’s career, previous to +his return to England, is a blank past!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—I know!” said Breton. “Yes—although +I’ve gone there a great deal, I never heard Aylmore speak of anything +earlier than his Argentine experiences. And yet, he must have been getting on +when he went out there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty-seven or eight, at least,” remarked Spargo. “Well, +Aylmore’s more or less of a public man, and no public man can keep his +life hidden nowadays. By the by, how did you get to know the Aylmores?” +</p> + +<p> +“My guardian, Mr. Elphick, and I met them in Switzerland,” answered +Breton. “We kept up the acquaintance after our return.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Elphick still interesting himself in the Marbury case?” asked +Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much so. And so is old Cardlestone, at the foot of whose stairs the +thing came off. I dined with them last night and they talked of little +else,” said Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“And their theory—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, still the murder for the sake of robbery!” replied Breton. +“Old Cardlestone is furious that such a thing could have happened at his +very door. He says that there ought to be a thorough enquiry into every tenant +of the Temple.” +</p> + +<p> +“Longish business that,” observed Spargo. “Well, run away +now, Breton—I must write.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall you be at Bow Street tomorrow morning?” asked Breton as he +moved to the door. “It’s to be at ten-thirty.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I shan’t!” replied Spargo. “It’ll only be a +remand, and I know already just as much as I should hear there. I’ve got +something much more important to do. But you’ll remember what I asked of +you—get Aylmore to read my story in the <i>Watchman</i>, and beg him to +speak out and tell all he knows—all!” +</p> + +<p> +And when Breton had gone, Spargo again murmured those last words: “All he +knows—all!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE<br/> +MISS BAYLIS</h2> + +<p> +Next day, a little before noon, Spargo found himself in one of those +pretentious yet dismal Bayswater squares, which are almost entirely given up to +the trade, calling, or occupation of the lodging and boarding-house keeper. +They are very pretentious, those squares, with their many-storied houses, their +stuccoed frontages, and their pilastered and balconied doorways; innocent +country folk, coming into them from the neighbouring station of Paddington, +take them to be the residences of the dukes and earls who, of course, live +nowhere else but in London. They are further encouraged in this belief by the +fact that young male persons in evening dress are often seen at the doorways in +more or less elegant attitudes. These, of course, are taken by the country folk +to be young lords enjoying the air of Bayswater, but others, more knowing, are +aware that they are Swiss or German waiters whose linen might be cleaner. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo gauged the character of the house at which he called as soon as the door +was opened to him. There was the usual smell of eggs and bacon, of fish and +chops; the usual mixed and ancient collection of overcoats, wraps, and sticks +in the hall; the usual sort of parlourmaid to answer the bell. And presently, +in answer to his enquiries, there was the usual type of landlady confronting +him, a more than middle-aged person who desired to look younger, and made +attempts in the way of false hair, teeth, and a little rouge, and who wore that +somewhat air and smile which in its wearer—under these +circumstances—always means that she is considering whether you will be +able to cheat her or whether she will be able to see you. +</p> + +<p> +“You wish to see Miss Baylis?” said this person, examining Spargo +closely. “Miss Baylis does not often see anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” said Spargo politely, “that Miss Baylis is not an +invalid?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she’s not an invalid,” replied the landlady; “but +she’s not as young as she was, and she’s an objection to strangers. +Is it anything I can tell her?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Spargo. “But you can, if you please, take her a +message from me. Will you kindly give her my card, and tell her that I wish to +ask her a question about John Maitland of Market Milcaster, and that I should +be much obliged if she would give me a few minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you will sit down,” said the landlady. She led Spargo into +a room which opened out upon a garden; in it two or three old ladies, evidently +inmates, were sitting. The landlady left Spargo to sit with them and to amuse +himself by watching them knit or sew or read the papers, and he wondered if +they always did these things every day, and if they would go on doing them +until a day would come when they would do them no more, and he was beginning to +feel very dreary when the door opened and a woman entered whom Spargo, after +one sharp glance at her, decided to be a person who was undoubtedly out of the +common. And as she slowly walked across the room towards him he let his first +glance lengthen into a look of steady inspection. +</p> + +<p> +The woman whom Spargo thus narrowly inspected was of very remarkable +appearance. She was almost masculine; she stood nearly six feet in height; she +was of a masculine gait and tread, and spare, muscular, and athletic. What at +once struck Spargo about her face was the strange contrast between her dark +eyes and her white hair; the hair, worn in abundant coils round a well-shaped +head, was of the most snowy whiteness; the eyes of a real coal-blackness, as +were also the eyebrows above them. The features were well-cut and of a striking +firmness; the jaw square and determined. And Spargo’s first thought on +taking all this in was that Miss Baylis seemed to have been fitted by Nature to +be a prison wardress, or the matron of a hospital, or the governess of an +unruly girl, and he began to wonder if he would ever manage to extract anything +out of those firmly-locked lips. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis, on her part, looked Spargo over as if she was half-minded to order +him to instant execution. And Spargo was so impressed by her that he made a +profound bow and found a difficulty in finding his tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Spargo?” she said in a deep voice which seemed peculiarly +suited to her. “Of, I see, the <i>Watchman</i>? You wish to speak to +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo again bowed in silence. She signed him to the window near which they +were standing. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the casement, if you please,” she commanded him. “We +will walk in the garden. This is not private.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo obediently obeyed her orders; she swept through the opened window and he +followed her. It was not until they had reached the bottom of the garden that +she spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that you desire to ask me some question about John +Maitland, of Market Milcaster?” she said. “Before you put it. I +must ask you a question. Do you wish any reply I may give you for +publication?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without your permission,” replied Spargo. “I should not +think of publishing anything you may tell me except with your express +permission.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him gloomily, seemed to gather an impression of his good faith, +and nodded her head. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” she said, “what do you want to ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have lately had reason for making certain enquiries about John +Maitland,” answered Spargo. “I suppose you read the newspapers and +possibly the <i>Watchman</i>, Miss Baylis?” +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Baylis shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I read no newspapers,” she said. “I have no interest in the +affairs of the world. I have work which occupies all my time: I give my whole +devotion to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you have not recently heard of what is known as the Marbury +case—a case of a man who was found murdered?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not,” she answered. “I am not likely to hear such +things.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly realized that the power of the Press is not quite as great nor +as far-reaching as very young journalists hold it to be, and that there +actually are, even in London, people who can live quite cheerfully without a +newspaper. He concealed his astonishment and went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “I believe that the murdered man, known to +the police as John Marbury, was, in reality, your brother-in-law, John +Maitland. In fact, Miss Baylis, I’m absolutely certain of it!” +</p> + +<p> +He made this declaration with some emphasis, and looked at his stern companion +to see how she was impressed. But Miss Baylis showed no sign of being +impressed. +</p> + +<p> +“I can quite believe that, Mr. Spargo,” she said coldly. “It +is no surprise to me that John Maitland should come to such an end. He was a +thoroughly bad and unprincipled man, who brought the most terrible disgrace on +those who were, unfortunately, connected with him. He was likely to die a bad +man’s death.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may ask you a few questions about him?” suggested Spargo in his +most insinuating manner. +</p> + +<p> +“You may, so long as you do not drag my name into the papers,” she +replied. “But pray, how do you know that I have the sad shame of being +John Maitland’s sister-in-law?” +</p> + +<p> +“I found that out at Market Milcaster,” said Spargo. “The +photographer told me—Cooper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“The questions I want to ask are very simple,” said Spargo. +“But your answers may materially help me. You remember Maitland going to +prison, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis laughed—a laugh of scorn. +</p> + +<p> +“Could I ever forget it?” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever visit him in prison?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Visit him in prison!” she said indignantly. “Visits in +prison are to be paid to those who deserve them, who are repentant; not to +scoundrels who are hardened in their sin!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Did you ever see him after he left prison?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw him, for he forced himself upon me—I could not help myself. +He was in my presence before I was aware that he had even been released.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he come for?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“To ask for his son—who had been in my charge,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a thing I want to know about,” said Spargo. “Do +you know what a certain lot of people in Market Milcaster say to this day, Miss +Baylis?—they say that you were in at the game with Maitland; that you had +a lot of the money placed in your charge; that when Maitland went to prison, +you took the child away, first to Brighton, then abroad—disappeared with +him—and that you made a home ready for Maitland when he came out. +That’s what’s said by some people in Market Milcaster.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis’s stern lips curled. +</p> + +<p> +“People in Market Milcaster!” she exclaimed. “All the people +I ever knew in Market Milcaster had about as many brains between them as that +cat on the wall there. As for making a home for John Maitland, I would have +seen him die in the gutter, of absolute want, before I would have given him a +crust of dry bread!” +</p> + +<p> +“You appear to have a terrible dislike of this man,” observed +Spargo, astonished at her vehemence. +</p> + +<p> +“I had—and I have,” she answered. “He tricked my sister +into a marriage with him when he knew that she would rather have married an +honest man who worshipped her; he treated her with quiet, infernal cruelty; he +robbed her and me of the small fortunes our father left us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Spargo. “Well, so you say Maitland came to you, +when he came out of prison, to ask for his boy. Did he take the boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—the boy was dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead, eh? Then I suppose Maitland did not stop long with you?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis laughed her scornful laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“I showed him the door!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, did he tell you that he was going to Australia?” enquired +Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I should not have listened to anything that he told me, Mr. +Spargo,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, in short,” said Spargo, “you never heard of him +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of him again,” she declared passionately, “and +I only hope that what you tell me is true, and that Marbury really was +Maitland!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR<br/> +MOTHER GUTCH</h2> + +<p> +Spargo, having exhausted the list of questions which he had thought out on his +way to Bayswater, was about to take his leave of Miss Baylis, when a new idea +suddenly occurred to him, and he turned back to that formidable lady. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just thought of something else,” he said. “I told +you that I’m certain Marbury was Maitland, and that he came to a sad +end—murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ve told you,” she replied scornfully, “that in +my opinion no end could be too bad for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so—I understand you,” said Spargo. “But I +didn’t tell you that he was not only murdered but robbed—robbed of +probably a good deal. There’s good reason to believe that he had +securities, bank notes, loose diamonds, and other things on him to the value of +a large amount. He’d several thousand pounds when he left Coolumbidgee, +in New South Wales, where he’d lived quietly for some years.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis smiled sourly. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all this to me?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly nothing. But you see, that money, those securities, may be +recovered. And as the boy you speak of is dead, there surely must be somebody +who’s entitled to the lot. It’s worth having, Miss Baylis, and +there’s strong belief on the part of the police that it will turn +up.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a bit of ingenious bluff on the part of Spargo; he watched its effect +with keen eyes. But Miss Baylis was adamant, and she looked as scornful as +ever. +</p> + +<p> +“I say again what’s all that to me?” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but hadn’t the dead boy any relatives on his father’s +side?” asked Spargo. “I know you’re his aunt on the +mother’s side, and as you’re indifferent perhaps, I can find some +on the other side. It’s very easy to find all these things out, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis, who had begun to stalk back to the house in gloomy and majestic +fashion, and had let Spargo see plainly that this part of the interview was +distasteful to her, suddenly paused in her stride and glared at the young +journalist. +</p> + +<p> +“Easy to find all these things out?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo caught, or fancied he caught, a note of anxiety in her tone. He was +quick to turn his fancy to practical purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, easy enough!” he said. “I could find out all about +Maitland’s family through that boy. Quite, quite easily!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis had stopped now, and stood glaring at him. “How?” she +demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you,” said Spargo with cheerful alacrity. +“It is, of course, the easiest thing in the world to trace all about his +short life. I suppose I can find the register of his birth at Market Milcaster, +and you, of course, will tell me where he died. By the by, when did he die, +Miss Baylis?” +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Baylis was going on again to the house. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall tell you nothing more,” she said angrily. +“I’ve told you too much already, and I believe all you’re +here for is to get some news for your paper. But I will, at any rate tell you +this—when Maitland went to prison his child would have been defenceless +but for me; he’d have had to go to the workhouse but for me; he +hadn’t a single relation in the world but me, on either father’s or +mother’s side. And even at my age, old woman as I am, I’d rather +beg my bread in the street, I’d rather starve and die, than touch a penny +piece that had come from John Maitland! That’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +Then without further word, without offering to show Spargo the way out, she +marched in at the open window and disappeared. And Spargo, knowing no other +way, was about to follow her when he heard a sudden rustling sound in the +shadow by which they had stood, and the next moment a queer, cracked, horrible +voice, suggesting all sorts of things, said distinctly and yet in a whisper: +</p> + +<p> +“Young man!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo turned and stared at the privet hedge behind him. It was thick and +bushy, and in its full summer green, but it seemed to him that he saw a +nondescript shape behind. “Who’s there?” he demanded. +“Somebody listening?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a curious cackle of laughter from behind the hedge; then the cracked, +husky voice spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Young man, don’t you move or look as if you were talking to +anybody. Do you know where the ‘King of Madagascar’ public-house is +in this quarter of the town, young man?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” answered Spargo. “Certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, anybody’ll tell you when you get outside, young man,” +continued the queer voice of the unseen person. “Go there, and wait at +the corner by the ‘King of Madagascar,’ and I’ll come there +to you at the end of half an hour. Then I’ll tell you something, young +man—I’ll tell you something. Now run away, young man, run away to +the ‘King of Madagascar’—I’m coming!” +</p> + +<p> +The voice ended in low, horrible cachinnation which made Spargo feel queer. But +he was young enough to be in love with adventure, and he immediately turned on +his heel without so much as a glance at the privet hedge, and went across the +garden and through the house, and let himself out at the door. And at the next +corner of the square he met a policeman and asked him if he knew where the +“King of Madagascar” was. +</p> + +<p> +“First to the right, second to the left,” answered the policeman +tersely. “You can’t miss it anywhere round there—it’s a +landmark.” +</p> + +<p> +And Spargo found the landmark—a great, square-built tavern—easily, +and he waited at a corner of it wondering what he was going to see, and +intensely curious about the owner of the queer voice, with all its suggestions +of he knew not what. And suddenly there came up to him an old woman and leered +at him in a fashion that made him suddenly realize how dreadful old age may be. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo had never seen such an old woman as this in his life. She was dressed +respectably, better than respectably. Her gown was good; her bonnet was smart; +her smaller fittings were good. But her face was evil; it showed unmistakable +signs of a long devotion to the bottle; the old eyes leered and ogled, the old +lips were wicked. Spargo felt a sense of disgust almost amounting to nausea, +but he was going to hear what the old harridan had to say and he tried not to +look what he felt. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he said, almost roughly. “Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, young man, there you are,” said his new acquaintance. +“Let us go inside, young man; there’s a quiet little place where a +lady can sit and take her drop of gin—I’ll show you. And if +you’re good to me, I’ll tell you something about that cat that you +were talking to just now. But you’ll give me a little matter to put in my +pocket, young man? Old ladies like me have a right to buy little comforts, you +know, little comforts.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo followed this extraordinary person into a small parlour within; the +attendant who came in response to a ring showed no astonishment at her +presence; he also seemed to know exactly what she required, which was a certain +brand of gin, sweetened, and warm. And Spargo watched her curiously as with +shaking hand she pushed up the veil which hid little of her wicked old face, +and lifted the glass to her mouth with a zest which was not thirst but pure +greed of liquor. Almost instantly he saw a new light steal into her eyes, and +she laughed in a voice that grew clearer with every sound she made. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, young man!” she said with a confidential nudge of the elbow +that made Spargo long to get up and fly. “I wanted that! It’s done +me good. When I’ve finished that, you’ll pay for another for +me—and perhaps another? They’ll do me still more good. And +you’ll give me a little matter of money, won’t you, young +man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till I know what I’m giving it for,” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be giving it because I’m going to tell you that if +it’s made worth my while I can tell you, or somebody that sent you, more +about Jane Baylis than anybody in the world. I’m not going to tell you +that now, young man—I’m sure you don’t carry in your pocket +what I shall want for my secret, not you, by the look of you! I’m only +going to show you that I have the secret. Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +The woman leered and chuckled. “What are you going to give me, young +man?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo put his fingers in his pocket and pulled out two half-sovereigns. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said, showing his companion the coins, “if +you can tell me anything of importance you shall have these. But no trifling, +now. And no wasting of time. If you have anything to tell, out with it!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman stretched out a trembling, claw-like hand. +</p> + +<p> +“But let me hold one of those, young man!” she implored. “Let +me hold one of the beautiful bits of gold. I shall tell you all the better if I +hold one of them. Let me—there’s a good young gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo gave her one of the coins, and resigned himself to his fate, whatever it +might be. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t get the other unless you tell something,” he said. +“Who are you, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +The woman, who had begun mumbling and chuckling over the half-sovereign, +grinned horribly. +</p> + +<p> +“At the boarding-house yonder, young man, they call me Mother +Gutch,” she answered; “but my proper name is Mrs. Sabina Gutch, and +once upon a time I was a good-looking young woman. And when my husband died I +went to Jane Baylis as housekeeper, and when she retired from that and came to +live in that boarding-house where we live now, she was forced to bring me with +her and to keep me. Why had she to do that, young man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven knows!” answered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve got a hold on her, young man—I’ve got a +secret of hers,” continued Mother Gutch. “She’d be scared to +death if she knew I’d been behind that hedge and had heard what she said +to you, and she’d be more than scared if she knew that you and I were +here, talking. But she’s grown hard and near with me, and she won’t +give me a penny to get a drop of anything with, and an old woman like me has a +right to her little comforts, and if you’ll buy the secret, young man, +I’ll split on her, there and then, when you pay the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before I talk about buying any secret,” said Spargo, +“you’ll have to prove to me that you’ve a secret to sell +that’s worth my buying.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I will prove it!” said Mother Gutch with sudden fierceness. +“Touch the bell, and let me have another glass, and then I’ll tell +you. Now,” she went on, more quietly—Spargo noticed that the more +she drank, the more rational she became, and that her nerves seemed to gain +strength and her whole appearance to be improved—“now, you came to +her to find out about her brother-in-law, Maitland, that went to prison, +didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” demanded Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“And about that boy of his?” she continued. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard all that was said,” answered Spargo. “I’m +waiting to hear what you have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mother Gutch was resolute in having her own way. She continued her +questions: +</p> + +<p> +“And she told you that Maitland came and asked for the boy, and that she +told him the boy was dead, didn’t she?” she went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Spargo despairingly. “She did. What then?” +</p> + +<p> +Mother Gutch took an appreciative pull at her glass and smiled knowingly. +“What then?” she chuckled. “All lies, young man, the boy +isn’t dead—any more than I am. And my secret is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” demanded Spargo impatiently. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“This!” answered Mother Gutch, digging her companion in the ribs, +“I know what she did with him!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE<br/> +REVELATIONS</h2> + +<p> +Spargo turned on his disreputable and dissolute companion with all his +journalistic energies and instincts roused. He had not been sure, since +entering the “King of Madagascar,” that he was going to hear +anything material to the Middle Temple Murder; he had more than once feared +that this old gin-drinking harridan was deceiving him, for the purpose of +extracting drink and money from him. But now, at the mere prospect of getting +important information from her, he forgot all about Mother Gutch’s +unfortunate propensities, evil eyes, and sodden face; he only saw in her +somebody who could tell him something. He turned on her eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“You say that John Maitland’s son didn’t die!” he +exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy did not die,” replied Mother Gutch. +</p> + +<p> +“And that you know where he is?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mother Gutch shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say that I know where he is, young man,” she +replied. “I said I knew what she did with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, then?” demanded Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Mother Gutch drew herself up in a vast assumption of dignity, and favoured +Spargo with a look. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the secret, young man,” she said. “I’m +willing to sell that secret, but not for two half-sovereigns and two or three +drops of cold gin. If Maitland left all that money you told Jane Baylis of, +when I was listening to you from behind the hedge, my secret’s worth +something.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly remembered his bit of bluff to Miss Baylis. Here was an +unexpected result of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody but me can help you to trace Maitland’s boy,” +continued Mother Gutch, “and I shall expect to be paid accordingly. +That’s plain language, young man.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo considered the situation in silence for a minute or two. Could this +wretched, bibulous old woman really be in possession of a secret which would +lead to the solving of the mystery of the Middle Temple Murder? Well, it would +be a fine thing for the <i>Watchman</i> if the clearing up of everything came +through one of its men. And the <i>Watchman</i> was noted for being generous +even to extravagance in laying out money on all sorts of objects: it had spent +money like water on much less serious matters than this. +</p> + +<p> +“How much do you want for your secret?” he suddenly asked, turning +to his companion. +</p> + +<p> +Mother Gutch began to smooth out a pleat in her gown. It was really wonderful +to Spargo to find how very sober and normal this old harridan had become; he +did not understand that her nerves had been all a-quiver and on edge when he +first met her, and that a resort to her favourite form of alcohol in liberal +quantity had calmed and quickened them; secretly he was regarding her with +astonishment as the most extraordinary old person he had ever met, and he was +almost afraid of her as he waited for her decision. At last Mother Gutch spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, young man,” she said, “having considered matters, and +having a right to look well to myself, I think that what I should prefer to +have would be one of those annuities. A nice, comfortable annuity, paid +weekly—none of your monthlies or quarterlies, but regular and punctual, +every Saturday morning. Or Monday morning, as was convenient to the parties +concerned—but punctual and regular. I know a good many ladies in my +sphere of life as enjoys annuities, and it’s a great comfort to have +’em paid weekly.” +</p> + +<p> +It occurred to Spargo that Mrs. Gutch would probably get rid of her weekly dole +on the day it was paid, whether that day happened to be Monday or Saturday, but +that, after all, was no concern of his, so he came back to first principles. +</p> + +<p> +“Even now you haven’t said how much,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Three pound a week,” replied Mother Gutch. “And cheap, +too!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo thought hard for two minutes. The secret might—might!—lead +to something big. This wretched old woman would probably drink herself to death +within a year or two. Anyhow, a few hundreds of pounds was nothing to the +<i>Watchman</i>. He glanced at his watch. At that hour—for the next +hour—the great man of the <i>Watchman</i> would be at the office. He +jumped to his feet, suddenly resolved and alert. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, I’ll take you to see my principals,” he said. +“We’ll run along in a taxi-cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“With all the pleasure in the world, young man,” replied Mother +Gutch; “when you’ve given me that other half-sovereign. As for +principals, I’d far rather talk business with masters than with +men—though I mean no disrespect to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, feeling that he was in for it, handed over the second half-sovereign, +and busied himself in ordering a taxi-cab. But when that came round he had to +wait while Mrs. Gutch consumed a third glass of gin and purchased a flask of +the same beverage to put in her pocket. At last he got her off, and in due +course to the <i>Watchman</i> office, where the hall-porter and the messenger +boys stared at her in amazement, well used as they were to seeing strange folk, +and he got her to his own room, and locked her in, and then he sought the +presence of the mighty. +</p> + +<p> +What Spargo said to his editor and to the great man who controlled the fortunes +and workings of the <i>Watchman</i> he never knew. It was probably fortunate +for him that they were both thoroughly conversant with the facts of the Middle +Temple Murder, and saw that there might be an advantage in securing the +revelations of which Spargo had got the conditional promise. At any rate, they +accompanied Spargo to his room, intent on seeing, hearing and bargaining with +the lady he had locked up there. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo’s room smelt heavily of unsweetened gin, but Mother Gutch was +soberer than ever. She insisted upon being introduced to proprietor and editor +in due and proper form, and in discussing terms with them before going into any +further particulars. The editor was all for temporizing with her until +something could be done to find out what likelihood of truth there was in her, +but the proprietor, after sizing her up in his own shrewd fashion, took his two +companions out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll hear what the old woman has to say on her own terms,” +he said. “She may have something to tell that is really of the greatest +importance in this case: she certainly has something to tell. And, as Spargo +says, she’ll probably drink herself to death in about as short a time as +possible. Come back—let’s hear her story.” So they returned +to the gin-scented atmosphere, and a formal document was drawn out by which the +proprietor of the <i>Watchman</i> bound himself to pay Mrs. Gutch the sum of +three pounds a week for life (Mrs. Gutch insisting on the insertion of the +words “every Saturday morning, punctual and regular”) and then Mrs. +Gutch was invited to tell her tale. And Mrs. Gutch settled herself to do so, +and Spargo prepared to take it down, word for word. +</p> + +<p> +“Which the story, as that young man called it, is not so long as a +monkey’s tail nor so short as a Manx cat’s, gentlemen,” said +Mrs. Gutch; “but full of meat as an egg. Now, you see, when that Maitland +affair at Market Milcaster came off, I was housekeeper to Miss Jane Baylis at +Brighton. She kept a boarding-house there, in Kemp Town, and close to the +sea-front, and a very good thing she made out of it, and had saved a nice bit, +and having, like her sister, Mrs. Maitland, had a little fortune left her by +her father, as was at one time a publican here in London, she had a good lump +of money. And all that money was in this here Maitland’s hands, every +penny. I very well remember the day when the news came about that affair of +Maitland robbing the bank. Miss Baylis, she was like a mad thing when she saw +it in the paper, and before she’d seen it an hour she was off to Market +Milcaster. I went up to the station with her, and she told me then before she +got in the train that Maitland had all her fortune and her savings, and her +sister’s, his wife’s, too, and that she feared all would be +lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Maitland was then dead,” observed Spargo without looking up +from his writing-block. +</p> + +<p> +“She was, young man, and a good thing, too,” continued Mrs. Gutch. +“Well, away went Miss Baylis, and no more did I hear or see for nearly a +week, and then back she comes, and brings a little boy with her—which was +Maitland’s. And she told me that night that she’d lost every penny +she had in the world, and that her sister’s money, what ought to have +been the child’s, was gone, too, and she said her say about Maitland. +However, she saw well to that child; nobody could have seen better. And very +soon after, when Maitland was sent to prison for ten years, her and me talked +about things. ‘What’s the use,’ says I to her, ‘of your +letting yourself get so fond of that child, and looking after it as you do, and +educating it, and so on?’ I says. ‘Why not?’ says she. +‘’Tisn’t yours,’ I says, ‘you haven’t no +right to it,’ I says. ‘As soon as ever its father comes out,’ +says I,’ he’ll come and claim it, and you can’t do nothing to +stop him.’ Well, gentlemen, if you’ll believe me, never did I see a +woman look as she did when I says all that. And she up and swore that Maitland +should never see or touch the child again—not under no circumstances +whatever.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gutch paused to take a little refreshment from her pocket-flask, with an +apologetic remark as to the state of her heart. She resumed, presently, +apparently refreshed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, gentlemen, that notion, about Maitland’s taking the child +away from her seemed to get on her mind, and she used to talk to me at times +about it, always saying the same thing—that Maitland should never have +him. And one day she told me she was going to London to see lawyers about it, +and she went, and she came back, seeming more satisfied, and a day or two +afterwards, there came a gentleman who looked like a lawyer, and he stopped a +day or two, and he came again and again, until one day she came to me, and she +says, ‘You don’t know who that gentleman is that’s come so +much lately?’ she says. ‘Not I,’ I says, ‘unless +he’s after you.’ ‘After me!’ she says, tossing her +head: ‘That’s the gentleman that ought to have married my poor +sister if that scoundrel Maitland hadn’t tricked her into throwing him +over!’ ‘You don’t say so!’ I says. ‘Then by +rights he ought to have been the child’s pa!’ ‘He’s +going to be a father to the boy,’ she says. ‘He’s going to +take him and educate him in the highest fashion, and make a gentleman of +him,’ she says, ‘for his mother’s sake.’ ‘Mercy +on us!’ says I. ‘What’ll Maitland say when he comes for +him?’ ‘Maitland’ll never come for him,’ she says, +‘for I’m going to leave here, and the boy’ll be gone before +then. This is all being done,’ she says, ‘so that the +child’ll never know his father’s shame—he’ll never know +who his father was.’ And true enough, the boy was taken away, but +Maitland came before she’d gone, and she told him the child was dead, and +I never see a man so cut up. However, it wasn’t no concern of mine. And +so there’s so much of the secret, gentlemen, and I would like to know if +I ain’t giving good value.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said the proprietor. “Go on.” But Spargo +intervened. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear the name of the gentleman who took the boy +away?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I did,” replied Mrs. Gutch. “Of course I did. Which it +was Elphick.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX<br/> +STILL SILENT</h2> + +<p> +Spargo dropped his pen on the desk before him with a sharp clatter that made +Mrs. Gutch jump. A steady devotion to the bottle had made her nerves to be none +of the strongest, and she looked at the startler of them with angry +malevolence. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t do that again, young man!” she exclaimed sharply. +“I can’t a-bear to be jumped out of my skin, and it’s bad +manners. I observed that the gentleman’s name was Elphick.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo contrived to get in a glance at his proprietor and his editor—a +glance which came near to being a wink. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so—Elphick,” he said. “A law gentleman I think +you said, Mrs. Gutch?” +</p> + +<p> +“I said,” answered Mrs. Gutch, “as how he looked like a +lawyer gentleman. And since you’re so particular, young man, though I +wasn’t addressing you but your principals, he was a lawyer gentleman. One +of the sort that wears wigs and gowns—ain’t I seen his picture in +Jane Baylis’s room at the boarding-house where you saw her this +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Elderly man?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Elderly he will be now,” replied the informant; “but when he +took the boy away he was a middle-aged man. About his age,” she added, +pointing to the editor in a fashion which made that worthy man wince and the +proprietor desire to laugh unconsumedly; “and not so very unlike him +neither, being one as had no hair on his face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Spargo. “And where did this Mr. Elphick take the +boy, Mrs. Gutch?” +</p> + +<p> +But Mrs. Gutch shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t no idea,” she said. “He took him. Then, as I +told you, Maitland came, and Jane Baylis told him that the boy was dead. And +after that she never even told me anything about the boy. She kept a tight +tongue. Once or twice I asked her, and she says, ‘Never you mind,’ +she says; ‘he’s all right for life, if he lives to be as old as +Methusalem.’ And she never said more, and I never said more. But,” +continued Mrs. Gutch, whose pocket-flask was empty, and who began to wipe tears +away, “she’s treated me hard has Jane Baylis, never allowing me a +little comfort such as a lady of my age should have, and when I hears the two +of you a-talking this morning the other side of that privet hedge, thinks I, +‘Now’s the time to have my knife into you, my fine madam!’ +And I hope I done it.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked at the editor and the proprietor, nodding his head slightly. He +meant them to understand that he had got all he wanted from Mother Gutch. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do, Mrs. Gutch, when you leave here?” he +asked. “You shall be driven straight back to Bayswater, if you +like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which I shall be obliged for, young man,” said Mrs. Gutch, +“and likewise for the first week of the annuity, and will call every +Saturday for the same at eleven punctual, or can be posted to me on a Friday, +whichever is agreeable to you gentlemen. And having my first week in my purse, +and being driven to Bayswater, I shall take my boxes and go to a friend of mine +where I shall be hearty welcome, shaking the dust of my feet off against Jane +Baylis and where I’ve been living with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but, Mrs. Gutch,” said Spargo, with some anxiety, “if +you go back there tonight, you’ll be very careful not to tell Miss Baylis +that you’ve been here and told us all this?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gutch rose, dignified and composed. +</p> + +<p> +“Young man,” she said, “you mean well, but you ain’t +used to dealing with ladies. I can keep my tongue as still as anybody when I +like. I wouldn’t tell Jane Baylis my affairs—my new affairs, +gentlemen, thanks to you—not for two annuities, paid twice a week!” +</p> + +<p> +“Take Mrs. Gutch downstairs, Spargo, and see her all right, and then come +to my room,” said the editor. “And don’t you forget, Mrs. +Gutch—keep a quiet tongue in your head—no more talk—or +there’ll be no annuities on Saturday mornings.” +</p> + +<p> +So Spargo took Mother Gutch to the cashier’s department and paid her her +first week’s money, and he got her a taxi-cab, and paid for it, and saw +her depart, and then he went to the editor’s room, strangely thoughtful. +The editor and the proprietor were talking, but they stopped when Spargo +entered and looked at him eagerly. “I think we’ve done it,” +said Spargo quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“What, precisely, have we found out?” asked the editor. +</p> + +<p> +“A great deal more than I’d anticipated,” answered Spargo, +“and I don’t know what fields it doesn’t open out. If you +look back, you’ll remember that the only thing found on Marbury’s +body was a scrap of grey paper on which was a name and address—Ronald +Breton, King’s Bench Walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Breton is a young barrister. Also he writes a bit—I have accepted +two or three articles of his for our literary page.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Further, he is engaged to Miss Aylmore, the eldest daughter of Aylmore, +the Member of Parliament who has been charged at Bow Street today with the +murder of Marbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. Well, what then, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“But the most important matter,” continued Spargo, speaking very +deliberately, “is this—that is, taking that old woman’s +statement to be true, as I personally believe it is—that Breton, as he +has told me himself (I have seen a good deal of him) was brought up by a +guardian. That guardian is Mr. Septimus Elphick, the barrister.” +</p> + +<p> +The proprietor and the editor looked at each other. Their faces wore the +expression of men thinking on the same lines and arriving at the same +conclusion. And the proprietor suddenly turned on Spargo with a sharp +interrogation: “You think then——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that Mr. Septimus Elphick is the Elphick, and that Breton is the +young Maitland of whom Mrs. Gutch has been talking,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +The editor got up, thrust his hands in his pockets, and began to pace the room. +</p> + +<p> +“If that’s so,” he said, “if that’s so, the +mystery deepens. What do you propose to do, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Spargo, slowly, “I think that without telling +him anything of what we have learnt, I should like to see young Breton and get +an introduction from him to Mr. Elphick. I can make a good excuse for wanting +an interview with him. If you will leave it in my hands—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes!” said the proprietor, waving a hand. “Leave it +entirely in Spargo’s hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep me informed,” said the editor. “Do what you think. It +strikes me you’re on the track.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo left their presence, and going back to his own room, still faintly +redolent of the personality of Mrs. Gutch, got hold of the reporter who had +been present at Bow Street when Aylmore was brought up that morning. There was +nothing new; the authorities had merely asked for another remand. So far as the +reporter knew, Aylmore had said nothing fresh to anybody. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo went round to the Temple and up to Ronald Breton’s chambers. He +found the young barrister just preparing to leave, and looking unusually grave +and thoughtful. At sight of Spargo he turned back from his outer door, beckoned +the journalist to follow him, and led him into an inner room. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Spargo!” he said, as he motioned his visitor to take a +chair. “This is becoming something more than serious. You know what you +told me to do yesterday as regards Aylmore?” +</p> + +<p> +“To get him to tell all?—Yes,” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Breton shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Stratton—his solicitor, you know—and I saw him this morning +before the police-court proceedings,” he continued. “I told him of +my talk with you; I even went as far as to tell him that his daughters had been +to the <i>Watchman</i> office. Stratton and I both begged him to take your +advice and tell all, everything, no matter at what cost to his private +feelings. We pointed out to him the serious nature of the evidence against him; +how he had damaged himself by not telling the whole truth at once; how he had +certainly done a great deal to excite suspicion against himself; how, as the +evidence stands at present, any jury could scarcely do less than convict him. +And it was all no good, Spargo!” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t say anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll say no more. He was adamant. ‘I told the entire truth +in respect to my dealings with Marbury on the night he met his death at the +inquest,’ he said, over and over again, ‘and I shall say nothing +further on any consideration. If the law likes to hang an innocent man on such +evidence as that, let it!’ And he persisted in that until we left him. +Spargo, I don’t know what’s to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“And nothing happened at the police-court?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—another remand. Stratton and I saw Aylmore again before he +was removed. He left us with a sort of sardonic remark—‘If you all +want to prove me innocent,’ he said, ‘find the guilty +man.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there was a tremendous lot of common sense in that,” said +Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course, but how, how, how is it going to be done?” +exclaimed Breton. “Are you any nearer—is Rathbury any nearer? Is +there the slightest clue that will fasten the guilt on anybody else?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo gave no answer to these questions. He remained silent a while, +apparently thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“Was Rathbury in court?” he suddenly asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He was,” replied Breton. “He was there with two or three +other men who I suppose were detectives, and seemed to be greatly interested in +Aylmore.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I don’t see Rathbury tonight I’ll see him in the +morning,” said Spargo. He rose as if to go, but after lingering a moment, +sat down again. “Look here,” he continued, “I don’t +know how this thing stands in law, but would it be a very weak case against +Aylmore if the prosecution couldn’t show some motive for his killing +Marbury?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no necessity to prove motive in murder,” he said. +“But I’ll tell you what, Spargo—if the prosecution can show +that Aylmore had a motive for getting rid of Marbury, if they could prove that +it was to Aylmore’s advantage to silence him—why, then, I +don’t think he’s a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. But so far no motive, no reason for his killing Marbury has been +shown.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know of none.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo rose and moved to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m off,” he said. Then, as if he suddenly recollected +something, he turned back. “Oh, by the by,” he said, +“isn’t your guardian, Mr. Elphick, a big authority on +philately?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the biggest. Awful enthusiast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he’d tell me a bit about those Australian stamps +which Marbury showed to Criedir, the dealer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain, he would—delighted. Here”—and Breton +scribbled a few words on a card—“there’s his address and a +word from me. I’ll tell you when you can always find him in, five nights +out of seven—at nine o’clock, after he’s dined. I’d go +with you tonight, but I must go to Aylmore’s. The two girls are in +terrible trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give them a message from me,” said Spargo as they went out +together. “Tell them to keep up their hearts and their courage.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN<br/> +MR. ELPHICK’S CHAMBERS</h2> + +<p> +Spargo went round again to the Temple that night at nine o’clock, asking +himself over and over again two questions—the first, how much does +Elphick know? the second, how much shall I tell him? +</p> + +<p> +The old house in the Temple to which he repaired and in which many a generation +of old fogies had lived since the days of Queen Anne, was full of stairs and +passages, and as Spargo had forgotten to get the exact number of the set of +chambers he wanted, he was obliged to wander about in what was a deserted +building. So wandering, he suddenly heard steps, firm, decisive steps coming up +a staircase which he himself had just climbed. He looked over the banisters +down into the hollow beneath. And there, marching up resolutely, was the figure +of a tall, veiled woman, and Spargo suddenly realized, with a sharp quickening +of his pulses, that for the second time that day he was beneath one roof with +Miss Baylis. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo’s mind acted quickly. Knowing what he now knew, from his +extraordinary dealings with Mother Gutch, he had no doubt whatever that Miss +Baylis had come to see Mr. Elphick—come, of course, to tell Mr. Elphick +that he, Spargo, had visited her that morning, and that he was on the track of +the Maitland secret history. He had never thought of it before, for he had been +busily engaged since the departure of Mother Gutch; but, naturally, Miss Baylis +and Mr. Elphick would keep in communication with each other. At any rate, here +she was, and her destination was, surely, Elphick’s chambers. And the +question for him, Spargo, was—what to do? +</p> + +<p> +What Spargo did was to remain in absolute silence, motionless, tense, where he +was on the stair, and to trust to the chance that the woman did not look up. +But Miss Baylis neither looked up nor down: she reached a landing, turned along +a corridor with decision, and marched forward. A moment later Spargo heard a +sharp double knock on a door: a moment after that he heard a door heavily shut; +he knew then that Miss Baylis had sought and gained admittance—somewhere. +</p> + +<p> +To find out precisely where that somewhere was drew Spargo down to the landing +which Miss Baylis had just left. There was no one about—he had not, in +fact, seen a soul since he entered the building. Accordingly he went along the +corridor into which he had seen Miss Baylis turn. He knew that all the doors in +that house were double ones, and that the outer oak in each was solid and +substantial enough to be sound proof. Yet, as men will under such +circumstances, he walked softly; he said to himself, smiling at the thought, +that he would be sure to start if somebody suddenly opened a door on him. But +no hand opened any door, and at last he came to the end of the corridor and +found himself confronting a small board on which was painted in white letters +on a black ground, Mr. Elphick’s Chambers. +</p> + +<p> +Having satisfied himself as to his exact whereabouts, Spargo drew back as +quietly as he had come. There was a window half-way along the corridor from +which, he had noticed as he came along, one could catch a glimpse of the +Embankment and the Thames; to this he withdrew, and leaning on the sill looked +out and considered matters. Should he go and—if he could gain +admittance—beard these two conspirators? Should he wait until the woman +came out and let her see that he was on the track? Should he hide again until +she went, and then see Elphick alone? +</p> + +<p> +In the end Spargo did none of these things immediately. He let things slide for +the moment. He lighted a cigarette and stared at the river and the brown sails, +and the buildings across on the Surrey side. Ten minutes went by—twenty +minutes—nothing happened. Then, as half-past nine struck from all the +neighbouring clocks, Spargo flung away a second cigarette, marched straight +down the corridor and knocked boldly at Mr. Elphick’s door. +</p> + +<p> +Greatly to Spargo’s surprise, the door was opened before there was any +necessity to knock again. And there, calmly confronting him, a benevolent, yet +somewhat deprecating expression on his spectacled and placid face, stood Mr. +Elphick, a smoking cap on his head, a tasseled smoking jacket over his dress +shirt, and a short pipe in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo was taken aback: Mr. Elphick apparently was not. He held the door well +open, and motioned the journalist to enter. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, Mr. Spargo,” he said. “I was expecting you. Walk +forward into my sitting-room.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, much astonished at this reception, passed through an ante-room into a +handsomely furnished apartment full of books and pictures. In spite of the fact +that it was still very little past midsummer there was a cheery fire in the +grate, and on a table set near a roomy arm-chair was set such creature comforts +as a spirit-case, a syphon, a tumbler, and a novel—from which things +Spargo argued that Mr. Elphick had been taking his ease since his dinner. But +in another armchair on the opposite side of the hearth was the forbidding +figure of Miss Baylis, blacker, gloomier, more mysterious than ever. She +neither spoke nor moved when Spargo entered: she did not even look at him. And +Spargo stood staring at her until Mr. Elphick, having closed his doors, touched +him on the elbow, and motioned him courteously to a seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I was expecting you, Mr. Spargo,” he said, as he resumed his +own chair. “I have been expecting you at any time, ever since you took up +your investigation of the Marbury affair, in some of the earlier stages of +which you saw me, you will remember, at the mortuary. But since Miss Baylis +told me, twenty minutes ago, that you had been to her this morning I felt sure +that it would not be more than a few hours before you would come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. Elphick, should you suppose that I should come to you at +all?” asked Spargo, now in full possession of his wits. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I felt sure that you would leave no stone unturned, no corner +unexplored,” replied Mr. Elphick. “The curiosity of the modern +pressman is insatiable.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo stiffened. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no curiosity, Mr. Elphick,” he said. “I am charged by +my paper to investigate the circumstances of the death of the man who was found +in Middle Temple Lane, and, if possible, to track his murderer, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Elphick laughed slightly and waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“My good young gentleman!” he said. “You exaggerate your own +importance. I don’t approve of modern journalism nor of its methods. In +your own case you have got hold of some absurd notion that the man John Marbury +was in reality one John Maitland, once of Market Milcaster, and you have been +trying to frighten Miss Baylis here into——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly rose from his chair. There was a certain temper in him which, +when once roused, led him to straight hitting, and it was roused now. He looked +the old barrister full in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Elphick,” he said, “you are evidently unaware of all +that I know. So I will tell you what I will do. I will go back to my office, +and I will write down what I do know, and give the true and absolute proofs of +what I know, and, if you will trouble yourself to read the <i>Watchman</i> +tomorrow morning, then you, too, will know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me—dear me!” said Mr. Elphick, banteringly. “We +are so used to ultra-sensational stories from the <i>Watchman</i> +that—but I am a curious and inquisitive old man, my good young sir, so +perhaps you will tell me in a word what it is you do know, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo reflected for a second. Then he bent forward across the table and looked +the old barrister straight in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said quietly. “I will tell you what I know beyond +doubt. I know that the man murdered under the name of John Marbury was, without +doubt, John Maitland, of Market Milcaster, and that Ronald Breton is his son, +whom you took from that woman!” +</p> + +<p> +If Spargo had desired a complete revenge for the cavalier fashion in which Mr. +Elphick had treated it he could not have been afforded a more ample one than +that offered to him by the old barrister’s reception of this news. Mr. +Elphick’s face not only fell, but changed; his expression of almost +sneering contempt was transformed to one clearly resembling abject terror; he +dropped his pipe, fell back in his chair, recovered himself, gripped the +chair’s arms, and stared at Spargo as if the young man had suddenly +announced to him that in another minute he must be led to instant execution. +And Spargo, quick to see his advantage, followed it up. +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I know, Mr. Elphick, and if I choose, all the world shall +know it tomorrow morning!” he said firmly. “Ronald Breton is the +son of the murdered man, and Ronald Breton is engaged to be married to the +daughter of the man charged with the murder. Do you hear that? It is not matter +of suspicion, or of idea, or of conjecture, it is fact—fact!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Elphick slowly turned his face to Miss Baylis. He gasped out a few words. +</p> + +<p> +“You—did—not—tell—me—this!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Spargo, turning to the woman, saw that she, too, was white to the lips and +as frightened as the man. +</p> + +<p> +“I—didn’t know!” she muttered. “He didn’t +tell me. He only told me this morning what—what I’ve told +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo picked up his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mr. Elphick,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +But before he could reach the door the old barrister had leapt from his chair +and seized him with trembling hands. Spargo turned and looked at him. He knew +then that for some reason or other he had given Mr. Septimus Elphick a +thoroughly bad fright. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he growled. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young gentleman!” implored Mr. Elphick. “Don’t +go! I’ll—I’ll do anything for you if you won’t go away +to print that. I’ll—I’ll give you a thousand pounds!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo shook him off. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough!” he snarled. “Now, I am off! What, +you’d try to bribe me?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Elphick wrung his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean that—indeed I didn’t!” he almost +wailed. “I—I don’t know what I meant. Stay, young gentleman, +stay a little, and let us—let us talk. Let me have a word with +you—as many words as you please. I implore you!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo made a fine pretence of hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“If I stay,” he said, at last, “it will only be on the strict +condition that you answer—and answer truly—whatever questions I +like to ask you. Otherwise——” +</p> + +<p> +He made another move to the door, and again Mr. Elphick laid beseeching hands +on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay!” he said. “I’ll answer anything you like!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT<br/> +OF PROVED IDENTITY</h2> + +<p> +Spargo sat down again in the chair which he had just left, and looked at the +two people upon whom his startling announcement had produced such a curious +effect. And he recognized as he looked at them that, while they were both +frightened, they were frightened in different ways. Miss Baylis had already +recovered her composure; she now sat sombre and stern as ever, returning +Spargo’s look with something of indifferent defiance; he thought he could +see that in her mind a certain fear was battling with a certain amount of +wonder that he had discovered the secret. It seemed to him that so far as she +was concerned the secret had come to an end; it was as if she said in so many +words that now the secret was out he might do his worst. +</p> + +<p> +But upon Mr. Septimus Elphick the effect was very different. He was still +trembling from excitement; he groaned as he sank into his chair and the hand +with which he poured out a glass of spirits shook; the glass rattled against +his teeth when he raised it to his lips. The half-contemptuous fashion of his +reception of Spargo had now wholly disappeared; he was a man who had received a +shock, and a bad one. And Spargo, watching him keenly, said to himself: This +man knows a great deal more than, a great deal beyond, the mere fact that +Marbury was Maitland, and that Ronald Breton is in reality Maitland’s +son; he knows something which he never wanted anybody to know, which he firmly +believed it impossible anybody ever could know. It was as if he had buried +something deep, deep down in the lowest depths, and was as astounded as he was +frightened to find that it had been at last flung up to the broad light of day. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall wait,” suddenly said Spargo, “until you are +composed, Mr. Elphick. I have no wish to distress you. But I see, of course, +that the truths which I have told you are of a sort that cause you +considerable—shall we say fear?” +</p> + +<p> +Elphick took another stiff pull at his liquor. His hand had grown steadier, and +the colour was coming back to his face. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will let me explain,” he said. “If you will hear what +was done for the boy’s sake—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” answered Spargo, “is precisely what I wish. I can +tell you this—I am the last man in the world to wish harm of any sort to +Mr. Breton.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Baylis relieved her feelings with a scornful sniff. “He says +that!” she exclaimed, addressing the ceiling. “He says that, +knowing that he means to tell the world in his rag of a paper that Ronald +Breton, on whom every care has been lavished, is the son of a scoundrel, an +ex-convict, a——” +</p> + +<p> +Elphick lifted his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush—hush!” he said imploringly. “Mr. Spargo means +well, I am sure—I am convinced. If Mr. Spargo will hear +me——” +</p> + +<p> +But before Spargo could reply, a loud insistent knocking came at the outer +door. Elphick started nervously, but presently he moved across the room, +walking as if he had received a blow, and opened the door. A boy’s voice +penetrated into the sitting-room. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, sir, is Mr. Spargo, of the <i>Watchman</i>, here? He left +this address in case he was wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo recognized the voice as that of one of the office messenger boys, and +jumping up, went to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Rawlins?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please come back to the office, sir, at once? There’s Mr. +Rathbury there and says he must see you instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” answered Spargo. “I’m coming just +now.” +</p> + +<p> +He motioned the lad away, and turned to Elphick. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to go,” he said. “I may be kept. Now, Mr. +Elphick, can I come to see you tomorrow morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, tomorrow morning!” replied Elphick eagerly. +“Tomorrow morning, certainly. At eleven—eleven o’clock. That +will do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be here at eleven,” said Spargo. “Eleven +sharp.” +</p> + +<p> +He was moving away when Elphick caught him by the sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“A word—just a word!” he said. “You—you have not +told the—the boy—Ronald—of what you know? You +haven’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t,” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Elphick tightened his grip on Spargo’s sleeve. He looked into his face +beseechingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Promise me—promise me, Mr. Spargo, that you won’t tell him +until you have seen me in the morning!” he implored. “I beg you to +promise me this.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo hesitated, considering matters. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well—I promise,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And you won’t print it?” continued Elphick, still clinging +to him. “Say you won’t print it tonight?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not print it tonight,” answered Spargo. +“That’s certain.” +</p> + +<p> +Elphick released his grip on the young man’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Come—at eleven tomorrow morning,” he said, and drew back and +closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo ran quickly to the office and hurried up to his own room. And there, +calmly seated in an easy-chair, smoking a cigar, and reading an evening +newspaper, was Rathbury, unconcerned and outwardly as imperturbable as ever. He +greeted Spargo with a careless nod and a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “how’s things?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, half-breathless, dropped into his desk-chair. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t come here to tell me that,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, throwing the newspaper aside, “I didn’t. +I came to tell you my latest. You’re at full liberty to stick it into +your paper tonight: it may just as well be known.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury took his cigar out of his lips and yawned. +</p> + +<p> +“Aylmore’s identified,” he said lazily. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo sat up, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Identified!” +</p> + +<p> +“Identified, my son. Beyond doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“But as whom—as what?” exclaimed Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an old lag—an ex-convict. Served his time partly at +Dartmoor. That, of course, is where he met Maitland or Marbury. D’ye see? +Clear as noontide now, Spargo.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo sat drumming his fingers on the desk before him. His eyes were fixed on +a map of London that hung on the opposite wall; his ears heard the throbbing of +the printing-machines far below. But what he really saw was the faces of the +two girls; what he really heard was the voices of two girls … +</p> + +<p> +“Clear as noontide—as noontide,” repeated Rathbury with great +cheerfulness. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo came back to the earth of plain and brutal fact. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s clear as noontide?” he asked sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“What? Why, the whole thing! Motive—everything,” answered +Rathbury. “Don’t you see, Maitland and Aylmore (his real name is +Ainsworth, by the by) meet at Dartmoor, probably, or, rather, certainly, just +before Aylmore’s release. Aylmore goes abroad, makes money, in time comes +back, starts new career, gets into Parliament, becomes big man. In time, +Maitland, who, after his time, has also gone abroad, also comes back. The two +meet. Maitland probably tries to blackmail Aylmore or threatens to let folk +know that the flourishing Mr. Aylmore, M.P., is an ex-convict. +Result—Aylmore lures him to the Temple and quiets him. Pooh!—the +whole thing’s clear as noontide, as I say. As—noontide!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo drummed his fingers again. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” he asked quietly. “How came Aylmore to be +identified?” +</p> + +<p> +“My work,” said Rathbury proudly. “My work, my son. You see, +I thought a lot. And especially after we’d found out that Marbury was +Maitland.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean after I’d found out,” remarked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury waved his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, it’s all the same,” he said. “You help me, +and I help you, eh? Well, as I say, I thought a considerable lot. I +thought—now, where did Maitland, or Marbury, know or meet Aylmore twenty +or twenty-two years ago? Not in London, because we knew Maitland never was in +London—at any rate, before his trial, and we haven’t the least +proof that he was in London after. And why won’t Aylmore tell? Clearly +because it must have been in some undesirable place. And then, all of a sudden, +it flashed on me in a moment of—what do you writing fellows call those +moments, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspiration, I should think,” said Spargo. “Direct +inspiration.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it. In a moment of direct inspiration, it flashed on +me—why, twenty years ago, Maitland was in Dartmoor—they must have +met there! And so, we got some old warders who’d been there at that time +to come to town, and we gave ’em opportunities to see Aylmore and to +study him. Of course, he’s twenty years older, and he’s grown a +beard, but they began to recall him, and then one man remembered that if he was +the man they thought he’d a certain birth-mark. And—he has!” +</p> + +<p> +“Does Aylmore know that he’s been identified?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury pitched his cigar into the fireplace and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Know!” he said scornfully. “Know? He’s admitted it. +What was the use of standing out against proof like that. He admitted it +tonight in my presence. Oh, he knows all right!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did he say?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury laughed contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“Say? Oh, not much. Pretty much what he said about this affair—that +when he was convicted the time before he was an innocent man. He’s +certainly a good hand at playing the innocent game.” +</p> + +<p> +“And of what was he convicted?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course, we know all about it—now. As soon as we found out +who he really was, we had all the particulars turned up. Aylmore, or Ainsworth +(Stephen Ainsworth his name really is) was a man who ran a sort of what they +call a Mutual Benefit Society in a town right away up in the +North—Cloudhampton—some thirty years ago. He was nominally +secretary, but it was really his own affair. It was patronized by the working +classes—Cloudhampton’s a purely artisan population—and they +stuck a lot of their brass, as they call it, in it. Then suddenly it came to +smash, and there was nothing. He—Ainsworth, or Aylmore—pleaded that +he was robbed and duped by another man, but the court didn’t believe him, +and he got seven years. Plain story you see, Spargo, when it all comes out, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“All stories are quite plain—when they come out,” observed +Spargo. “And he kept silence now, I suppose, because he didn’t want +his daughters to know about his past?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” agreed Rathbury. “And I don’t know that I +blame him. He thought, of course, that he’d go scot-free over this +Marbury affair. But he made his mistake in the initial stages, my boy—oh, +yes!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo got up from his desk and walked around his room for a few minutes, +Rathbury meanwhile finding and lighting another cigar. At last Spargo came back +and clapped a hand on the detective’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Rathbury!” he said. “It’s very evident that +you’re now going on the lines that Aylmore did murder Marbury. Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury looked up. His face showed astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“After evidence like that!” he exclaimed. “Why, of course. +There’s the motive, my son, the motive!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Rathbury!” he said. “Aylmore no more murdered Marbury than +you did!” +</p> + +<p> +The detective got up and put on his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said. “Perhaps you know who did, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall know in a few days,” answered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Rathbury stared wonderingly at him. Then he suddenly walked to the door. +“Good-night!” he said gruffly. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Rathbury,” replied Spargo and sat down at his desk. +</p> + +<p> +But that night Spargo wrote nothing for the <i>Watchman</i>. All he wrote was a +short telegram addressed to Aylmore’s daughters. There were only three +words on it—<i>Have no fear.</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE<br/> +THE CLOSED DOORS</h2> + +<p> +Alone of all the London morning newspapers, the <i>Watchman</i> appeared next +day destitute of sensationalism in respect to the Middle Temple Murder. The +other daily journals published more or less vivid accounts of the +identification of Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P. for the Brookminster Division, as +the <i>ci-devant</i> Stephen Ainsworth, ex-convict, once upon a time founder +and secretary of the Hearth and Home Mutual Benefit Society, the headquarters +of which had been at Cloudhampton, in Daleshire; the fall of which had involved +thousands of honest working folk in terrible distress if not in absolute ruin. +Most of them had raked up Ainsworth’s past to considerable journalistic +purpose: it had been an easy matter to turn up old files, to recount the fall +of the Hearth and Home, to tell anew the story of the privations of the humble +investors whose small hoards had gone in the crash; it had been easy, too, to +set out again the history of Ainsworth’s arrest, trial, and fate. There +was plenty of romance in the story: it was that of a man who by his financial +ability had built up a great industrial insurance society; had—as was +alleged—converted the large sums entrusted to him to his own purposes; +had been detected and punished; had disappeared, after his punishment, so +effectually that no one knew where he had gone; had come back, comparatively a +few years later, under another name, a very rich man, and had entered +Parliament and been, in a modest way, a public character without any of those +who knew him in his new career suspecting that he had once worn a dress +liberally ornamented with the broad arrow. Fine copy, excellent copy: some of +the morning newspapers made a couple of columns of it. +</p> + +<p> +But the <i>Watchman</i>, up to then easily ahead of all its contemporaries in +keeping the public informed of all the latest news in connection with the +Marbury affair, contented itself with a brief announcement. For after Rathbury +had left him, Spargo had sought his proprietor and his editor, and had sat long +in consultation with them, and the result of their talk had been that all the +<i>Watchman</i> thought fit to tell its readers next morning was contained in a +curt paragraph: +</p> + +<p> +“We understand that Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., who is charged with the +murder of John Marbury, or Maitland, in the Temple on June 21st last, was +yesterday afternoon identified by certain officials as Stephen Ainsworth, who +was sentenced to a term of penal servitude in connection with the Hearth and +Home Mutual Benefit Society funds nearly thirty years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +Coming down to Fleet Street that morning, Spargo, strolling jauntily along the +front of the Law Courts, encountered a fellow-journalist, a man on an +opposition newspaper, who grinned at him in a fashion which indicated derision. +</p> + +<p> +“Left behind a bit, that rag of yours, this morning, Spargo, my +boy!” he remarked elegantly. “Why, you’ve missed one of the +finest opportunities I ever heard of in connection with that Aylmore affair. A +miserable paragraph!—why, I worked off a column and a half in ours! What +were you doing last night, old man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sleeping,” said Spargo and went by with a nod. +“Sleeping!” +</p> + +<p> +He left the other staring at him, and crossed the road to Middle Temple Lane. +It was just on the stroke of eleven as he walked up the stairs to Mr. +Elphick’s chambers; precisely eleven as he knocked at the outer door. It +is seldom that outer doors are closed in the Temple at that hour, but +Elphick’s door was closed fast enough. The night before it had been +promptly opened, but there was no response to Spargo’s first knock, nor +to his second, nor to his third. And half-unconsciously he murmured aloud: +“Elphick’s door is closed!” +</p> + +<p> +It never occurred to Spargo to knock again: instinct told him that +Elphick’s door was closed because Elphick was not there; closed because +Elphick was not going to keep the appointment. He turned and walked slowly back +along the corridor. And just as he reached the head of the stairs Ronald +Breton, pale and anxious, came running up them, and at sight of Spargo paused, +staring questioningly at him. As if with a mutual sympathy the two young men +shook hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you didn’t print more than those two or three lines +in the <i>Watchman</i> this morning,” said Breton. “It +was—considerate. As for the other papers!—Aylmore assured me last +night, Spargo, that though he did serve that term at Dartmoor he was innocent +enough! He was scapegoat for another man who disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Spargo merely nodded, he added, awkwardly: +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m obliged to you, too, old chap, for sending that wire to +the two girls last night—it was good of you. They want all the comfort +they can get, poor things! But—what are you doing here, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo leant against the head of the stairs and folded his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I came here,” he said, “to keep an appointment with Mr. +Elphick—an appointment which he made when I called on him, as you +suggested, at nine o’clock. The appointment—a most important +one—was for eleven o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, then,” he said. “It’s well past that now, and +my guardian’s a very martinet in the matter of punctuality.” +</p> + +<p> +But Spargo did not move. Instead, he shook his head, regarding Breton with +troubled eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” he answered. “I was trained to it. Your guardian +isn’t there, Breton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not there? If he made an appointment for eleven? Nonsense—I never +knew him miss an appointment!” +</p> + +<p> +“I knocked three times—three separate times,” answered +Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“You should have knocked half a dozen times—he may have overslept +himself. He sits up late—he and old Cardlestone often sit up half the +night, talking stamps or playing piquet,” said Breton. “Come +on—you’ll see!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo shook his head again. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not there, Breton,” he said. “He’s +gone!” +</p> + +<p> +Breton stared at the journalist as if he had just announced that he had seen +Mr. Septimus Elphick riding down Fleet Street on a dromedary. He seized +Spargo’s elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on!” he said. “I have a key to Mr. Elphick’s +door, so that I can go in and out as I like. I’ll soon show you whether +he’s gone or not.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo followed the young barrister down the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“All the same,” he said meditatively as Breton fitted a key to the +latch, “he’s not there, Breton. He’s—off!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens, man, I don’t know what you’re talking +about!” exclaimed Breton, opening the door and walking into the lobby. +“Off! Where on earth should he be off to, when he’s made an +appointment with you for eleven, and—Hullo!” +</p> + +<p> +He had opened the door of the room in which Spargo had met Elphick and Miss +Baylis the night before, and was walking in when he pulled himself up on the +threshold with a sharp exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he cried. “What—what’s all +this?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo quietly looked over Breton’s shoulder. It needed but one quick +glance to show him that much had happened in that quiet room since he had +quitted it the night before. There stood the easy-chair in which he had left +Elphick; there, close by it, but pushed aside, as if by a hurried hand, was the +little table with its spirit case, its syphon, its glass, in which stale liquid +still stood; there was the novel, turned face downwards; there, upon the novel, +was Elphick’s pipe. But the rest of the room was in dire confusion. The +drawers of a bureau had been pulled open and never put back; papers of all +descriptions, old legal-looking documents, old letters, littered the +centre-table and the floor; in one corner of the room a black japanned box had +been opened, its contents strewn about, and the lid left yawning. And in the +grate, and all over the fender there were masses of burned and charred paper; +it was only too evident that the occupant of the chambers, wherever he might +have disappeared to, had spent some time before his disappearance in destroying +a considerable heap of documents and papers, and in such haste that he had not +troubled to put matters straight before he went. +</p> + +<p> +Breton stared at this scene for a moment in utter consternation. Then he made +one step towards an inner door, and Spargo followed him. Together they entered +an inner room—a sleeping apartment. There was no one in it, but there +were evidences that Elphick had just as hastily packed a bag as he had +destroyed his papers. The clothes which Spargo had seen him wearing the +previous evening were flung here, there, everywhere: the gorgeous +smoking-jacket was tossed unceremoniously in one corner, a dress-shirt, in the +bosom of which valuable studs still glistened, in another. One or two suitcases +lay about, as if they had been examined and discarded in favour of something +more portable; here, too, drawers, revealing stocks of linen and underclothing, +had been torn open and left open; open, too, swung the door of a wardrobe, +revealing a quantity of expensive clothing. And Spargo, looking around him, +seemed to see all that had happened—the hasty, almost frantic search for +and tearing up and burning of papers; the hurried change of clothing, of +packing necessaries into a bag that could be carried, and then the flight the +getting away, the—— +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth does all this mean?” exclaimed Breton. “What +is it, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean exactly what I told you,” answered Spargo. +“He’s off! Off!” +</p> + +<p> +“Off! But why off? What—my guardian!—as quiet an old +gentleman as there is in the Temple—off!” cried Breton. “For +what reason, eh? It isn’t—good God, Spargo, it isn’t because +of anything you said to him last night!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say it is precisely because of something that I said to him +last night,” replied Spargo. “I was a fool ever to let him out of +my sight.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton turned on his companion and gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Out—of—your—sight!” he exclaimed. +“Why—why—you don’t mean to say that Mr. Elphick has +anything to do with this Marbury affair? For God’s sake, +Spargo——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo laid a hand on the young barrister’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid you’ll have to hear a good deal, Breton,” +he said. “I was going to talk to you today in any case. You +see——” +</p> + +<p> +Before Spargo could say more a woman, bearing the implements which denote the +charwoman’s profession, entered the room and immediately cried out at +what she saw. Breton turned on her almost savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you!” he said. “Have you seen anything of Mr. Elphick +this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +The charwoman rolled her eyes and lifted her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Me, sir! Not a sign of him, sir. Which I never comes here much before +half-past eleven, sir, Mr. Elphick being then gone out to his breakfast. I see +him yesterday morning, sir, which he was then in his usual state of good +health, sir, if any thing’s the matter with him now. No, sir, I +ain’t seen nothing of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton let out another exclamation of impatience. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better leave all this,” he said. “Mr. +Elphick’s evidently gone away in a hurry, and you mustn’t touch +anything here until he comes back. I’m going to lock up the chambers: if +you’ve a key of them give it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +The charwoman handed over a key, gave another astonished look at the rooms, and +vanished, muttering, and Breton turned to Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say?” he demanded. “I must hear—a good +deal! Out with it, then, man, for Heaven’s sake.” +</p> + +<p> +But Spargo shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Not now, Breton,” he answered. “Presently, I tell you, for +Miss Aylmore’s sake, and your own, the first thing to do is to get on +your guardian’s track. We must—must, I say!—and at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton stood staring at Spargo for a moment as if he could not credit his own +senses. Then he suddenly motioned Spargo out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on!” he said. “I know who’ll know where he is, if +anybody does.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who, then?” asked Spargo, as they hurried out. +</p> + +<p> +“Cardlestone,” answered Breton, grimly. “Cardlestone!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY<br/> +REVELATION</h2> + +<p> +There was as much bright sunshine that morning in Middle Temple Lane as ever +manages to get into it, and some of it was shining in the entry into which +Spargo and Breton presently hurried. Full of haste as he was Breton paused at +the foot of the stair. He looked down at the floor and at the wall at its side. +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t it there?” he said in a low voice, pointing at the +place he looked at. “Wasn’t it there, Spargo, just there, that +Marbury, or, rather, Maitland, was found?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was just there,” answered Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Soon—afterwards?” +</p> + +<p> +“Immediately after he was found. You know all that, Breton. Why do you +ask now?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton, who was still staring at the place on which he had fixed his eyes on +walking into the entry, shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know,” he answered. “I—but come +on—let’s see if old Cardlestone can tell us anything.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another charwoman, armed with pails and buckets, outside +Cardlestone’s door, into which she was just fitting a key. It was evident +to Spargo that she knew Breton, for she smiled at him as she opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think Mr. Cardlestone’ll be in, sir,” she +said. “He’s generally gone out to breakfast at this time—him +and Mr. Elphick goes together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just see,” said Breton. “I want to see him if he is +in.” The charwoman entered the chambers and immediately screamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” remarked Spargo. “That’s what I expected to +hear. Cardlestone, you see, Breton, is also—off!” +</p> + +<p> +Breton made no reply. He rushed after the charwoman, with Spargo in close +attendance. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God—another!” groaned Breton. +</p> + +<p> +If the confusion in Elphick’s rooms had been bad, that in +Cardlestone’s chambers was worse. Here again all the features of the +previous scene were repeated—drawers had been torn open, papers thrown +about; the hearth was choked with light ashes; everything was at sixes and +sevens. An open door leading into an inner room showed that Cardlestone, like +Elphick, had hastily packed a bag; like Elphick had changed his clothes, and +had thrown his discarded garments anywhere, into any corner. Spargo began to +realize what had taken place—Elphick, having made his own preparations +for flight, had come to Cardlestone, and had expedited him, and they had fled +together. But—why? +</p> + +<p> +The charwoman sat down in the nearest chair and began to moan and sob; Breton +strode forward, across the heaps of papers and miscellaneous objects tossed +aside in that hurried search and clearing up, into the inner room. And Spargo, +looking about him, suddenly caught sight of something lying on the floor at +which he made a sharp clutch. He had just secured it and hurried it into his +pocket when Breton came back. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what all this means, Spargo,” he said, almost +wearily. “I suppose you do. Look here,” he went on, turning to the +charwoman, “stop that row—that’ll do no good, you know. I +suppose Mr. Cardlestone’s gone away in a hurry. You’d +better—what had she better do, Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave things exactly as they are, lock up the chambers, and as +you’re a friend of Mr. Cardlestone’s give you the key,” +answered Spargo, with a significant glance. “Do that, now, and +let’s go—I’ve something to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Once outside, with the startled charwoman gone away, Spargo turned to Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you all I know, presently, Breton,” he said. +“In the meantime, I want to find out if the lodge porter saw Mr. Elphick +or Mr. Cardlestone leave. I must know where they’ve gone—if I can +only find out. I don’t suppose they went on foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” responded Breton, gloomily. “We’ll go and +ask. But this is all beyond me. You don’t mean to +say——” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a while,” answered Spargo. “One thing at once,” +he continued, as they walked up Middle Temple Lane. “This is the first +thing. You ask the porter if he’s seen anything of either of +them—he knows you.” +</p> + +<p> +The porter, duly interrogated, responded with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything of Mr. Elphick this morning, Mr. Breton?” he answered. +“Certainly, sir. I got a taxi for Mr. Elphick and Mr. Cardlestone early +this morning—soon after seven. Mr. Elphick said they were going to Paris, +and they’d breakfast at Charing Cross before the train left.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say when they’d be back?” asked Breton, with an assumption +of entire carelessness. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, Mr. Elphick didn’t,” answered the porter. +“But I should say they wouldn’t be long because they’d only +got small suit-cases with them—such as they’d put a day or +two’s things in, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Breton. He turned away towards Spargo who had +already moved off. “What next?” he asked. “Charing Cross, I +suppose!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo smiled and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered. “I’ve no use for Charing Cross. They +haven’t gone to Paris. That was all a blind. For the present let’s +go back to your chambers. Then I’ll talk to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Once within Breton’s inner room, with the door closed upon them, Spargo +dropped into an easy-chair and looked at the young barrister with earnest +attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Breton!” he said. “I believe we’re coming in sight of +land. You want to save your prospective father-in-law, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” growled Breton. “That goes without saying. +But——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you may have to make some sacrifices in order to do it,” said +Spargo. “You see——” +</p> + +<p> +“Sacrifices!” exclaimed Breton. “What——” +</p> + +<p> +“You may have to sacrifice some ideas—you may find that +you’ll not be able to think as well of some people in the future as you +have thought of them in the past. For instance—Mr. Elphick.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton’s face grew dark. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak plainly, Spargo!” he said. “It’s best with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” replied Spargo. “Mr. Elphick, then, is in some +way connected with this affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the—murder?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean the murder. So is Cardlestone. Of that I’m now dead +certain. And that’s why they’re off. I startled Elphick last night. +It’s evident that he immediately communicated with Cardlestone, and that +they made a rapid exit. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? That’s what I’m asking you! Why? Why? Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they’re afraid of something coming out. And being afraid, +their first instinct is to—run. They’ve run at the first alarm. +Foolish—but instinctive.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton, who had flung himself into the elbow-chair at his desk, jumped to his +feet and thumped his blotting-pad. +</p> + +<p> +“Spargo!” he exclaimed. “Are you telling me that you accuse +my guardian and his friend, Mr. Cardlestone, of being—murderers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the sort. I am accusing Mr. Elphick and Mr. Cardlestone of +knowing more about the murder than they care to tell or want to tell. I am also +accusing them, and especially your guardian, of knowing all about Maitland, +alias Marbury. I made him confess last night that he knew this dead man to be +John Maitland.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did!” +</p> + +<p> +“I did. And now, Breton, since it’s got to come out, we’ll +have the truth. Pull yourself together—get your nerves ready, for +you’ll have to stand a shock or two. But I know what I’m talking +about—I can prove every word I’m going to say to you. And first let +me ask you a few questions. Do you know anything about your parentage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—beyond what Mr. Elphick has told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“That my parents were old friends of his, who died young, leaving me +unprovided for, and that he took me up and looked after me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he’s never given you any documentary evidence of any sort to +prove the truth of that story?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never! I never questioned his statement. Why should I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You never remember anything of your childhood—I mean of any person +who was particularly near you in your childhood?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the people who brought me up from the time I was three years +old. And I have just a faint, shadowy recollection of some woman, a tall, dark +woman, I think, before that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Baylis,” said Spargo to himself. “All right, +Breton,” he went on aloud. “I’m going to tell you the truth. +I’ll tell it to you straight out and give you all the explanations +afterwards. Your real name is not Breton at all. Your real name is Maitland, +and you’re the only child of the man who was found murdered at the foot +of Cardlestone’s staircase!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo had been wondering how Breton would take this, and he gazed at him with +some anxiety as he got out the last words. What would he do?—what would +he say?—what—— +</p> + +<p> +Breton sat down quietly at his desk and looked Spargo hard between the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Prove that to me, Spargo,” he said, in hard, matter-of-fact tones. +“Prove it to me, every word. Every word, Spargo!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I will—every word,” he answered. “It’s the right +thing. Listen, then.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a quarter to twelve, Spargo noticed, throwing a glance at the clock +outside, as he began his story; it was past one when he brought it to an end. +And all that time Breton listened with the keenest attention, only asking a +question now and then; now and then making a brief note on a sheet of paper +which he had drawn to him. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all,” said Spargo at last. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s plenty,” observed Breton laconically. +</p> + +<p> +He sat staring at his notes for a moment; then he looked up at Spargo. +“What do you really think?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“About—what?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“This flight of Elphick’s and Cardlestone’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, as I said, that they knew something which they think may be +forced upon them. I never saw a man in a greater fright than that I saw Elphick +in last night. And it’s evident that Cardlestone shares in that fright, +or they wouldn’t have gone off in this way together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think they know anything of the actual murder?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Probably. They know something. And—look +here!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo put his hand in his breast pocket and drew something out which he handed +to Breton, who gazed at it curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this?” he demanded. “Stamps?” +</p> + +<p> +“That, from the description of Criedir, the stamp-dealer, is a sheet of +those rare Australian stamps which Maitland had on him—carried on him. I +picked it up just now in Cardlestone’s room, when you were looking into +his bedroom.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that, after all, proves nothing. Those mayn’t be the identical +stamps. And whether they are or not——” +</p> + +<p> +“What are the probabilities?” interrupted Spargo sharply. “I +believe that those are the stamps which Maitland—your father!—had +on him, and I want to know how they came to be in Cardlestone’s rooms. +And I will know.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton handed the stamps back. +</p> + +<p> +“But the general thing, Spargo?” he said. “If they +didn’t murder—I can’t realize the thing yet!—my +father——” +</p> + +<p> +“If they didn’t murder your father, they know who did!” +exclaimed Spargo. “Now, then, it’s time for more action. Let +Elphick and Cardlestone alone for the moment—they’ll be tracked +easily enough. I want to tackle something else for the moment. How do you get +an authority from the Government to open a grave?” +</p> + +<p> +“Order from the Home Secretary, which will have to be obtained by showing +the very strongest reasons why it should be made.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! We’ll give the reasons. I want to have a grave +opened.” +</p> + +<p> +“A grave opened! Whose grave?” +</p> + +<p> +“The grave of the man Chamberlayne at Market Milcaster,” replied +Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +Breton started. +</p> + +<p> +“His? In Heaven’s name, why?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Spargo laughed as he got up. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I believe it’s empty,” he answered. “Because I +believe that Chamberlayne is alive, and that his other name +is—Cardlestone!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE<br/> +THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER</h2> + +<p> +That afternoon Spargo had another of his momentous interviews with his +proprietor and his editor. The first result was that all three drove to the +offices of the legal gentleman who catered for the <i>Watchman</i> when it +wanted any law, and that things were put in shape for an immediate application +to the Home Office for permission to open the Chamberlayne grave at Market +Milcaster; the second was that on the following morning there appeared in the +<i>Watchman</i> a notice which set half the mouths of London a-watering. That +notice; penned by Spargo, ran as follows:— +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“ONE THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“W<small>HEREAS</small>, on some date within the past twelve months, +there was stolen, abstracted, or taken from the chambers in Fountain Court, +Temple, occupied by Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., under the name of Mr. Anderson, +a walking-stick, or stout staff, of foreign make, and of curious workmanship, +which stick was probably used in the murder of John Marbury, or Maitland, in +Middle Temple Lane, on the night of June 21–22 last, and is now in the hands of +the police:<br/> + “This is to give notice that the Proprietor of the <i>Watchman</i> +newspaper will pay the above-mentioned reward (O<small>NE</small> +T<small>HOUSAND</small> P<small>OUNDS</small> S<small>TERLING</small>) at once +and in cash to whosoever will prove that he or she stole, abstracted, or took +away the said stick from the said chambers, and will further give full +information as to his or her disposal of the same, and the Proprietor of the +<i>Watchman</i> moreover engages to treat any revelation affecting the said +stick in the most strictly private and confidential manner, and to abstain from +using it in any way detrimental to the informant, who should call at the +<i>Watchman</i> office, and ask for Mr. Frank Spargo at any time between eleven +and one o’clock midday, and seven and eleven o’clock in the +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you really expect to get some information through that?” asked +Breton, who came into Spargo’s room about noon on the day on which the +promising announcement came out. “You really do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Before today is out,” said Spargo confidently. “There is +more magic in a thousand-pound reward than you fancy, Breton. I’ll have +the history of that stick before midnight.” +</p> + +<p> +“How are you to tell that you won’t be imposed upon?” +suggested Breton. “Anybody can say that he or she stole the stick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whoever comes here with any tale of a stick will have to prove to me how +he or she got the stick and what was done with the stick,” said Spargo. +“I haven’t the least doubt that that stick was stolen or taken away +from Aylmore’s rooms in Fountain Court, and that it got into the hands +of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I want to know in some fashion. I’ve an idea, +already. But I can afford to wait for definite information. I know one +thing—when I get that information—as I shall—we shall be a +long way on the road towards establishing Aylmore’s innocence.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton made no remark upon this. He was looking at Spargo with a meditative +expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Spargo,” he said, suddenly, “do you think you’ll get +that order for the opening of the grave at Market Milcaster?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was talking to the solicitors over the ’phone just now,” +answered Spargo. “They’ve every confidence about it. In fact, +it’s possible it may be made this afternoon. In that case, the opening +will be made early tomorrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall you go?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. And you can go with me, if you like. Better keep in touch +with us all day in case we hear. You ought to be there—you’re +concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to go—I will go,” said Breton. “And if +that grave proves to be—empty—I’ll—I’ll tell you +something.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked up with sharp instinct. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll tell me something? Something? What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind—wait until we see if that coffin contains a dead body +or lead and sawdust. If there’s no body there——” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment one of the senior messenger boys came in and approached Spargo. +His countenance, usually subdued to an official stolidity, showed signs of +something very like excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a man downstairs asking for you, Mr. Spargo,” he +said. “He’s been hanging about a bit, sir,—seems very shy +about coming up. He won’t say what he wants, and he won’t fill up a +form, sir. Says all he wants is a word or two with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring him up at once!” commanded Spargo. He turned to Breton when +the boy had gone. “There!” he said, laughing. “This is the +man about the stick—you see if it isn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re such a cock-sure chap, Spargo,” said Breton. +“You’re always going on a straight line.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trying to, you mean,” retorted Spargo. “Well, stop here, and +hear what this chap has to say: it’ll no doubt be amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +The messenger boy, deeply conscious that he was ushering into Spargo’s +room an individual who might shortly carry away a thousand pounds of good +<i>Watchman</i> money in his pocket, opened the door and introduced a shy and +self-conscious young man, whose nervousness was painfully apparent to everybody +and deeply felt by himself. He halted on the threshold, looking round the +comfortably-furnished room, and at the two well-dressed young men which it +framed as if he feared to enter on a scene of such grandeur. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, come in!” said Spargo, rising and pointing to an +easy-chair at the side of his desk. “Take a seat. You’ve called +about that reward, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +The man in the chair eyed the two of them cautiously, and not without +suspicion. He cleared his throat with a palpable effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” he said. “It’s all on the strict private. +Name of Edward Mollison, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where do you live, and what do you do?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“You might put it down Rowton House, Whitechapel,” answered Edward +Mollison. “Leastways, that’s where I generally hang out when I can +afford it. And—window-cleaner. Leastways, I was window cleaning +when—when——” +</p> + +<p> +“When you came in contact with the stick we’ve been advertising +about,” suggested Spargo. “Just so. Well, Mollison—what about +the stick?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollison looked round at the door, and then at the windows, and then at Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t no danger of me being got into trouble along of that +stick?” he asked. “’Cause if there is, I ain’t a-going +to say a word—no, not for no thousand pounds! Me never having been in no +trouble of any sort, guv’nor—though a poor man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the slightest danger in the world, Mollison,” replied Spargo. +“Not the least. All you’ve got to do is to tell the truth—and +prove that it is the truth. So it was you who took that queer-looking stick out +of Mr. Aylmore’s rooms in Fountain Court, was it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollison appeared to find this direct question soothing to his feelings. He +smiled weakly. +</p> + +<p> +“It was cert’nly me as took it, sir,” he said. “Not +that I meant to pinch it—not me! And, as you might say, I didn’t +take it, when all’s said and done. It was—put on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Put on you, was it?” said Spargo. “That’s interesting. +And how was it put on you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollison grinned again and rubbed his chin. +</p> + +<p> +“It was this here way,” he answered. “You see, I was working +at that time—near on to nine months since, it is—for the Universal +Daylight Window Cleaning Company, and I used to clean a many windows here and +there in the Temple, and them windows at Mr. Aylmore’s—only I knew +them as Mr. Anderson’s—among ’em. And I was there one +morning, early it was, when the charwoman she says to me, ‘I wish +you’d take these two or three hearthrugs,’ she says, ‘and +give ’em a good beating,’ she says. And me being always a ready one +to oblige, ‘All right!’ I says, and takes ’em. +‘Here’s something to wallop ’em with,’ she says, and +pulls that there old stick out of a lot that was in a stand in a corner of the +lobby. And that’s how I came to handle it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Spargo. “A good explanation. And when you had +beaten the hearthrugs—what then?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollison smiled his weak smile again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I looked at that there stick and I see it was something +uncommon,” he answered. “And I thinks—‘Well, this Mr. +Anderson, he’s got a bundle of sticks and walking canes up +there—he’ll never miss this old thing,’ I thinks. And so I +left it in a corner when I’d done beating the rugs, and when I went away +with my things I took it with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You took it with you?” said Spargo. “Just so. To keep as a +curiosity, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +Mollison’s weak smile turned to one of cunning. He was obviously losing +his nervousness; the sound of his own voice and the reception of his news was +imparting confidence to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not half!” he answered. “You see, guv’nor, there was +an old cove as I knew in the Temple there as is, or was, ’cause I +ain’t been there since, a collector of antikities, like, and I’d +sold him a queer old thing, time and again. And, of course, I had him in my eye +when I took the stick away—see?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. And you took the stick to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took it there and then,” replied Mollison. “Pitched him a +tale, I did, about it having been brought from foreign parts by Uncle +Simon—which I never had no Uncle Simon. Made out it was a rare +curiosity—which it might ha’ been one, for all I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. And the old cove took a fancy to it, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bought it there and then,” answered Mollison, with something very +like a wink. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Bought it there and then. And how much did he give you for +it?” asked Spargo. “Something handsome, I hope?” +</p> + +<p> +“Couple o’ quid,” replied Mollison. “Me not wishing to +part with a family heirloom for less.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so. And do you happen to be able to tell me the old cove’s +name and his address, Mollison?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I do, sir. Which they’ve painted on his entry—the fifth or +sixth as you go down Middle Temple Lane,” answered Mollison. “Mr. +Nicholas Cardlestone, first floor up the staircase.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo rose from his seat without as much as a look at Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Come this way, Mollison,” he said. “We’ll go and see +about your little reward. Excuse me, Breton.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton kicked his heels in solitude for half an hour. Then Spargo came back. +</p> + +<p> +“There—that’s one matter settled, Breton,” he said. +“Now for the next. The Home Secretary’s made the order for the +opening of the grave at Market Milcaster. I’m going down there at once, +and I suppose you’re coming. And remember, if that grave’s +empty——” +</p> + +<p> +“If that grave’s empty,” said Breton, “I’ll tell +you—a good deal.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO<br/> +THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN</h2> + +<p> +There travelled down together to Market Milcaster late that afternoon, Spargo, +Breton, the officials from the Home Office, entrusted with the order for the +opening of the Chamberlayne grave, and a solicitor acting on behalf of the +proprietor of the <i>Watchman</i>. It was late in the evening when they reached +the little town, but Spargo, having looked in at the parlour of the +“Yellow Dragon” and ascertained that Mr. Quarterpage had only just +gone home, took Breton across the street to the old gentleman’s house. +Mr. Quarterpage himself came to the door, and recognized Spargo immediately. +Nothing would satisfy him but that the two should go in; his family, he said, +had just retired, but he himself was going to take a final nightcap and a +cigar, and they must share it. +</p> + +<p> +“For a few minutes only then, Mr. Quarterpage,” said Spargo as they +followed the old man into his dining-room. “We have to be up at daybreak. +And—possibly—you, too, would like to be up just as early.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage looked an enquiry over the top of a decanter which he was +handling. +</p> + +<p> +“At daybreak?” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“The fact is,” said Spargo, “that grave of +Chamberlayne’s is going to be opened at daybreak. We have managed to get +an order from the Home Secretary for the exhumation of Chamberlayne’s +body: the officials in charge of it have come down in the same train with us; +we’re all staying across there at the ‘Dragon.’ The officials +have gone to make the proper arrangements with your authorities. It will be at +daybreak, or as near it as can conveniently be managed. And I suppose, now that +you know of it, you’ll be there?” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. “You’ve +really done that! Well, well, so we shall know the truth at last, after all +these years. You’re a very wonderful young man, Mr. Spargo, upon my word. +And this other young gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked at Breton, who had already given him permission to speak. +“Mr. Quarterpage,” he said, “this young gentleman is, without +doubt, John Maitland’s son. He’s the young barrister, Mr. Ronald +Breton, that I told you of, but there’s no doubt about his parentage. And +I’m sure you’ll shake hands with him and wish him well.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage set down decanter and glass and hastened to give Breton his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young sir!” he exclaimed. “That I will indeed! And +as to wishing you well—ah, I never wished anything but well to your poor +father. He was led away, sir, led away by Chamberlayne. God bless me, what a +night of surprises! Why, Mr. Spargo, supposing that coffin is found +empty—what then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” answered Spargo, “then I think we shall be able to +put our hands on the man who is supposed to be in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think my father was worked upon by this man Chamberlayne, +sir?” observed Breton a few minutes later when they had all sat down +round Mr. Quarterpage’s hospitable hearth. “You think he was unduly +influenced by him?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quarterpage shook his head sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“Chamberlayne, my dear young sir,” he answered. “Chamberlayne +was a plausible and a clever fellow. Nobody knew anything about him until he +came to this town, and yet before he had been here very long he had contrived +to ingratiate himself with everybody—of course, to his own advantage. I +firmly believe that he twisted your father round his little finger. As I told +Mr. Spargo there when he was making his enquiries of me a short while back, it +would never have been any surprise to me to hear—definitely, I mean, +young gentlemen—that all this money that was in question went into +Chamberlayne’s pockets. Dear me—dear me!—and you really +believe that Chamberlayne is actually alive, Mr. Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo pulled out his watch. “We shall all know whether he was buried in +that grave before another six hours are over, Mr. Quarterpage,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He might well have spoken of four hours instead of six, for it was then nearly +midnight, and before three o’clock Spargo and Breton, with the other men +who had accompanied them from London were out of the “Yellow +Dragon” and on their way to the cemetery just outside the little town. +Over the hills to the eastward the grey dawn was slowly breaking: the long +stretch of marshland which lies between Market Milcaster and the sea was white +with fog: on the cypresses and acacias of the cemetery hung veils and webs of +gossamer: everything around them was quiet as the dead folk who lay beneath +their feet. And the people actively concerned went quietly to work, and those +who could do nothing but watch stood around in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“In all my long life of over ninety years,” whispered old +Quarterpage, who had met them at the cemetery gates, looking fresh and brisk in +spite of his shortened rest, “I have never seen this done before. It +seems a strange, strange thing to interfere with a dead man’s last +resting-place—a dreadful thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“If there is a dead man there,” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +He himself was mainly curious about the details of this exhumation; he had no +scruples, sentimental or otherwise, about the breaking in upon the dead. He +watched all that was done. The men employed by the local authorities, +instructed over-night, had fenced in the grave with canvas; the proceedings +were accordingly conducted in strict privacy; a man was posted to keep away any +very early passersby, who might be attracted by the unusual proceedings. At +first there was nothing to do but wait, and Spargo occupied himself by +reflecting that every spadeful of earth thrown out of that grave was bringing +him nearer to the truth; he had an unconquerable intuition that the truth of at +any rate one phase of the Marbury case was going to be revealed to them. If the +coffin to which they were digging down contained a body, and that the body of +the stockbroker, Chamberlayne, then a good deal of his, Spargo’s, latest +theory, would be dissolved to nothingness. But if that coffin contained no body +at all, then—” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re down to it!” whispered Breton. +</p> + +<p> +Presently they all went and looked down into the grave. The workmen had +uncovered the coffin preparatory to lifting it to the surface; one of them was +brushing the earth away from the name-plate. And in the now strong light they +could all read the lettering on it. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +JAMES CARTWRIGHT CHAMBERLAYNE<br/> +Born 1852<br/> +Died 1891 +</p> + +<p> +Spargo turned away as the men began to lift the coffin out of the grave. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall know now!” he whispered to Breton. “And +yet—what is it we shall know if——” +</p> + +<p> +“If what?” said Breton. “If—what?” +</p> + +<p> +But Spargo shook his head. This was one of the great moments he had lately been +working for, and the issues were tremendous. +</p> + +<p> +“Now for it!” said the <i>Watchman’s</i> solicitor in an +undertone. “Come, Mr. Spargo, now we shall see.” +</p> + +<p> +They all gathered round the coffin, set on low trestles at the graveside, as +the workmen silently went to work on the screws. The screws were rusted in +their sockets; they grated as the men slowly worked them out. It seemed to +Spargo that each man grew slower and slower in his movements; he felt that he +himself was getting fidgety. Then he heard a voice of authority. +</p> + +<p> +“Lift the lid off!” +</p> + +<p> +A man at the head of the coffin, a man at the foot suddenly and swiftly raised +the lid: the men gathered round craned their necks with a quick movement. +</p> + +<p> +Sawdust! +</p> + +<p> +The coffin was packed to the brim with sawdust, tightly pressed down. The +surface lay smooth, undisturbed, levelled as some hand had levelled it long +years before. They were not in the presence of death, but of deceit. +</p> + +<p> +Somebody laughed faintly. The sound of the laughter broke the spell. The chief +official present looked round him with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“It is evident that there were good grounds for suspicion,” he +remarked. “Here is no dead body, gentlemen. See if anything lies beneath +the sawdust,” he added, turning to the workmen. “Turn it +out!” +</p> + +<p> +The workmen began to scoop out the sawdust with their hands; one of them, +evidently desirous of making sure that no body was in the coffin, thrust down +his fingers at various places along its length. He, too, laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“The coffin’s weighted with lead!” he remarked. +“See!” +</p> + +<p> +And tearing the sawdust aside, he showed those around him that at three +intervals bars of lead had been tightly wedged into the coffin where the head, +the middle, and the feet of a corpse would have rested. +</p> + +<p> +“Done it cleverly,” he remarked, looking round. “You see how +these weights have been adjusted. When a body’s laid out in a coffin, you +know, all the weight’s in the end where the head and trunk rest. Here you +see the heaviest bar of lead is in the middle; the lightest at the feet. +Clever!” +</p> + +<p> +“Clear out all the sawdust,” said some one. “Let’s see +if there’s anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something else. At the bottom of the coffin two bundles of papers, +tied up with pink tape. The legal gentlemen present immediately manifested +great interest in these. So did Spargo, who, pulling Breton along with him, +forced his way to where the officials from the Home Office and the solicitor +sent by the <i>Watchman</i> were hastily examining their discoveries. +</p> + +<p> +The first bundle of papers opened evidently related to transactions at Market +Milcaster: Spargo caught glimpses of names that were familiar to him, Mr. +Quarterpage’s amongst them. He was not at all astonished to see these +things. But he was something more than astonished when, on the second parcel +being opened, a quantity of papers relating to Cloudhampton and the Hearth and +Home Mutual Benefit Society were revealed. He gave a hasty glance at these and +drew Breton aside. +</p> + +<p> +“It strikes me we’ve found a good deal more than we ever bargained +for!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t Aylmore say that the real culprit +at Cloudhampton was another man—his clerk or something of that +sort?” +</p> + +<p> +“He did,” agreed Breton. “He insists on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then this fellow Chamberlayne must have been the man,” said +Spargo. “He came to Market Milcaster from the north. What’ll be +done with those papers?” he asked, turning to the officials. +</p> + +<p> +“We are going to seal them up at once, and take them to London,” +replied the principal person in authority. “They will be quite safe, Mr. +Spargo; have no fear. We don’t know what they may reveal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t, indeed!” said Spargo. “But I may as well +tell you that I have a strong belief that they’ll reveal a good deal that +nobody dreams of, so take the greatest care of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, without waiting for further talk with any one, Spargo hurried Breton out +of the cemetery. At the gate, he seized him by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then, Breton!” he commanded. “Out with it!” +</p> + +<p> +“With what?” +</p> + +<p> +“You promised to tell me something—a great deal, you said—if +we found that coffin empty. It is empty. Come on—quick!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. I believe I know where Elphick and Cardlestone can be found. +That’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“All! It’s enough. Where, then, in heaven’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Elphick has a queer little place where he and Cardlestone sometimes go +fishing—right away up in one of the wildest parts of the Yorkshire moors. +I expect they’ve gone there. Nobody knows even their names +there—they could go and lie quiet there for—ages.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the way to it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do—I’ve been there.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo motioned him to hurry. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, then,” he said. “We’re going there by the +very first train out of this. I know the train, too—we’ve just time +to snatch a mouthful of breakfast and to send a wire to the <i>Watchman</i>, +and then we’ll be off. Yorkshire!—Gad, Breton, that’s over +three hundred miles away!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE<br/> +FORESTALLED</h2> + +<p> +Travelling all that long summer day, first from the south-west of England to +the Midlands, then from the Midlands to the north, Spargo and Breton came late +at night to Hawes’ Junction, on the border of Yorkshire and Westmoreland, +and saw rising all around them in the half-darkness the mighty bulks of the +great fells which rise amongst that wild and lonely stretch of land. At that +hour of the night and amidst that weird silence, broken only by the murmur of +some adjacent waterfall the scene was impressive and suggestive; it seemed to +Spargo as if London were a million miles away, and the rush and bustle of human +life a thing of another planet. Here and there in the valleys he saw a light, +but such lights were few and far between; even as he looked some of them +twinkled and went out. It was evident that he and Breton were presently to be +alone with the night. +</p> + +<p> +“How far?” he asked Breton as they walked away from the station. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d better discuss matters,” answered Breton. “The +place is in a narrow valley called Fossdale, some six or seven miles away +across these fells, and as wild a walk as any lover of such things could wish +for. It’s half-past nine now, Spargo: I reckon it will take us a good two +and a half hours, if not more, to do it. Now, the question is—Do we go +straight there, or do we put up for the night? There’s an inn here at +this junction: there’s the Moor Cock Inn a mile or so along the road +which we must take before we turn off to the moorland and the fells. It’s +going to be a black night—look at those masses of black cloud gathering +there!—and possibly a wet one, and we’ve no waterproofs. But +it’s for you to say—I’m game for whatever you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the way?” asked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been the way. In the daytime I could go straight ahead. I +remember all the landmarks. Even in the darkness I believe I can find my way. +But it’s rough walking.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll go straight there,” said Spargo. “Every +minute’s precious. But—can we get a mouthful of bread and cheese +and a glass of ale first?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good idea! We’ll call in at the ‘Moor Cock.’ Now then, +while we’re on this firm road, step it out lively.” +</p> + +<p> +The “Moor Cock” was almost deserted at that hour: there was +scarcely a soul in it when the two travellers turned in to its dimly-lighted +parlour. The landlord, bringing the desired refreshment, looked hard at Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Come our way again then, sir?” he remarked with a sudden grin of +recognition. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you remember me?” said Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“I call in mind when you came here with the two old gents last +year,” replied the landlord. “I hear they’re here +again—Tom Summers was coming across that way this morning, and said +he’d seen ’em at the little cottage. Going to join ’em, I +reckon, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton kicked Spargo under the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we’re going to have a day or two with them,” he +answered. “Just to get a breath of your moorland air.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ll have a roughish walk over there tonight, +gentlemen,” said the landlord. “There’s going to be a storm. +And it’s a stiffish way to make out at this time o’night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, we’ll manage,” said Breton, nonchalantly. “I know +the way, and we’re not afraid of a wet skin.” +</p> + +<p> +The landlord laughed, and sitting down on his long settle folded his arms and +scratched his elbows. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a gentleman—London gentleman by his tongue—came in +here this afternoon, and asked the way to Fossdale,” he observed. +“He’ll be there long since—he’d have daylight for his +walk. Happen he’s one of your party?—he asked where the old +gentlemen’s little cottage was.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Spargo felt his shin kicked and made no sign. “One of their +friends, perhaps,” answered Breton. “What was he like?” +</p> + +<p> +The landlord ruminated. He was not good at description and was conscious of the +fact. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, a darkish, serious-faced gentleman,” he said. +“Stranger hereabouts, at all events. Wore a grey suit—something +like your friend’s there. Yes—he took some bread and cheese with +him when he heard what a long way it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wise man,” remarked Breton. He hastily finished his own bread and +cheese, and drank off the rest of his pint of ale. “Come on,” he +said, “let’s be stepping.” +</p> + +<p> +Outside, in the almost tangible darkness, Breton clutched Spargo’s arm. +“Who’s the man?” he said. “Can you think, +Spargo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t,” answered Spargo. “I was trying to, while that +chap was talking. But—it’s somebody that’s got in before us. +Not Rathbury, anyhow—he’s not serious-faced. Heavens, Breton, +however are you going to find your way in this darkness?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see presently. We follow the road a little. Then we turn up +the fell side there. On the top, if the night clears a bit, we ought to see +Great Shunnor Fell and Lovely Seat—they’re both well over two +thousand feet, and they stand up well. We want to make for a point clear +between them. But I warn you, Spargo, it’s stiff going!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead!” said Spargo. “It’s the first time in my +life I ever did anything of this sort, but we’re going on if it takes us +all night. I couldn’t sleep in any bed now that I’ve heard +there’s somebody ahead of us. Go first, old chap, and I’ll +follow.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton went steadily forward along the road. That was easy work, but when he +turned off and began to thread his way up the fell-side by what was obviously +no more than a sheep-track, Spargo’s troubles began. It seemed to him +that he was walking as in a nightmare; all that he saw was magnified and +heightened; the darkening sky above; the faint outlines of the towering hills; +the gaunt spectres of fir and pine; the figure of Breton forging stolidly and +surely ahead. Now the ground was soft and spongy under his feet; now it was +stony and rugged; more than once he caught an ankle in the wire-like heather +and tripped, bruising his knees. And in the end he resigned himself to keeping +his eye on Breton, outlined against the sky, and following doggedly in his +footsteps. +</p> + +<p> +“Was there no other way than this?” he asked after a long interval +of silence. “Do you mean to say those two—Elphick and +Cardlestone—would take this way?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is another way—down the valley, by Thwaite Bridge and +Hardraw,” answered Breton, “but it’s miles and miles round. +This is a straight cut across country, and in daylight it’s a delightful +walk. But at night—Gad!—here’s the rain, Spargo!” +</p> + +<p> +The rain came down as it does in that part of the world, with a suddenness that +was as fierce as it was heavy. The whole of the grey night was blotted out; +Spargo was only conscious that he stood in a vast solitude and was being +gradually drowned. But Breton, whose sight was keener, and who had more +knowledge of the situation dragged his companion into the shelter of a group of +rocks. He laughed a little as they huddled closely together. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a different sort of thing to pursuing detective work in Fleet +Street, Spargo,” he said. “You would come on, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going on if we go through cataracts and floods,” +answered Spargo. “I might have been induced to stop at the ‘Moor +Cock’ overnight if we hadn’t heard of that chap in front. If +he’s after those two he’s somebody who knows something. What I +can’t make out is—who he can be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Breton. “I can’t think of anybody who +knows of this retreat. But—has it ever struck you, Spargo, that somebody +beside yourself may have been investigating?” +</p> + +<p> +“Possible,” replied Spargo. “One never knows. I only wish +we’d been a few hours earlier. For I wanted to have the first word with +those two.” +</p> + +<p> +The rain ceased as suddenly as it had come. Just as suddenly the heavens +cleared. And going forward to the top of the ridge which they were then +crossing, Breton pointed an arm to something shining far away below them. +</p> + +<p> +“You see that?” he said. “That’s a sheet of water lying +between us and Cotterdale. We leave that on our right hand, climb the fell +beyond it, drop down into Cotterdale, cross two more ranges of fell, and come +down into Fossdale under Lovely Seat. There’s a good two hours and a half +stiff pull yet, Spargo. Think you can stick it?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo set his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Up hill, down dale, now up to his ankles in peaty ground, now tearing his +shins, now bruising his knees, Spargo, yearning for the London lights, the +well-paved London streets, the convenient taxi-cab, even the humble omnibus, +plodded forward after his guide. It seemed to him that they had walked for ages +and had traversed a whole continent of mountains and valley when at last +Breton, halting on the summit of a wind-swept ridge, laid one hand on his +companion’s shoulder and pointed downward with the other. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” he said. “There!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked ahead into the night. Far away, at what seemed to him to be a +considerable distance, he saw the faint, very faint glimmer of a light—a +mere spark of a light. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the cottage,” said Breton, “Late as it is, you +see, they’re up. And here’s the roughest bit of the journey. +It’ll take me all my time to find the track across this moor, Spargo, so +step carefully after me—there are bogs and holes hereabouts.” +</p> + +<p> +Another hour had gone by ere the two came to the cottage. Sometimes the guiding +light had vanished, blotted out by intervening rises in the ground; always, +when they saw it again, they were slowly drawing nearer to it. And now when +they were at last close to it, Spargo realized that he found himself in one of +the loneliest places he had ever been capable of imagining—so lonely and +desolate a spot he had certainly never seen. In the dim light he could see a +narrow, crawling stream, making its way down over rocks and stones from the +high ground of Great Shunnor Fell. Opposite to the place at which they stood, +on the edge of the moorland, a horseshoe like formation of ground was backed by +a ring of fir and pine; beneath this protecting fringe of trees stood a small +building of grey stone which looked as if it had been originally built by some +shepherd as a pen for the moorland sheep. It was of no more than one storey in +height, but of some length; a considerable part of it was hidden by shrubs and +brushwood. And from one uncurtained, blindless window the light of a lamp shone +boldly into the fading darkness without. +</p> + +<p> +Breton pulled up on the edge of the crawling stream. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got to get across there, Spargo,” he said. “But +as we’re already soaked to the knee it doesn’t matter about getting +another wetting. Have you any idea how long we’ve been walking?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hours—days—years!” replied Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“I should say quite four hours,” said Breton. “In that case, +it’s well past two o’clock, and the light will be breaking in +another hour or so. Now, once across this stream, what shall we do?” +</p> + +<p> +“What have we come to do? Go to the cottage, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a bit. No need to startle them. By the fact they’ve got a +light, I take it that they’re up. Look there!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, a figure crossed the window passing between it and the light. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not Elphick, nor yet Cardlestone,” said Spargo. +“They’re medium-heighted men. That’s a tallish man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s the man the landlord of the ‘Moor Cock’ told +us about,” said Breton. “Now, look here—I know every inch of +this place. When we’re across let me go up to the cottage, and I’ll +take an observation through that window and see who’s inside. Come +on.” +</p> + +<p> +He led Spargo across the stream at a place where a succession of boulders made +a natural bridge, and bidding him keep quiet, went up the bank to the cottage. +Spargo, watching him, saw him make his way past the shrubs and undergrowth +until he came to a great bush which stood between the lighted window and the +projecting porch of the cottage. He lingered in the shadow of this bush but for +a short moment; then came swiftly and noiselessly back to his companion. His +hand fell on Spargo’s arm with a clutch of nervous excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“Spargo!” he whispered. “Who on earth do you think the other +man is?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR<br/> +THE WHIP HAND</h2> + +<p> +Spargo, almost irritable from desire to get at close grips with the objects of +his long journey, shook off Breton’s hand with a growl of resentment. +</p> + +<p> +“And how on earth can I waste time guessing?” he exclaimed. +“Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Steady, Spargo, steady!” he said. “It’s +Myerst—the Safe Deposit man. Myerst!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo started as if something had bitten him. +</p> + +<p> +“Myerst!” he almost shouted. “Myerst! Good Lord!—why +did I never think of him? Myerst! Then——” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know why you should have thought of him,” said +Breton. “But—he’s there.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo took a step towards the cottage: Breton pulled him back. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait!” he said. “We’ve got to discuss this. I’d +better tell you what they’re doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they doing, then?” demanded Spargo impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” answered Breton. “They’re going through a +quantity of papers. The two old gentlemen look very ill and very miserable. +Myerst is evidently laying down the law to them in some fashion or other. +I’ve formed a notion, Spargo.” +</p> + +<p> +“What notion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Myerst is in possession of whatever secret they have, and he’s +followed them down here to blackmail them. That’s my notion.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo thought awhile, pacing up and down the river bank. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay you’re right,” he said. “Now, what’s +to be done?” +</p> + +<p> +Breton, too, considered matters. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” he said at last, “I wish we could get in there and +overhear what’s going on. But that’s impossible—I know that +cottage. The only thing we can do is this—we must catch Myerst unawares. +He’s here for no good. Look here!” +</p> + +<p> +And reaching round to his hip-pocket Breton drew out a Browning revolver and +wagged it in his hand with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a useful thing to have, Spargo,” he remarked. +“I slipped it into my pocket the other day, wondering why on earth I did +it. Now it’ll come in handy. For anything we know Myerst may be +armed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Come up to the cottage. If things turn out as I think they will, Myerst, +when he’s got what he wants, will be off. Now, you shall get where I did +just now, behind that bush, and I’ll station myself in the doorway. You +can report to me, and when Myerst comes out I’ll cover him. Come on, +Spargo; it’s beginning to get light already.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton cautiously led the way along the river bank, making use of such cover as +the willows and alders afforded. Together, he and Spargo made their way to the +front of the cottage. Arrived at the door, Breton posted himself in the porch, +motioning to Spargo to creep in behind the bushes and to look through the +window. And Spargo noiselessly followed his directions and slightly parting the +branches which concealed him looked in through the uncurtained glass. +</p> + +<p> +The interior into which he looked was rough and comfortless in the extreme. +There were the bare accessories of a moorland cottage; rough chairs and tables, +plastered walls, a fishing rod or two piled in a corner; some food set out on a +side table. At the table in the middle of the floor the three men sat. +Cardlestone’s face was in the shadow; Myerst had his back to the window; +old Elphick bending over the table was laboriously writing with shaking +fingers. And Spargo twisted his head round to his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Elphick,” he said, “is writing a cheque. Myerst has another +cheque in his hand. Be ready!—when he gets that second cheque I guess +he’ll be off.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton smiled grimly and nodded. A moment later Spargo whispered again. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out, Breton! He’s coming.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton drew back into the angle of the porch; Spargo quitted his protecting +bush and took the other angle. The door opened. And they heard Myerst’s +voice, threatening, commanding in tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, remember all I’ve said! And don’t you +forget—I’ve the whip hand of both of you—the whip +hand!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Myerst turned and stepped out into the grey light—to find himself +confronted by an athletic young man who held the muzzle of an ugly revolver +within two inches of the bridge of his nose and in a remarkably firm and steady +grip. Another glance showed him the figure of a second business-like looking +young man at his side, whose attitude showed a desire to grapple with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Mr. Myerst,” said Breton with cold and ironic +politeness. “We are glad to meet you so unexpectedly. And—I must +trouble you to put up your hands. Quick!” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst made one hurried movement of his right hand towards his hip, but a +sudden growl from Breton made him shift it just as quickly above his head, +whither the left followed it. Breton laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s wise, Mr. Myerst,” he said, keeping his revolver +steadily pointed at his prisoner’s nose. “Discretion will certainly +be the better part of your valour on this occasion. Spargo—may I trouble +you to see what Mr. Myerst carries in his pockets? Go through them carefully. +Not for papers or documents—just now. We can leave that +matter—we’ve plenty of time. See if he’s got a weapon of any +sort on him, Spargo—that’s the important thing.” +</p> + +<p> +Considering that Spargo had never gone through the experience of searching a +man before, he made sharp and creditable work of seeing what the prisoner +carried. And he forthwith drew out and exhibited a revolver, while Myerst, +finding his tongue, cursed them both, heartily and with profusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent!” said Breton, laughing again. “Sure he’s +got nothing else on him that’s dangerous, Spargo? All right. Now, Mr. +Myerst, right about face! Walk into the cottage, hands up, and remember there +are two revolvers behind your back. March!” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst obeyed this peremptory order with more curses. The three walked into the +cottage. Breton kept his eye on his captive; Spargo gave a glance at the two +old men. Cardlestone, white and shaking, was lying back in his chair; Elphick, +scarcely less alarmed, had risen, and was coming forward with trembling limbs. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment,” said Breton, soothingly. “Don’t alarm +yourself. We’ll deal with Mr. Myerst here first. Now, Myerst, my man, sit +down in that chair—it’s the heaviest the place affords. Into it, +now! Spargo, you see that coil of rope there. Tie Myerst up—hand and +foot—to that chair. And tie him well. All the knots to be double, Spargo, +and behind him.” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst suddenly laughed. “You damned young bully!” he exclaimed. +“If you put a rope round me, you’re only putting ropes round the +necks of these two old villains. Mark that, my fine fellows!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see about that later,” answered Breton. He kept Myerst +covered while Spargo made play with the rope. “Don’t be afraid of +hurting him, Spargo,” he said. “Tie him well and strong. He +won’t shift that chair in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo spliced his man to the chair in a fashion that would have done credit to +a sailor. He left Myerst literally unable to move either hand or foot, and +Myerst cursed him from crown to heel for his pains. “That’ll +do,” said Breton at last. He dropped his revolver into his pocket and +turned to the two old men. Elphick averted his eyes and sank into a chair in +the darkest corner of the room: old Cardlestone shook as with palsy and +muttered words which the two young men could not catch. “Guardian,” +continued Breton, “don’t be frightened! And don’t you be +frightened, either, Mr. Cardlestone. There’s nothing to be afraid of, +just yet, whatever there may be later on. It seems to me that Mr. Spargo and I +came just in time. Now, guardian, what was this fellow after?” +</p> + +<p> +Old Elphick lifted his head and shook it; he was plainly on the verge of tears; +as for Cardlestone, it was evident that his nerve was completely gone. And +Breton pointed Spargo to an old corner cupboard. +</p> + +<p> +“Spargo,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you’ll find +whisky in there. Give them both a stiff dose: they’ve broken up. Now, +guardian,” he continued, when Spargo had carried out this order, +“what was he after? Shall I suggest it? Was it—blackmail?” +</p> + +<p> +Cardlestone began to whimper; Elphick nodded his head. “Yes, yes!” +he muttered. “Blackmail! That was it—blackmail. He—he got +money—papers—from us. They’re on him.” +</p> + +<p> +Breton turned on the captive with a look of contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought as much, Mr. Myerst,” he said. “Spargo, +let’s see what he has on him.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo began to search the prisoner’s pockets. He laid out everything on +the table as he found it. It was plain that Myerst had contemplated some sort +of flight or a long, long journey. There was a quantity of loose gold; a number +of bank-notes of the more easily negotiated denominations; various foreign +securities, realizable in Paris. And there was an open cheque, signed by +Cardlestone for ten thousand pounds, and another, with Elphick’s name at +the foot, also open, for half that amount. Breton examined all these matters as +Spargo handed them out. He turned to old Elphick. +</p> + +<p> +“Guardian,” he said, “why have you or Mr. Cardlestone given +this man these cheques and securities? What hold has he on you?” +</p> + +<p> +Old Cardlestone began to whimper afresh; Elphick turned a troubled face on his +ward. +</p> + +<p> +“He—he threatened to accuse us of the murder of Marbury!” he +faltered. “We—we didn’t see that we had a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does he know of the murder of Marbury and of you in connection with +it?” demanded Breton. “Come—tell me the truth now.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been investigating—so he says,” answered Elphick. +“He lives in that house in Middle Temple Lane, you know, in the top-floor +rooms above Cardlestone’s. And—and he says he’s the fullest +evidence against Cardlestone—and against me as an accessory after the +fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—it’s a lie?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“A lie!” answered Elphick. “Of course, it’s a lie. +But—he’s so clever that—that——” +</p> + +<p> +“That you don’t know how you could prove it otherwise,” said +Breton. “Ah! And so this fellow lives over Mr. Cardlestone there, does +he? That may account for a good many things. Now we must have the police +here.” He sat down at the table and drew the writing materials to him. +“Look here, Spargo,” he continued. “I’m going to write +a note to the superintendent of police at Hawes—there’s a farm half +a mile from here where I can get a man to ride down to Hawes with the note. +Now, if you want to send a wire to the <i>Watchman</i>, draft it out, and +he’ll take it with him.” +</p> + +<p> +Elphick began to move in his corner. +</p> + +<p> +“Must the police come?” he said. “Must——” +</p> + +<p> +“The police must come,” answered Breton firmly. “Go ahead +with your wire, Spargo, while I write this note.” +</p> + +<p> +Three quarters of an hour later, when Breton came back from the farm, he sat +down at Elphick’s side and laid his hand on the old man’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, guardian,” he said, quietly, “you’ve got to tell +us the truth.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE<br/> +MYERST EXPLAINS</h2> + +<p> +It had been apparent to Spargo, from the moment of his entering the cottage, +that the two old men were suffering badly from shock and fright: Cardlestone +still sat in his corner shivering and trembling; he looked incapable of +explaining anything; Elphick was scarcely more fitted to speak. And when Breton +issued his peremptory invitation to his guardian to tell the truth, Spargo +intervened. +</p> + +<p> +“Far better leave him alone, Breton,” he said in a low voice. +“Don’t you see the old chap’s done up? They’re both +done up. We don’t know what they’ve gone through with this fellow +before we came, and it’s certain they’ve had no sleep. Leave it all +till later—after all, we’ve found them and we’ve found +him.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in Myerst’s direction, +and Breton involuntarily followed the movement. He caught the prisoner’s +eye, and Myerst laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay you two young men think yourselves very clever,” he said +sneeringly. “Don’t you, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been clever enough to catch you, anyway,” retorted +Breton. “And now we’ve got you we’ll keep you till the police +can relieve us of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Myerst, with another sneering laugh. “And on what +charge do you propose to hand me over to the police? It strikes me you’ll +have some difficulty in formulating one, Mr. Breton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well see about that later,” said Breton. “You’ve +extorted money by menaces from these gentlemen, at any rate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I? How do you know they didn’t entrust me with these cheques +as their agent?” exclaimed Myerst. “Answer me that! Or, rather, let +them answer if they dare. Here you, Cardlestone, you Elphick—didn’t +you give me these cheques as your agent? Speak up now, and quick!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo, watching the two old men, saw them both quiver at the sound of +Myerst’s voice; Cardlestone indeed, began to whimper softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Breton,” he said, whispering, “this +scoundrel’s got some hold on these two old chaps—they’re +frightened to death of him. Leave them alone: it would be best for them if they +could get some rest. Hold your tongue, you!” he added aloud, turning to +Myerst. “When we want you to speak we’ll tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +But Myerst laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +“All very high and mighty, Mr. Spargo of the <i>Watchman</i>!” he +sneered. “You’re another of the cock-sure lot. And you’re +very clever, but not clever enough. Now, look here! Supposing—” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo turned his back on him. He went over to old Cardlestone and felt his +hands. And he turned to Breton with a look of concern. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” he exclaimed. “He’s more than +frightened—he’s ill! What’s to be done?” +</p> + +<p> +“I asked the police to bring a doctor along with them,” answered +Breton. “In the meantime, let’s put him to bed—there are beds +in that inner room. We’ll get him to bed and give him something hot to +drink—that’s all I can think of for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +Between them they managed to get Cardlestone to his bed, and Spargo, with a +happy thought, boiled water on the rusty stove and put hot bottles to his feet. +When that was done they persuaded Elphick to lie down in the inner room. +Presently both old men fell asleep, and then Breton and Spargo suddenly +realized that they themselves were hungry and wet and weary. +</p> + +<p> +“There ought to be food in the cupboard,” said Breton, beginning to +rummage. “They’ve generally had a good stock of tinned things. Here +we are, Spargo—these are tongues and sardines. Make some hot coffee while +I open one of these tins.” +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner watched the preparations for a rough and ready breakfast with eyes +that eventually began to glisten. +</p> + +<p> +“I may remind you that I’m hungry, too,” he said as Spargo +set the coffee on the table. “And you’ve no right to starve me, +even if you’ve the physical ability to keep me tied up. Give me something +to eat, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shan’t starve,” said Breton, carelessly. He cut an ample +supply of bread and meat, filled a cup with coffee and placed cup and plate +before Myerst. “Untie his right arm, Spargo,” he continued. +“I think we can give him that liberty. We’ve got his revolver, +anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +For a while the three men ate and drank in silence. At last Myerst pushed his +plate away. He looked scrutinizingly at his two captors. “Look +here!” he said. “You think you know a lot about all this affair, +Spargo, but there’s only one person who knows all about it. That’s +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re taking that for granted,” said Spargo. “We +guessed as much when we found you here. You’ll have ample opportunity for +explanation, you know, later on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll explain now, if you care to hear,” said Myerst with +another of his cynical laughs. “And if I do, I’ll tell you the +truth. I know you’ve got an idea in your heads that isn’t +favourable to me, but you’re utterly wrong, whatever you may think. Look +here!—I’ll make you a fair offer. There are some cigars in my case +there—give me one, and mix me a drink of that whisky—a good +’un—and I’ll tell you what I know about this matter. Come +on!—anything’s better than sitting here doing nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +The two young men looked at each other. Then Breton nodded. “Let him talk +if he likes,” he said. “We’re not bound to believe him. And +we may hear something that’s true. Give him his cigar and his +drink.” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst took a stiff pull at the contents of the tumbler which Spargo presently +set before him. He laughed as he inhaled the first fumes of his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“As it happens, you’ll hear nothing but the truth,” he +observed. “Now that things are as they are, there’s no reason why I +shouldn’t tell the truth. The fact is, I’ve nothing to fear. You +can’t give me in charge, for it so happens that I’ve got a power of +attorney from these two old chaps inside there to act for them in regard to the +money they entrusted me with. It’s in an inside pocket of that +letter-case, and if you look at it, Breton, you’ll see it’s in +order. I’m not even going to dare you to interfere with or destroy +it—you’re a barrister, and you’ll respect the law. But +that’s a fact—and if anybody’s got a case against anybody, I +have against you two for assault and illegal detention. But I’m not a +vindictive man, and——” +</p> + +<p> +Breton took up Myerst’s letter-case and examined its contents. And +presently he turned to Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s right!” he whispered. “This is quite in +order.” He turned to Myerst. “All the same,” he said, +addressing him, “we shan’t release you, because we believe +you’re concerned in the murder of John Marbury. We’re justified in +holding you on that account.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, my young friend,” said Myerst. “Have your own +stupid way. But I said I’d tell you the plain truth. Well, the plain +truth is that I know no more of the absolute murder of your father than I know +of what is going on in Timbuctoo at this moment! I do not know who killed John +Maitland. That’s a fact! It may have been the old man in there +who’s already at his own last gasp, or it mayn’t. I tell you I +don’t know—though, like you, Spargo, I’ve tried hard to find +out. That’s the truth—I do not know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You expect us to believe that?” exclaimed Breton incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Believe it or not, as you like—it’s the truth,” +answered Myerst. “Now, look here—I said nobody knew as much of this +affair as I know, and that’s true also. And here’s the truth of +what I know. The old man in that room, whom you know as Nicholas Cardlestone, +is in reality Chamberlayne, the stockbroker, of Market Milcaster, whose name +was so freely mentioned when your father was tried there. That’s another +fact!” +</p> + +<p> +“How,” asked Breton, sternly, “can you prove it? How do you +know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” replied Myerst, with a cunning grin, “I helped to +carry out his mock death and burial—I was a solicitor in those days, and +my name was—something else. There were three of us at it: +Chamberlayne’s nephew; a doctor of no reputation; and myself. We carried +it out very cleverly, and Chamberlayne gave us five thousand pounds apiece for +our trouble. It was not the first time that I had helped him and been well paid +for my help. The first time was in connection with the Cloudhampton Hearth and +Home Mutual Benefit Society affair—Aylmore, or Ainsworth, was as innocent +as a child in that!—Chamberlayne was the man at the back. But, +unfortunately, Chamberlayne didn’t profit—he lost all he got by it, +pretty quick. That was why be transferred his abilities to Market +Milcaster.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can prove all this, I suppose?” remarked Spargo. +</p> + +<p> +“Every word—every letter! But about the Market Milcaster affair: +Your father, Breton, was right in what he said about Chamberlayne having all +the money that was got from the bank. He had—and he engineered that mock +death and funeral so that he could disappear, and he paid us who helped him +generously, as I’ve told you. The thing couldn’t have been better +done. When it was done, the nephew disappeared; the doctor disappeared; +Chamberlayne disappeared. I had bad luck—to tell you the truth, I was +struck off the rolls for a technical offence. So I changed my name and became +Mr. Myerst, and eventually what I am now. And it was not until three years ago +that I found Chamberlayne. I found him in this way: After I became secretary to +the Safe Deposit Company, I took chambers in the Temple, above +Cardlestone’s. And I speedily found out who he was. Instead of going +abroad, the old fox—though he was a comparatively young ’un, +then!—had shaved off his beard, settled down in the Temple and given +himself up to his two hobbies, collecting curiosities and stamps. There +he’d lived quietly all these years, and nobody had ever recognized or +suspected him. Indeed, I don’t see how they could; he lived such a quiet, +secluded life, with his collections, his old port, and his little whims and +fads. But—I knew him!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you doubtless profited by your recognition,” suggested Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly did. He was glad to pay me a nice sum every quarter to hold +my tongue,” replied Myerst, “and I was glad to take it and, +naturally, I gained a considerable knowledge of him. He had only one +friend—Mr. Elphick, in there. Now, I’ll tell you about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only if you are going to speak respectfully of him,” said Breton +sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no reason to do otherwise. Elphick is the man who ought to +have married your mother. When things turned out as they did, Elphick took you +and brought you up as he has done, so that you should never know of your +father’s disgrace. Elphick never knew until last night that Cardlestone +is Chamberlayne. Even the biggest scoundrels have friends—Elphick’s +very fond of Cardlestone. He——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo turned sharply on Myerst. +</p> + +<p> +“You say Elphick didn’t know until last night!” he exclaimed. +“Why, then, this running away? What were they running from?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no more notion than you have, Spargo,” replied Myerst. +“I tell you one or other of them knows something that I don’t. +Elphick, I gather, took fright from you, and went to Cardlestone—then +they both vanished. It may be that Cardlestone did kill Maitland—I +don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I know about the actual +murder—for I do know a good deal about it, though, as I say, I +don’t know who killed Maitland. Now, first, you know all that about +Maitland’s having papers and valuables and gold on him? Very +well—I’ve got all that. The whole lot is locked +up—safely—and I’m willing to hand it over to you, Breton, +when we go back to town, and the necessary proof is given—as it will +be—that you’re Maitland’s son.” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst paused to see the effect of this announcement, and laughed when he saw +the blank astonishment which stole over his hearers’ faces. +</p> + +<p> +“And still more,” he continued, “I’ve got all the +contents of that leather box which Maitland deposited with +me—that’s safely locked up, too, and at your disposal. I took +possession of that the day after the murder. Then, for purposes of my own, I +went to Scotland Yard, as Spargo there is aware. You see, I was playing a +game—and it required some ingenuity.” +</p> + +<p> +“A game!” exclaimed Breton. “Good heavens—what +game?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never knew until I had possession of all these things that Marbury was +Maitland of Market Milcaster,” answered Myerst. “When I did know +then I began to put things together and to pursue my own line, independent of +everybody. I tell you I had all Maitland’s papers and possessions, by +that time—except one thing. That packet of Australian stamps. And—I +found out that those stamps were in the hands of—Cardlestone!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.<br/> +THE FINAL TELEGRAM</h2> + +<p> +Myerst paused, to take a pull at his glass, and to look at the two amazed +listeners with a smile of conscious triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“In the hands of Cardlestone,” he repeated. “Now, what did I +argue from that? Why, of course, that Maitland had been to Cardlestone’s +rooms that night. Wasn’t he found lying dead at the foot of +Cardlestone’s stairs? Aye—but who found him? Not the +porter—not the police—not you, Master Spargo, with all your +cleverness. The man who found Maitland lying dead there that night +was—I!” +</p> + +<p> +In the silence that followed, Spargo, who had been making notes of what Myerst +said, suddenly dropped his pencil and thrusting his hands in his pockets sat +bolt upright with a look which Breton, who was watching him seriously, could +not make out. It was the look of a man whose ideas and conceptions are being +rudely upset. And Myerst, too, saw it and he laughed, more sneeringly than +ever. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s one for you, Spargo!” he said. “That surprises +you—that makes you think. Now what do you think?—if one may +ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Spargo, “that you are either a consummate +liar, or that this mystery is bigger than before.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can lie when it’s necessary,” retorted Myerst. “Just +now it isn’t necessary. I’m telling you the plain truth: +there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. As I’ve said before, +although you two young bullies have tied me up in this fashion, you can’t +do anything against me. I’ve a power of attorney from those two old men +in there, and that’s enough to satisfy anybody as to my possession of +their cheques and securities. I’ve the whip hand of you, my sons, in all +ways. And that’s why I’m telling you the truth—to amuse +myself during this period of waiting. The plain truth, my sons!” +</p> + +<p> +“In pursuance of which,” observed Breton, drily, “I think you +mentioned that you were the first person to find my father lying dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was. That is—as far as I can gather. I’ll tell you all +about it. As I said, I live over Cardlestone. That night I came home very +late—it was well past one o’clock. There was nobody about—as +a matter of fact, no one has residential chambers in that building but +Cardlestone and myself. I found the body of a man lying in the entry. I struck +a match and immediately recognized my visitor of the afternoon—John +Marbury. Now, although I was so late in going home, I was as sober as a man can +be, and I think pretty quickly at all times. I thought at double extra speed +just then. And the first thing I did was to strip the body of every article it +had on it—money, papers, everything. All these things are safely locked +up—they’ve never been tracked. Next day, using my facilities as +secretary to the Safe Deposit Company, I secured the things in that box. Then I +found out who the dead man really was. And then I deliberately set to work to +throw dust in the eyes of the police and of the newspapers, and particularly in +the eyes of young Master Spargo there. I had an object.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“What! Knowing all I did, I firmly believed that Marbury, or, rather, +Maitland, had been murdered by either Cardlestone or Elphick. I put it to +myself in this way, and my opinion was strengthened as you, Spargo, inserted +news in your paper—Maitland, finding himself in the vicinity of +Cardlestone after leaving Aylmore’s rooms that night, turned into our +building, perhaps just to see where Cardlestone lived. He met Cardlestone +accidentally, or he perhaps met Cardlestone and Elphick together—they +recognized each other. Maitland probably threatened to expose Cardlestone, or, +rather, Chamberlayne—nobody, of course, could know what happened, but my +theory was that Chamberlayne killed him. There, at any rate, was the fact that +Maitland was found murdered at Chamberlayne’s very threshold. And, in the +course of a few days, I proved, to my own positive satisfaction, by getting +access to Chamberlayne’s rooms in his absence that Maitland had been +there, had been in those rooms. For I found there, in Chamberlayne’s +desk, the rare Australian stamps of which Criedir told at the inquest. That was +proof positive.” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo looked at Breton. They knew what Myerst did not know—that the +stamps of which he spoke were lying in Spargo’s breast pocket, where they +had lain since he had picked them up from the litter and confusion of +Chamberlayne’s floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” asked Breton, after a pause, “why did you never accuse +Cardlestone, or Chamberlayne, of the murder?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did! I have accused him a score of times—and Elphick, +too,” replied Myerst with emphasis. “Not at first, mind you—I +never let Chamberlayne know that I ever suspected him for some time. I had my +own game to play. But at last—not so many days ago—I did. I accused +them both. That’s how I got the whip hand of them. They began to be +afraid—by that time Elphick had got to know all about Cardlestone’s +past as Chamberlayne. And as I tell you, Elphick’s fond of Cardlestone. +It’s queer, but he is. He—wants to shield him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did they say when you accused them?” asked Breton. +“Let’s keep to that point—never mind their feelings for one +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, but that feeling’s a lot more to do with this mystery +than you think, my young friend,” said Myerst. “What did they say, +you ask? Why, they strenuously denied it, Cardlestone swore solemnly to me that +he had no part or lot in the murder of Maitland. So did Elphick. But—they +know something about the murder. If those two old men can’t tell you +definitely who actually struck John Maitland down, I’m certain that they +have a very clear idea in their minds as to who really did! They—” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden sharp cry from the inner room interrupted Myerst. Breton and Spargo +started to their feet and made for the door. But before they could reach it +Elphick came out, white and shaking. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone!” he exclaimed in quavering accents. “My old +friend’s gone—he’s dead! I was—asleep. I woke suddenly +and looked at him. He——” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo forced the old man into a chair and gave him some whisky; Breton passed +quickly into the inner room; only to come back shaking his head. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dead,” he said. “He evidently died in his +sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then his secret’s gone with him,” remarked Myerst, calmly. +“And now we shall never know if he did kill John Maitland or if he +didn’t. So that’s done with!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Elphick suddenly sat up in his chair, pushing Spargo fiercely away from his +side. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t kill John Maitland!” he cried angrily, attempting +to shake his fist at Myerst. “Whoever says he killed Maitland lies. He +was as innocent as I am. You’ve tortured and tormented him to his death +with that charge, as you’re torturing me—among you. I tell you +he’d nothing to do with John Maitland’s death—nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +Myerst laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Who had, then?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” commanded Breton, turning angrily on him. He +sat down by Elphick’s side and laid his hand soothingly on the old +man’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Guardian,” he said, “why don’t you tell what you know? +Don’t be afraid of that fellow there—he’s safe enough. Tell +Spargo and me what you know of the matter. Remember, nothing can hurt +Cardlestone, or Chamberlayne, or whoever he is or was, now.” +</p> + +<p> +Elphick sat for a moment shaking his head. He allowed Spargo to give him +another drink; he lifted his head and looked at the two young men with +something of an appeal. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m badly shaken,” he said. “I’ve suffered much +lately—I’ve learnt things that I didn’t know. Perhaps I ought +to have spoken before, but I was afraid for—for him. He was a good +friend, Cardlestone, whatever else he may have been—a good friend. +And—I don’t know any more than what happened that night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us what happened that night,” said Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that night I went round, as I often did, to play piquet with +Cardlestone. That was about ten o’clock. About eleven Jane Baylis came to +Cardlestone’s—she’d been to my rooms to find me—wanted +to see me particularly—and she’d come on there, knowing where I +should be. Cardlestone would make her have a glass of wine and a biscuit; she +sat down and we all talked. Then, about, I should think, a quarter to twelve, a +knock came at Cardlestone’s door—his outer door was open, and of +course anybody outside could see lights within. Cardlestone went to the door: +we heard a man’s voice enquire for him by name; then the voice added that +Criedir, the stamp dealer, had advised him to call on Mr. Cardlestone to show +him some rare Australian stamps, and that seeing a light under his door he had +knocked. Cardlestone asked him in—he came in. That was the man we saw +next day at the mortuary. Upon my honour, we didn’t know him, either that +night or next day!” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened when he came in?” asked Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“Cardlestone asked him to sit down: he offered and gave him a drink. The +man said Criedir had given him Cardlestone’s address, and that he’d +been with a friend at some rooms in Fountain Court, and as he was passing our +building he’d just looked to make sure where Cardlestone lived, and as +he’d noticed a light he’d made bold to knock. He and Cardlestone +began to examine the stamps. Jane Baylis said good-night, and she and I left +Cardlestone and the man together.” +</p> + +<p> +“No one had recognized him?” said Breton. +</p> + +<p> +“No one! Remember, I only once or twice saw Maitland in all my life. The +others certainly did not recognize him. At least, I never knew that they +did—if they did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us,” said Spargo, joining in for the first time, “tell +us what you and Miss Baylis did?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the foot of the stairs Jane Baylis suddenly said she’d +forgotten something in Cardlestone’s lobby. As she was going out in to +Fleet Street, and I was going down Middle Temple Lane to turn off to my own +rooms we said good-night. She went back upstairs. And I went home. And upon my +soul and honour that’s all I know!” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo suddenly leapt to his feet. He snatched at his cap—a sodden and +bedraggled headgear which he had thrown down when they entered the cottage. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough!” he almost shouted. “I’ve got +it—at last! Breton—where’s the nearest telegraph office? +Hawes? Straight down this valley? Then, here’s for it! Look after things +till I’m back, or, when the police come, join me there. I shall catch the +first train to town, anyhow, after wiring.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—what are you after, Spargo?” exclaimed Breton. +“Stop! What on earth——” +</p> + +<p> +But Spargo had closed the door and was running for all he was worth down the +valley. Three quarters of an hour later he startled a quiet and peaceful +telegraphist by darting, breathless and dirty, into a sleepy country post +office, snatching a telegraph form and scribbling down a message in shaky +handwriting:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Rathbury, New Scotland Yard, London.</i><br/> +<i>Arrest Jane Baylis at once for murder of John Maitland.</i><br/> +<i>Coming straight to town with full evidence.</i><br/> + <i>Frank Spargo</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Then Spargo dropped on the office bench, and while the wondering operator set +the wires ticking, strove to get his breath, utterly spent in his mad race +across the heather. And when it was got he set out again—to find the +station. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Some days later, Spargo, having seen Stephen Aylmore walk out of the Bow Street +dock, cleared of the charge against him, and in a fair way of being cleared of +the affair of twenty years before, found himself in a very quiet corner of the +Court holding the hand of Jessie Aylmore, who, he discovered, was saying things +to him which he scarcely comprehended. There was nobody near them and the girl +spoke freely and warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“But you will come—you will come today—and be properly +thanked,” she said. “You will—won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Spargo allowed himself to retain possession of the hand. Also he took a +straight look into Jessie Aylmore’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want thanks,” he said. “It was all a lot of +luck. And if I come—today—it will be to see—just you!” +</p> + +<p> +Jessie Aylmore looked down at the two hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” she whispered, “I think that is what I really +meant!” +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10373 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + diff --git a/10373-h/images/cover.jpg b/10373-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..baccebc --- /dev/null +++ b/10373-h/images/cover.jpg |
