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"Certainly," replied Breton. "In London." "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?
mission of an amendment to the United States constitution enfranchising women." They appointed a committee from the convention to carry these resolutions to the President. The committee included Mr. J. A. H. Hopkins of the Progressive Party, as chairman; Dr. E. A. Rumley of the Progressive-Republican Party and Vice President of the New York Evening Mail; Mr. John Spargo of the Socialist Party; Mr.
"I want to see him if he is in." The charwoman entered the chambers and immediately screamed. "Quite so," remarked Spargo. "That's what I expected to hear. Cardlestone, you see, Breton, is also off!" Breton made no reply. He rushed after the charwoman, with Spargo in close attendance. "Good God another!" groaned Breton.
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. "Nothing much going on here this morning," he whispered behind a raised hand.
"All right," said Breton. He turned away towards Spargo who had already moved off. "What next?" he asked. "Charing Cross, I suppose!" Spargo smiled and shook his head. "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."
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. The particular club to which Spargo bent his steps was called the Octoneumenoi.
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. "Well, I congratulate you on what you stuck in the Watchman this morning," he said. "Made extra good reading, I thought.
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?
Spargo says and in what he says one must read a great deal between the lines: The admiration of Jenny Marx for the poet was even more ardent than that of her husband. He fascinated her because, as she said, he was "so modern," while Heine was drawn to her because she was "so sympathetic." It must be that Heine held the heart of this beautiful woman in his hand.
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.
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