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"Aylmore's identified," he said lazily. Spargo sat up, sharply. "Identified!" "Identified, my son. Beyond doubt." "But as whom as what?" exclaimed Spargo. Rathbury laughed. "He's an old lag an ex-convict. Served his time partly at Dartmoor. That, of course, is where he met Maitland or Marbury. D'ye see? Clear as noontide now, Spargo." Spargo sat drumming his fingers on the desk before him.
"Yes although I've gone there a great deal, I never heard Aylmore speak of anything earlier than his Argentine experiences. And yet, he must have been getting on when he went out there." "Thirty-seven or eight, at least," remarked Spargo. "Well, Aylmore's more or less of a public man, and no public man can keep his life hidden nowadays. By the by, how did you get to know the Aylmores?"
And he dropped into a seat at Miss Jessie Aylmore's side, and looked around him as if he were much awed by his surroundings. "I suppose one can talk until the judge enters?" he whispered. "Is this really Mr. Breton's first case?" "His very first all on his own responsibility, any way," replied Spargo's companion, smiling. "And he's very nervous and so's my sister. Aren't you, now, Evelyn?"
Aylmore's photograph, but he never remembered seeing him in real life; the Member for Brookminster was one of that rapidly diminishing body of legislators whose members are disposed to work quietly and unobtrusively, doing yeoman service on committees, obeying every behest of the party whips, without forcing themselves into the limelight or seizing every opportunity to air their opinions.
Aylmore's two daughters sat at a little distance away, opposite Spargo, with Ronald Breton in attendance upon them; Spargo had encountered their glance as they entered the court, and they had given him a friendly nod and smile.
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