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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.
"But you may have to make some sacrifices in order to do it," said Spargo. "You see " "Sacrifices!" exclaimed Breton. "What " "You may have to sacrifice some ideas you may find that you'll not be able to think as well of some people in the future as you have thought of them in the past. For instance Mr. Elphick." Breton's face grew dark. "Speak plainly, Spargo!" he said. "It's best with me."
"Because they're afraid of something coming out. And being afraid, their first instinct is to run. They've run at the first alarm. Foolish but instinctive." Breton, who had flung himself into the elbow-chair at his desk, jumped to his feet and thumped his blotting-pad. "Spargo!" he exclaimed. "Are you telling me that you accuse my guardian and his friend, Mr. Cardlestone. of being murderers?"
"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?"
Spargo, watching the two old men, saw them both quiver at the sound of Myerst's voice; Cardlestone indeed, began to whimper softly. "Look here, Breton," he said, whispering, "this scoundrel's got some hold on these two old chaps they're frightened to death of him. Leave them alone: it would be best for them if they could get some rest. Hold your tongue, you!" he added aloud, turning to Myerst.
Spargo began to understand what the damsel behind the bar meant when she said that she believed she could write a history of Market Milcaster since the year One. After discussing the weather, the local events of the day, and various personal matters, the old fellows got to reminiscences of the past, telling tale after tale, recalling incident upon incident of long years before.
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.
Spargo motioned him to hurry. "Come on, then," he said. "We're going there by the very first train out of this. I know the train, too we've just time to snatch a mouthful of breakfast and to send a wire to the Watchman, and then we'll be off. Yorkshire! Gad, Breton, that's over three hundred miles away!"
Quarterpage turned to a corner cupboard and in silence produced a decanter and two curiously-shaped old wine-glasses. He carefully polished the glasses with a cloth which he took from a drawer, and set glasses and decanter on a table in the window, motioning Spargo to take a chair in proximity thereto. He himself pulled up his own elbow-chair. "We'll take a glass of my old brown sherry," he said.
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.
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