"On the evening of June 21st last were you in London on your way to
Paris?"

"I was."

"I believe you stayed at De Keyser's Hotel, at the Blackfriars end of
the Embankment?"

"I did--it's handy for the continental trains."

"About half-past eleven, or a little later, that evening, did you go
along the Embankment, on the Temple Gardens side, for a walk?"

"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."

"How far did you walk?"

"As far as Waterloo Bridge."

"Always on the Temple side?"

"Just so, sir--straight along on that side."

"Very good. When you got close to Waterloo Bridge, did you meet anybody
you knew?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament."

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.

"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?"

"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."

"So that you knew him quite well?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Do you see him now, Mr. Lyell?"

Lyell smiled and half turned in the box.

"Why, of course!" he answered. "There is Mr. Aylmore."

"There is Mr. Aylmore. Very good. Now we go on. You met Mr. Aylmore
close to Waterloo Bridge? How close?"

"Well, sir, to be exact, Mr. Aylmore came down the steps from the
bridge on to the Embankment."

"Alone?"

"No."

"Who was with him?"

"A man, sir."

"Did you know the man?"

"No. But seeing who he was with. I took a good look at him. I haven't
forgotten his face."

"You haven't forgotten his face. Mr. Lyell--has anything recalled that
face to you within this last day or two?"

"Yes, sir, indeed!"

"What?"

"The picture of the man they say was murdered--John Marbury."

"You're sure of that?"

"I'm as certain, sir, as that my name's what it is."

"It is your belief that Mr. Aylmore, when you met him, was accompanied
by the man who, according to the photographs, was John Marbury?"

"It is, sir!"

"Very well. Now, having seen Mr. Aylmore and his companion, what did
you do?"

"Oh, I just turned and walked after them."

"You walked after them? They were going eastward, then?"

"They were walking by the way I'd come."

"You followed them eastward?"

"I did--I was going back to the hotel, you see."

"What were they doing?"

"Talking uncommonly earnestly, sir."

"How far did you follow them?"

"I followed them until they came to the Embankment lodge of Middle
Temple Lane, sir."

"And then?"

"Why, sir, they turned in there, and I went straight on to De Keyser's,
and to my bed."

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.

"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?"

"I do! I could swear no other, sir."

"Can you tell us, as near as possible, what time that would be?"

"Yes. It was, to a minute or so, about five minutes past twelve."

The Treasury Counsel nodded to the Coroner, and the Coroner, after a
whispered conference with the foreman of the jury, looked at the
witness.

"You have only just given this information to the police, I
understand?" he said.

"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."

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.

"May I be allowed to make an explanation, sir?" he began. "I--"

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----"

Mr. Aylmore turned almost angrily to the Coroner.

"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--"

"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."

"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.

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.

"You see that gentleman," he said, pointing to Aylmore. "Do you know
him as an inmate of the Temple?"

The man stared at Aylmore, evidently confused.

"Why, certainly, sir!" he answered. "Quite well, sir."

"Very good. And now--what name do you know him by?"

The man grew evidently more bewildered.

"Name, sir. Why, Mr. Anderson, sir!" he replied. "Mr. Anderson!"




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

UNDER SUSPICION


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.

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.

"So you know that gentleman--make sure now--as Mr. Anderson, an inmate
of the Temple?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't know him by any other name?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"How long have you known him by that name?"

"I should say two or three years, sir."

"See him go in and out regularly?"

"No, sir--not regularly."

"How often, then?"

"Now and then, sir--perhaps once a week."

"Tell us what you know of Mr. Anderson's goings-in-and-out."

"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."

"You say 'nights.' Do I understand that you never see Mr. Anderson
except at night?"

"Yes, sir. I've never seen him except at night. Always about the same
time, sir."

"What time?"

"Just about midnight, sir."

"Very well. Do you remember the midnight of June 21st-22nd?"

"I do, sir."

"Did you see Mr. Anderson enter then?"

"Yes, sir, just after twelve."

"Was he alone?"

"No, sir; there was another gentleman with him."

"Remember anything about that other gentleman?"

"Nothing, sir, except that I noticed as they walked through, that the
other gentleman had grey clothes on."

"Had grey clothes on. You didn't see his face?"

"Not to remember it, sir. I don't remember anything but what I've told
you, sir."

"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?"

"Straight up the Lane, sir."

"Do you know where Mr. Anderson's rooms in the Temple are?"

"Not exactly, sir, but I understood in Fountain Court."

"Now, on that night in question, did Mr. Anderson leave again by your
lodge?"

"No, sir."

"You heard of the discovery of the body of a dead man in Middle Temple
Lane next morning?"

"I did, sir."

"Did you connect that man with the gentleman in the grey suit?"

"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."

"Never mentioned it to anybody until now, when you were sent for to
come here?"

"No, sir, never, to anybody."

"And you have never known the gentleman standing there as anybody but
Mr. Anderson?"

"No, sir, never heard any other name but Anderson."

The Coroner glanced at the Counsel.

"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?"

"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."

The Coroner turned to Aylmore.

"Do you object to that?" he asked.

Aylmore stepped boldly forward and into the box.

"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."

The Treasury Counsel rose again.

"Very well, Mr. Aylmore," he said. "I will put certain questions to
you. You heard the evidence of David Lyell?"

"I did."

"Was that quite true as regards yourself?"

"Quite true--absolutely true."

"And you heard that of the last witness. Was that also true!"

"Equally true."

"Then you admit that the evidence you gave this morning, before these
witnesses came on the scene, was not true?"

"No, I do not! Most emphatically I do not. It was true."

"True? You told me, on oath, that you parted from John Marbury on
Waterloo Bridge!"

"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?"

A reference to the stenographer proved Aylmore to be right, and the
Treasury Counsel showed plain annoyance.

"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--?"

Aylmore smiled.

"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."

"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?"

"I will--willingly. We parted at the door of my chambers in Fountain
Court."

"Then--to reiterate--it was you who took Marbury into the Temple that
night?"

"It was certainly I who took Marbury into the Temple that night."

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.

"That is a candid admission, Mr. Aylmore. I suppose you see a certain
danger to yourself in making it."

"I need not say whether I do or I do not. I have made it."

"Very good. Why did you not make it before?"

"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."

"Make it then."

"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."

"What reasons were or are they which prevented you from telling all
this at first?" asked the Treasury Counsel.

"Reasons which are private to me."

"Will you tell them to the court?"

"No!"

"Then will you tell us why Marbury went with you to the chambers in
Fountain Court which you tenant under the name of Anderson?"

"Yes. To fetch a document which I had in my keeping, and had kept for
him for twenty years or more."

"A document of importance?"

"Of very great importance."

"He would have it on him when he was--as we believe he was--murdered
and robbed?"

"He had it on him when he left me."

"Will you tell us what it was?"

"Certainly not!"

"In fact, you won't tell us any more than you choose to tell?"

"I have told you all I can tell of the events of that night."

"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?"

"That I shall not answer."

"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?"

"I also decline to answer that."

The Treasury Counsel made a little movement of his shoulders and turned
to the Coroner.

"I should suggest, sir, that you adjourn this enquiry," he said
quietly.

"For a week," assented the Coroner, turning to the jury.

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.




CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE SILVER TICKET


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.

"Yes?" he said quietly.

Jessie Aylmore looked up at him, smiling faintly.

"I want to speak to you," she said. "I must speak to you."

"Yes," said Spargo. "But--the others? Your sister?--Breton?"

"I left them on purpose to speak to you," she answered. "They knew I
did. I am well accustomed to looking after myself."

Spargo moved down the by-street, motioning his companion to move with
him.

"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."

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.

"You want," he said, "to talk to me about your father."

"Yes," she answered. "I do."

"Why?" asked Spargo.

The girl gave him a searching look.

"Ronald Breton says you're the man who's written all those special
articles in the _Watchman_ about the Marbury case," she answered. "Are
you?"

"I am," said Spargo.

"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?"

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.

"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?"

Jessie Aylmore took a sudden liking to Spargo because of the
unconventionality and brusqueness of his manners.

"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."

"I'll be sure," said Spargo. "Don't bother. Is the tea all right?"

"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?"

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.

"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."

"Why?" she asked.

"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--"

"But does he?" she interrupted quickly. "Do you think he does?"

"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?"

"Serious?" she exclaimed.