"Well?" demanded Spargo.
"And about that boy of his?" she continued.

"You heard all that was said," answered Spargo. "I'm waiting to hear
what you have to say."

But Mother Gutch was resolute in having her own way. She continued her
questions:

"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.

"Well?" said Spargo despairingly. "She did. What then?"

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--"

"Well?" demanded Spargo impatiently. "What is it?"

"This!" answered Mother Gutch, digging her companion in the ribs, "I
know what she did with him!"




CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

REVELATIONS


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.

"You say that John Maitland's son didn't die!" he exclaimed.

"The boy did not die," replied Mother Gutch.

"And that you know where he is?" asked Spargo.

Mother Gutch shook her head.

"I didn't say that I know where he is, young man," she replied. "I said
I knew what she did with him."

"What, then?" demanded Spargo.

Mother Gutch drew herself up in a vast assumption of dignity, and
favoured Spargo with a look.

"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."

Spargo suddenly remembered his bit of bluff to Miss Baylis. Here was an
unexpected result of it.

"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."

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 _Watchman_ if the
clearing up of everything came through one of its men. And the
_Watchman_ 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.

"How much do you want for your secret?" he suddenly asked, turning to
his companion.

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.

"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."

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.

"Even now you haven't said how much," he remarked.

"Three pound a week," replied Mother Gutch. "And cheap, too!"

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 _Watchman_. He glanced at his watch. At that hour--for
the next hour--the great man of the _Watchman_ would be at the office.
He jumped to his feet, suddenly resolved and alert.

"Here, I'll take you to see my principals," he said. "We'll run along
in a taxi-cab."

"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." 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 _Watchman_
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.

What Spargo said to his editor and to the great man who controlled the
fortunes and workings of the _Watchman_ 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.

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.

"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 _Watchman_ 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.

"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."

"Mrs. Maitland was then dead," observed Spargo without looking up from
his writing-block.

"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."

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.

"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."

"Very good," said the proprietor. "Go on." But Spargo intervened.

"Did you ever hear the name of the gentleman who took the boy away?" he
asked.

"Yes, I did," replied Mrs. Gutch. "Of course I did. Which it was
Elphick."




CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

STILL SILENT


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.

"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."

Spargo contrived to get in a glance at his proprietor and his editor--a
glance which came near to being a wink.

"Just so--Elphick," he said. "A law gentleman I think you said, Mrs.
Gutch?"

"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?"

"Elderly man?" asked Spargo.

"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."

"Ah!" said Spargo. "And where did this Mr. Elphick take the boy, Mrs.
Gutch?"

But Mrs. Gutch shook her head.

"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."

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.

"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."

"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."

"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?"

Mrs. Gutch rose, dignified and composed.

"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!"

"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."

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.

"What, precisely, have we found out?" asked the editor.

"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."

"Well?"

"Breton is a young barrister. Also he writes a bit--I have accepted two
or three articles of his for our literary page."

"Well?"

"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."

"I know. Well, what then, Spargo?"

"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."

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----"

Spargo nodded.

"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.

The editor got up, thrust his hands in his pockets, and began to pace
the room.

"If that's so," he said, "if that's so, the mystery deepens. What do
you propose to do, Spargo?"

"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--"

"Yes, yes!" said the proprietor, waving a hand. "Leave it entirely in
Spargo's hands."

"Keep me informed," said the editor. "Do what you think. It strikes me
you're on the track."

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.

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.

"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?"

"To get him to tell all?--Yes," said Spargo.

Breton shook his head.

"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 _Watchman_ 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!"

"He won't say anything?"

"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."

"And nothing happened at the police-court?"

"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.'"

"Well, there was a tremendous lot of common sense in that," said
Spargo.

"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?"

Spargo gave no answer to these questions. He remained silent a while,
apparently thinking.

"Was Rathbury in court?" he suddenly asked.

"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."

"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?"

Breton smiled.

"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."

"I see. But so far no motive, no reason for his killing Marbury has
been shown."

"I know of none."

Spargo rose and moved to the door.

"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?"

"One of the biggest. Awful enthusiast."

"Do you think he'd tell me a bit about those Australian stamps which
Marbury showed to Criedir, the dealer?"

"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." "Give them a message from me,"
said Spargo as they went out together. "Tell them to keep up their
hearts and their courage."




CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

MR. ELPHICK'S CHAMBERS


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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Spargo was taken aback: Mr. Elphick apparently was not. He held the
door well open, and motioned the journalist to enter.

"Come in, Mr. Spargo," he said. "I was expecting you. Walk forward into
my sitting-room."

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.

"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."

"Why, Mr. Elphick, should you suppose that I should come to you at
all?" asked Spargo, now in full possession of his wits.

"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."

Spargo stiffened.

"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----"

Mr. Elphick laughed slightly and waved his hand.

"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----"

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.

"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
_Watchman_ tomorrow morning, then you, too, will know."

"Dear me--dear me!" said Mr. Elphick, banteringly. "We are so used to
ultra-sensational stories from the _Watchman_ 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?"

Spargo reflected for a second. Then he bent forward across the table
and looked the old barrister straight in the face.

"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!"

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.

"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!"

Mr. Elphick slowly turned his face to Miss Baylis. He gasped out a few
words.