Spargo's room at the _Watchman_ 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."

"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."

"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?"

"A mere piling up of platitudes," answered Spargo.

"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?"

"'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."

Breton laughed. "You're a queer chap, Spargo," he said. "Seriously, do
you think you're getting any nearer anything?"

"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."

"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--"

Spargo suddenly looked up.

"What?" he said sharply.

"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."

"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?"

"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 he nothing but this new evidence
tomorrow, and as they've never been in a coroner's court----"

"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."

Breton shrugged his shoulders.

"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?"

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?"

"And you think Mr. Aylmore can tell?" asked Breton.

"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."

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.

"Well?" said Spargo, as he sprang out: "How is it?"

"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."

"It sounds," observed Spargo, "like an exhumation."

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."

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.

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.

"The duplicate key, Mr. Myerst, if you please," commanded the chairman,
"the duplicate key!"

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.

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.

"Let's hope we're going to see--something!" he said.

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.

"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!"

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.

There was a click, a spring: Jobson stepped back.

"That's it, if you please, sir," he said.

The chairman motioned to the high official.

"If you would be good enough to open the box, sir," he said. "Our duty
is now concluded."

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.

The box was empty!

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.

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the chairman. "This is--dear me!--why,
there is nothing in the box!"

"That," remarked the high official, drily, "appears to be obvious."

The chairman looked at the secretary.

"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!"

Myerst coughed.

"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."

"But we understand from the evidence of Mr. Criedir, given to the
_Watchman_ 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."

Myerst spread out his hands.

"I can only repeat what I have said, Sir Benjamin," he answered. "I
know nothing more."

"But why should a man deposit an empty box?" began the chairman. "I--"

The high official interposed.

"That the box is empty is certain," he observed. "Did you ever handle
it yourself, Mr. Myerst?"

Myerst smiled in a superior fashion.

"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.

Then there was silence. At last the high official turned to the
chairman.

"Very well," he said. "We've made the enquiry. Rathbury, take the box
away with you and lock it up at the Yard."

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.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED


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:

1. The Temple porter and Constable Driscoll proved the finding of the
body.

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.

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.

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.

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.

6. The purser of the ss. _Wambarino_ 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
_Wambarino_ at Southampton early in the morning of what was to be the
last day of his life in just the ordinary manner.

7. Mr. Criedir gave evidence of his rencontre with Marbury in the
matter of the stamps.

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.

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.

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 _Watchman_, 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.

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.

"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?"

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.

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.

The court, the public, Spargo, everybody there, knew all this already.
It had been in print, under a big headline, in the _Watchman_. 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.

"The fun is going to begin," muttered Spargo.

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.

"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.

"A considerable time ago," answered Aylmore.

"How long--roughly speaking?"

"I should say from twenty to twenty-two or three years."

"Never saw him during that time until you met accidentally in the way
you have described to us?"

"Never."

"Ever heard from him?"

"No."

"Ever heard of him?"

"No."

"But when you met, you knew each other at once?"

"Well--almost at once."

"Almost at once. Then, I take it, you were very well known to each
other twenty or twenty-two years ago?"

"We were--yes, well known to each other."

"Close friends?"

"I said we were acquaintances."

"Acquaintances. What was his name when you knew him at that time?"

"His name? It was--Marbury."

"Marbury--the same name. Where did you know him?"

"I--oh, here in London."

"What was he?"

"Do you mean--what was his occupation?"

"What was his occupation?"

"I believe he was concerned in financial matters."

"Concerned in financial matters. Had you dealings with him?"

"Well, yes--on occasions."

"What was his business address in London?"

"I can't remember that."

"What was his private address?"

"That I never knew."

"Where did you transact your business with him?"

"Well, we met, now and then."

"Where? What place, office, resort?"

"I can't remember particular places. Sometimes--in the City."

"In the City. Where in the City? Mansion House, or Lombard Street, or
St. Paul's Churchyard, or the Old Bailey, or where?"

"I have recollections of meeting him outside the Stock Exchange."

"Oh! Was he a member of that institution?"

"Not that I know of."

"Were you?"

"Certainly not!"

"What were the dealings that you had with him?"

"Financial dealings--small ones."

"How long did your acquaintanceship with him last--what period did it
extend over?"

"I should say about six months to nine months."

"No more?"

"Certainly no more."

"It was quite a slight acquaintanceship, then?"

"Oh, quite!"

"And yet, after losing sight of this merely slight acquaintance for
over twenty years, you, on meeting him, take great interest in him?"

"Well, I was willing to do him a good turn, I was interested in what he
told me the other evening."

"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?"

"I did. I left England in 1891 or 1892--I am not sure which."

"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?"

"I was interested in financial affairs."

"Like Marbury. Where did you carry on your business?"

"In London, of course."

"At what address?"

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.

"I resent these questions about my private affairs!" he snapped out.

"Possibly. But I must put them. I repeat my last question."

"And I refuse to answer it."

"Then I ask you another. Where did you live in London at the time you
are telling us of, when you knew John Marbury?"

"I refuse to answer that question also!"

The Treasury Counsel sat down and looked at the Coroner.




CHAPTER TWELVE

THE NEW WITNESS


The voice of the Coroner, bland, suave, deprecating, broke the silence.
He was addressing the witness.

"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--"

Aylmore turned impatiently to the Coroner.

"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."

The Treasury Counsel rose again. His manner had become of the quietest,
and Spargo again became keenly attentive.

"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.

Aylmore shook his head angrily.

"No, I can't,'' he replied.

"And yet you and he must have had several business acquaintances at
that time who knew you both!"

"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."

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.

"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."

"About that time."

"And at that place?"

"Yes."

"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--"

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.

"Your name is David Lyell?"

"That is my name, sir."

"And you reside at 23, Cumbrae Side, Kilmarnock, Scotland?"

"I do."

"What are you, Mr. Lyell?"

"Traveller, sir, for the firm of Messrs. Stevenson, Robertson & Soutar,
distillers, of Kilmarnock."

"Your duties take you, I think, over to Paris occasionally?"

"They do--once every six weeks I go to Paris."