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He happened to remark to the stationmaster as he got into the train that he expected to be back late that night, and that he should have a tiring day of it. But Chamberlayne didn't come back that night, Mr. Spargo. He didn't come back to Market Milcaster for four days, and when he did come back it was in a coffin!" "Dead?" exclaimed Spargo. "That was sudden!" "Very sudden," agreed Mr. Quarterpage.
"Good heavens what game?" "I never knew until I had possession of all these things that Marbury was Maitland of Market Milcaster," answered Myerst. "When I did know then I began to put things together and to pursue my own line, independent of everybody. I tell you I had all Maitland's papers and possessions, by that time except one thing. That packet of Australian stamps.
I've been in Market Milcaster myself since the races were given up, and I've seen these tickets carefully framed and hung over mantelpieces oh, yes!" Spargo caught at a notion. "How do you get to Market Milcaster?" he asked. "Paddington," replied Crowfoot. "It's a goodish way." "I wonder," said Spargo, "if there's any old sporting man there who could remember things.
Now, there's another man I want to see in Market Milcaster. That's the photographer or a photographer. You remember I told you of the photograph found with the silver ticket? Well, I'm calculating that that photograph was taken here, and I want to see the man who took it if he's alive and I can find him." Mr. Quarterpage rose and put on his hat.
He believed that the prisoner's learned counsel was about to urge upon the Court that the prisoner himself had been tricked and deceived by another man, unfortunately not before the Court a man, he understood, also well known in Market Milcaster, who was now dead, and therefore could not be called, but whether he was so tricked or deceived was no excuse for his clever and wholesale robbing of his employers.
"The Recorder, in charging the Grand Jury, said he regretted that the very pleasant and gratifying experience which had been his upon the occasion of his last two official visits to Market Milcaster he referred to the fact that on both those occasions his friend the Worshipful Mayor had been able to present him with a pair of white gloves was not to be repeated on the present occasion.
"Oh, all right, my boy, all right!" said Crowfoot. "Odd how things turn up, isn't it? Now, I'll wager anything that there aren't half a dozen of these old things outside Market Milcaster itself. As I said, there were only fifty, and they were all in possession of burgesses. They were so much thought of that they were taken great care of.
He had no particularly clear plan. The one thing he was certain of was that in the old leather box which the man whom he knew as John Marbury had deposited with the London and Universal Safe Deposit Company, he and Rathbury had discovered one of the old silver tickets of Market Milcaster racecourse, and that he, Spargo, had come to Market Milcaster, with the full approval of his editor, in an endeavour to trace it.
But he found that Stephen Chamberlayne had left England months before. Gone, they said, to one of the colonies, but they didn't know which. And the solicitor had also gone. And the doctor couldn't be traced, no, sir, not even through the Medical Register. What do you think of all that, Mr. Spargo?" "I think," answered Spargo, "that Market Milcaster folk are considerably slow.
But here" the old gentleman drew out a drawer and produced from it a parchment-bound book which he handled with great reverence "here is a little volume of my own handwriting memoranda relating to Market Milcaster Races in which is a list of the original holders, together with another list showing who held the tickets when the races were given up. I make bold to say, Mr.
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