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Updated: June 27, 2025
His manner had become of the quietest, and Spargo again became keenly attentive. "Perhaps I can put a question or two to Mr. Aylmore which will not yield him offence," he remarked drily. He turned once more to the witness, regarding him as if with interest.
"In London, of course." "At what address?" For some moments Aylmore had been growing more and more restive. His brow had flushed; his moustache had begun to twitch. And now he squared his shoulders and faced his questioner defiantly. "I resent these questions about my private affairs!" he snapped out. "Possibly. But I must put them. I repeat my last question." "And I refuse to answer it."
This man was the porter of the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple Lane. The Treasury Counsel put a straight question to him at once. "You see that gentleman," he said, pointing to Aylmore. "Do you know him as an inmate of the Temple?" The man stared at Aylmore, evidently confused. "Why, certainly, sir!" he answered. "Quite well, sir." "Very good. And now what name do you know him by?"
But Spargo had heard this man before, and he knew many signs of his in voice and manner and glance. "I want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Aylmore, about your acquaintanceship with the dead man. It was an acquaintanceship of some time ago?" began the suave, seemingly careless voice. "A considerable time ago," answered Aylmore. "How long roughly speaking?"
"I told you that we had no right to trouble Mr. Spargo, Jessie," said Evelyn Aylmore. "What can he do to help us?" Jessie shook her head impatiently. "The Watchman's about the most powerful paper in London, isn't it?" she said. "And isn't Mr. Spargo writing all these articles about the Marbury case? Mr. Spargo, you must help us!"
"After evidence like that!" he exclaimed. "Why, of course. There's the motive, my son, the motive!" Spargo laughed. "Rathbury!" he said. "Aylmore no more murdered Marbury than you did!" The detective got up and put on his hat. "Oh!" he said. "Perhaps you know who did, then?" "I shall know in a few days," answered Spargo. Rathbury stared wonderingly at him. Then he suddenly walked to the door.
Aylmore is always to be found at twelve o'clock. At the A. and P. the Atlantic and Pacific Club, you know, in St. James's. If you like, I'll go with you." Spargo glanced at the clock and laid down the telephone. "All right," he said. "Eleven o'clock, now. I've something to do. I'll meet you outside the A. and P. at exactly noon." "I'll be there," agreed Breton.
"The fun is going to begin," muttered Spargo. The Treasury representative looked from Aylmore to the Coroner and made a jerky bow; from the Coroner to Aylmore and straightened himself. He looked like a man who is going to ask indifferent questions about the state of the weather, or how Smith's wife was last time you heard of her, or if stocks are likely to rise or fall.
The crowd surged out of the court, chattering, murmuring, exclaiming spectators, witnesses, jurymen, reporters, legal folk, police folk, all mixed up together. And Spargo, elbowing his own way out, and busily reckoning up the value of the new complexions put on everything by the day's work, suddenly felt a hand laid on his arm. Turning he found himself gazing at Jessie Aylmore.
Read it as early as you can; get an interview with Aylmore as early as you can; make him read it, every word, before he's brought up. Beg him if he values his own safety and his daughters' peace of mind to throw away all that foolish reserve, and to tell all he knows about Maitland twenty years ago. He should have done that at first.
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