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"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?" "I don't account for it," said Spargo. "I'm trying to." Mr. Criedir made no comment on this.
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." Spargo took the card and read: MR. JAMES CRIEDIR, DEALER IN PHILATELIC RARITIES, 2,021, STRAND. Spargo put the card in his waistcoat pocket and went out again, wondering why Mr.
"Whose name and address?" asked Spargo. "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." "I know Mr. Cardlestone," remarked Spargo. "It was at the foot of his stairs that Marbury was found murdered."
"What sort of box?" said Spargo. "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.
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, 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. The high official interposed.
"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.
Criedir, "we'll go on then. Yesterday afternoon the man described as Marbury came into my shop. He " "What time exact time?" asked Spargo. "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 "
Yes, I called on you. I think, having read the Watchman 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." "Material?" asked Spargo, tersely. Mr. Criedir cocked one of his bright eyes at his visitor. He coughed drily. "That's for you to decide when you've heard it," he said.
'I've something here I'd like to show you, he said, unlocking the box. 'It's " "Stop a bit," said Spargo. "Where did he take the key from with which he unlocked the box?" "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.
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